The Dark Ability: Books 1-4
The Dark Ability Books 1-4
The Dark Ability
D.K. Holmberg
ASH Publishing
Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg
Cover by Rebecca Frank
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Contents
The Dark Ability
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
The Heartstone Blade
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
The Tower of Venass
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Blood of the Watcher
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by D.K. Holmberg
The Dark Ability
Chapter 1
Rsiran crouched atop the rocky outcropping, looking down upon Elaeavn. Clouds swirled distantly above the city, and a wind he hadn’t felt below pulled at his shirt. As usual, when he sat atop the flat-topped Krali Rock, he stared down at the Floating Palace, wondering what it would be like to live within the high white walls. At least here, standing atop Krali, he could pretend he was someone different, and not the son of a smith the Great Watcher had cursed.
From here, the daylight was prolonged. Already down in the palace, pale blue lights glowed in a few windows, the soft light so different than anywhere else in the city. Elvraeth light. Around the rest of the city, simple candles flickered for light. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys before catching the wind and rising high into the sky to join the clouds.
Rsiran knew he should return to his parents’ home, but he felt at peace high above Elaeavn. Once back in the city, the ever-present knot at the pit of his stomach would return, gnawing painfully. Unlike everyone else with a real ability, that knot would probably never leave.
Another gust of wind blew across the rock, a mixture of smoke and the distant sea. The vague scent of lorcith from the mines in the north drifted with the wind, bitter and sharp and so familiar from years spent at the smith with his father.
He sighed. Staying here would do nothing but further irritate his father. Closing his eyes, he Slid, stepping from atop the rock and back to his house in the middle of the city. The Slide took him to the alley outside the house, careful to conceal his return. Rsiran considered simply Sliding into his room, but that opened him to more questions than he wanted. As far as his father was concerned, his ability should never be used. Only those cursed by the Great Watcher had the ability to Slide, and—as his father saw it—it was an ability meant for little more than thieving and killing. That Rsiran knew of no others with his ability meant his father was probably right.
His sister sat as if waiting for him as he opened the door. “You should not have returned,” Alyse said.
Rsiran let the door close silently behind him and looked over at his sister’s oval face and deep green eyes, sleek black hair tied over her shoulder, and frowned. “Where else would I have gone?”
She shrugged. “Tonight will not be a good night for you.”
He swallowed. Few nights were good for him anymore. Ever since their father had learned of his ability, Rsiran had feared returning, sneaking into the house as late as possible to avoid him. Better than sleeping in the street. “Is he here?”
She looked down the hall and nodded. “A bottle deep.”
“Of?”
“Ale. You know the shop isn’t doing well.”
/> She didn’t need to tell him that. As his father’s apprentice, he saw how little work they had. Even the journeyman Thenis knew something was off.
Rsiran sighed. It was bad enough when his father was angry with him about his ability. It was worse when he was drunk. That was how he’d learned he was a Slider in the first place.
“Can you not use it?” Alyse asked.
He glared at her. “Can’t all have your gifts.”
He pushed his mental barrier back into place. Years of living with her had trained him to be careful around Alyse. She was Sighted and a Reader. Almost as blessed as the Elvraeth themselves. But all in Elaeavn had learned to protect themselves from Readers, learning early in life how to build mental barriers.
She returned his stare defiantly. Though he was taller and stronger, she did not fear him, using the two years she had on him to her advantage. “I will not apologize for the fact that the Great Watcher gifted me with my abilities.”
Rsiran pushed past her. “You were doubly blessed while I was cursed,” he muttered. “At least that’s how they view it.”
“Rsiran!” she hissed.
He took another step before stopping and turning back to her. Worry marked her face, twisting the corners of her eyes. One slender hand clutched the small necklace hanging from the lorcith chain their father had made, a Shaer gift given when her abilities had manifested, a gift so rare for any but the Elvraeth to possess. He would receive no such gift from his father.
“Maybe you should…”
“Should what?” he whispered. “Not return? Stay out on the street? Give up my ’ship?”
To her credit, Alyse did not look away. “Yes.”
His heart dropped. Even Alyse abandoned him. “Where would I go?”
She shook her head but did not answer.
Rsiran glared at her for another moment before turning away and sulking down the narrow hall toward his room. He could simply Slide into his room, but if his father discovered that he did that, there would be no return. At least this way, he could pretend the ability did not exist.
As he grabbed the handle to the door, he smelled his father’s approach. The stink of ale weighed heavily in the air, burning at Rsiran’s nostrils.
“’S late,” his father rumbled.
Rsiran froze, uncertain if an assault would follow.
“Ya get the shop cleaned?” his father asked.
He turned and faced his father. Nearly the same height but twice as wide, his father loomed over him. His eyes were reddened and his face