Borne Rising Read online

  “Lightborne cannot wield blood fangs.” She was distant, defensive.

  Will held up his hands in front of her and met her eyes. Ripples of lightning danced across them. He smiled, trying to put her at ease.

  “Apparently, they can.”

  “Of course it hurt her. What did you expect?”

  Will stared at Jero din’Dael, deep in concentration while maneuvering the claymore through the air. The sheer size of the blade seemed impossible. Holding it aloft seemed to defy physics, let alone being able to move it with the grace that din’Dael managed. Yet another commonality between din’Dael and Madigan.

  “It never hurt anyone before. It heals, not hurts.”

  Din’Dael did not break from the fluid motions of his form as he spun the blade. “Clearly your memory of our brief time together at the Shale has slipped your mind.”

  Will scoffed. The pain of whatever ritual din’Dael had performed upon him, coupled with the massive destruction, was not likely to ever be forgotten. “Hardly.”

  “Then you will no doubt recall your own actions against me there.”

  My actions against him? Will closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Apparently, you and I have differing opinions on what happened that day, Jero.”

  “You are an enigma, William.” Din’Dael spoke as if he had not heard Will at all. “You wield what you should not. You are capable of the impossible. The impossible seems to be, with you, possible. Your existence defies logic.”

  “Yeah, well, your logic is skewed,” Will muttered. I don’t know why I even bother with him half the time.

  Din’Dael finally halted the motion of his blade and leveled it at Will, his gaze hard. “You are Lightborne, William. You burn with a primal fire that has made you the envy of many within these walls.” Din’Dael cracked a smile. “Not the least bit being because of the aid I gave you for freeing me.”

  Yeah, I wouldn’t exactly call this place welcoming. Despite the huge sword pointed at him, Will couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Your rhetoric rarely changes these days, Jero.”

  The smile on din’Dael’s face faded. “You are Lightborne, William. And yet you manage to manipulate the weapons of a Blade of Shadow. You control an element that is the very antithesis of everything you are, of everything I am. Everything that Rienne is.”

  “The blood fangs are neither, though. Cephora told me they were something more ancient than that. Why should it affect anyone any differently?”

  His mentor’s face split into a wide, humorless grin. Lightning erupted from din’Dael and coursed through the massive sword, flickering and biting at the air. Will leapt backward.

  “Radiance and Shadow are opposites, William. You know this. Radiance is ever in flux while Shadow is consistently”—he smirked—“boring. You understand, William, that we are the superior.”

  Having known both, I’d disagree. And you didn’t answer my question. Will opened his mouth to say as much but closed it when din’Dael raised an eyebrow at him.

  “And yet you still fail to understand.” Din’Dael closed the distance between them. Will scrambled backward, the glowing, spitting claymore tracking his every move. “You heal with a power that should destroy you, should leave you in agony. And yet, heal you do. Moreover, you manage to heal others, Lightborne and Shadowborne alike. That is something unknown, and, in this world, anything unknown is valuable.”

  Will backed into a wall and froze. What the hell has gotten into him? His eyes darted down to the sword and back to the man wielding it. “So, that’s what this has all been, then? You find me, what, a curiosity? A valuable secret to be unlocked and used?”

  Din’Dael laughed and released the power coursing through the claymore before resting the blade upon his shoulder. “Oh, William, your naiveté never ceases to amuse me.”

  Will couldn’t help the embarrassing sigh of relief that escaped his lips. He pushed away from the wall and straightened his clothes, trying to regain some sense of composure. “Very much appreciated, Jero.”

  “You recall what you witnessed at the Shale, yes? The sheer magnitude of such power?” Jero paused, waiting for Will to nod before continuing. “Yes, hard to forget, I would imagine. I had been imprisoned for so long that the force of the power within me . . .” He took a deep breath and exhaled exultantly. “It was exquisite, Will. The transference barely touched me. The mighty Shale were ants beneath my boot heel. I touched the heavens and felt them tremble in my wake. You bore witness.”

  “Oh, I saw alright.” You ripped the bloody sky open. “I saw the slaughter.”

  “The stores were barely tapped even then. My brief lapse, the recovery.” He shook his head and smiled. “It was astounding how quickly it all came flooding back. Radiance grows, William. With time, with training, it grows exponentially.”

  “Can you please just be frank, for once?” Will was growing impatient with the man’s addled mind. “You constantly speak around a topic but never about a topic.”

  Jero din’Dael chuckled and looked at Will through patronizing eyes. “William, dear William. Fluctuation is a part of Radiance, is ingrained within it like an inhalation and exhalation of breath.”

  Will considered the words. “So, the more power you expend, the longer it takes to recover?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Then it’s like you said. We’re in flux. We wax and wane.” His mind drifted to Madigan battling within the Shale, his Shade controlled and measured as he fought. “Shadow is consistent. Doesn’t that give them the advantage in the long term?”

  Jero stared at him, an amused smirk on his face. “No Shadowborne could ever be capable of what you witnessed that day, William.”

  “Then what makes Valmont so formidable?” Will said quietly.

  The humor left din’Dael’s face. “As I said, the unknown is valuable.”

  “Fine.” Will could leave the question of Valmont alone. But din’Dael being so open was a rarity. He decided to press on. “Does Radiance have limits, then? I mean a lower limit. Is it possible to ever run out?” He considered his fangs and their bloodstones. “To tap the entirety of the power and be unable to access any more?”

  Din’Dael sighed and shook his head. “Lightborne recover quickly. None could expend themselves to such an extent that they would be left devoid of any power, William.”

  Will eyed him. That wasn’t a real no. Any power, even the faintest trickle of current, is more than none. “And Shadowborne, they don’t, right? Like you said, constant.” Just imagine running dry right when Valmont shows up. “I hardly see how that creates a superior force.”

  “Consider this, William. Where are we? Do you recall what you felt the first day you stepped within these walls? The Sapholux is a fount of power. A primordial flow of Radiance, a bastion of raw energy.” The smile returned to his face, but it was different, twisted, bordering on cruel. “And our people, William, our people have been absorbing infinitely more power than they have been expending for years. Hundreds of years.”

  The implication of his words finally dawned on Will. Cold fear trickled down his spine. What would happen to the world if hundreds of Lightborne, wielding as much power as din’Dael had that day in the Shale, were unleashed upon it? The Necrothanians, Valmont, they’d be obliterated in a breath.

  Din’Dael cocked his head to the side and appraised Will. The man chuckled and nodded, agreeing with himself about something that Will had no insight on. He mounted the claymore on the wall and turned back to Will, smiling. “Come, William. Walk with me.”

  Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He’s up to something. He hesitated. “Where to?”

  The Lightborne smiled at Will and crossed his arms. “You passed your tests today. It is time.”

  An inkling of old curiosity tickled Will’s mind. He met din’Dael’s smile with one of his own. “Time for what?”

  Jero din’Dael’s left hand glowed emerald green. In the distance, somewhere deep within the massive expan
se of the Sapholux, shrieked an eagle. “Time for you to enter the Halls of Legend.”

  3

  The Halls of Legend

  The pair ventured deep underground, farther down in the Sapholux catacombs than Will had ever been. Jero hummed to himself all the while, a simple tune that Will found strangely forbidding. He first heard it on the day he followed the mad Jero through the desert after the encounter with Valmont. Often as they traversed the Wastes, din’Dael hummed the short, haunting tune. He’d never told Will where it came from. But there’s something about it. Something primal I can’t explain.

  Dahla, the magnificent golden bird perched on din’Dael’s left shoulder, was as much a curiosity as any that Will had come across since arriving in Aeril. Something about her transcended reality, as though she existed on the fringe of waking; a dream made reality. Will had never uncovered the connection between the bird and din’Dael; yet another question that was never answered. Too many of those. Will frowned. And I’m no closer to getting answers than I was the day I arrived.

  They paused at a large stone door, twice as tall as din’Dael and black as the Crow’s robes. Still humming, din’Dael placed his right palm against a small, carved section of the black mass, his fingers splayed. Lightning danced across his fingers as he Flared against the door. Will gaped. An infinite number of cracks appeared on the dark stone, glowing blue and white, lightning against a night sky, before the door suddenly shattered in front of Will.

  He recoiled, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the countless shards of rock that blasted outward. Only, there was no impact. Will risked a glance and dropped his arm. He took a tentative step forward, mouth still open in awe. The shards were all frozen in air, suspended in space. They had separated and extended outward, allowing a tall, narrow passage through the stone. Din’Dael passed through wordlessly while Dahla turned her golden eyes back to Will.

  Will followed. Of course. He was intrigued. Passing through the separated stones, he could see that each one was crystalline, almost glasslike. Where the stones had separated sparkled beautiful rainbows of color, like the sun reflecting through a prism, only more vivid, more intense. He paused beneath the massive stonework that still rippled with the force of Radiance, stricken by the beauty of the impossible structure.

  “I wouldn’t linger,” din’Dael called back in a musical tone while striding into the chamber beyond. “You won’t want to be standing there when the ward resets.”

  Snapping his attention back to din’Dael, Will rushed across the threshold and took a few steps into the room. He turned back just in time to see the stones begin to quiver. Suddenly, as if in a vacuum, the shards reformed into their original door formation, blocking the passage. He stared for a moment, imagining the beautiful crystals impaling and crushing him where he had been standing.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  Turning back to din’Dael, Will saw a large, dimly lit room. Bright alcoves were set amongst the walls, spaced only a short distance from one another. He closed the distance to his mentor quickly, noticing that Dahla’s eyes never left him. They were the unblinking, unyielding eyes of a predator. Despite his time with the eagle, there was still something about her that eluded him. Something familiar, even comforting, but simultaneously destructive and terrible. I really don’t understand that bird.

  “These are the Halls of Legend, William.” Jero din’Dael spread his hands and held them out. Dahla flew from his shoulder and soundlessly landed on a frieze high above. “This is where the most treasured artifacts of the Order are kept. This is where the magnificent history of the Sapholux is made real. This is what we fight for.”

  He seemed to be waiting for Will to say something. Will shifted his weight and glanced around. “It, uh, it’s great.”

  Din’Dael beamed and admired the room. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Uncertain of what to say, Will stepped away from din’Dael. The hall extended for quite some distance, bright and silent. He approached the nearest alcove and, with an approving nod from din’Dael, stepped inside. Within was a small square table and three chairs. Upon the table was a single book, ancient and weathered, as well as a drinking glass that appeared to be made from obsidian and lined with gems.

  There was no barrier of entry, no museum glass or gate cordoning off the area. Will’s eyes fixed on the book. He could not make out the letters that formed the title. The script was unfamiliar, ancient. The letters were burned onto the leather binding and worn from age. It called to him. Will reached out for the book, then hesitated.

  Glancing back at din’Dael to make sure he was permitted, Will gingerly picked up the book and opened it. The scrawl of writing within was the same script as the cover and flowed together, page after page with no breaks and no punctuation. It reminded him of the ancient epics he had studied with his brother and grandfather. How, in their original forms, the poetic texts flowed together, in the absence of modern formatting.

  Epics . . . Will’s heart leapt in his chest. It couldn’t be. His hands began to tremble. Surely it can’t be . . . He stared, wondering at the possibility of such a delicate treasure of indescribable value. “Jero, is this . . .?”

  “The Veleriat.” Din’Dael nodded. “Yes. What you hold is the oldest known complete copy of the work.”

  Will’s face split in a wide grin. What Mad would give to see this. What Morella would have. This thing has got to be thousands of years old.

  He froze. He couldn’t believe that din’Dael would let him touch something so ancient, so delicate, without any kind of protection. Just the oils from his skin would be enough to damage the ancient pages. Feeling strangely lightheaded, he set the book back down on the table and steadied himself on a nearby chair.

  “Do not worry, William. The book has survived far worse than the touch of a youth. There is an enchantment upon it that protects it from all harm.”

  More magic. Awestruck, Will looked back at the book and traced his fingers across the etched writing again. “An enchantment? Really?”

  Jero din’Dael burst out laughing, wild peals of hilarity that echoed back to his madness within the Daurhi Wastes. “Of course not, William. It is only a book.”

  Will tensed at the outburst but sighed and shook his head. There was a time when he had almost grown accustomed to din’Dael’s maddened wit. Almost. He looked back at The Veleriat and cocked his head. “It seems . . . denser than the other copy I’ve seen.”

  Din’Dael stepped forward and peered over Will’s shoulder. “Because it is. This one contains the original writing’s notes. Interviews, perhaps. Traces of the full amount of research that went into the writing of The Veleriat.”

  Will’s head snapped around to face him. “Wait, this copy has the foundational research?”

  Din’Dael rolled his eyes and flicked Will on the forehead. “Do you plan to reword and repeat everything I say, William? Have you learned nothing?”

  Will didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at the flick but didn’t comment on it. “Are copies such as this common?”

  Jero stared at him levelly. “William, do you really think that if this book was in any way commonplace or ordinary, it would be held within this vault?”

  Will chided himself for the foolish question. “It’s only”—Morella’s face danced across his mind and the smile faded from his face—“I knew someone who would have been quite interested in those notes, once upon a time.”

  “There are many who would be interested in them. After all, within them lie the most detailed descriptions of the Relics of Antiquity known. That, William, is why this copy is so well guarded, so well preserved.”

  The Relics. It had been so long since he’d heard anything about them that he’d nearly written them off. And this book may hold the key to finding them. Eyeing it, Will glanced around for any signs of security beyond the entrance. He saw none. Just the door. But any Lightborne could open that. Any one of them could make off with it.

  But they wouldn’t.
The Lightborne he’d met since his arrival were too devout, too zealous to consider anything of the sort. Nearly all of them had kept him at arm’s length, considering him an outsider. Only Rienne had opened up and welcomed him. The rest of them would probably die before they’d let anyone get this close to the book. And no one wants to see them mobilized like that.

  He traced The Veleriat’s marked cover again. “So, if it isn’t magic keeping it around, how is it so well preserved?”

  “It is vellum, William. Specifically, etched dragon hide. You’d be hard pressed to find a more resilient material for record keeping. The hide is nearly indestructible. That anyone successfully managed to burn any amount of text onto it is impressive.”

  “So a work of this magnitude . . .” Will flipped the book open and leafed through the pages. He couldn’t make out a single word, wouldn’t even have known where to begin, but he knew that before him lay a more thorough story than the telling he had been given by his grandfather. “This took someone some time.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What does it say, though? Can you read it?”

  Jero frowned at him. “It is The Veleriat, Will. It tells the story of Velier and the Thorns of the Rose aboard the Crimson Twilight as they seek to prevent the end times.” He stepped forward and snapped the book shut. “Really, William, it’s as though you don’t listen at all.”

  Will bit back a retort. “My apologies,” he said sarcastically. “I should have been more specific. I mean, what does it say beyond the common knowledge of the story?”

  This time, din’Dael chuckled. “Many things, William, many things.” He turned and began to walk away, farther into the room.

  “Wait,” Will called after him. Jero turned back and raised an eyebrow. Will pointed to the ornate drinking glass. “What about that? What is that for?”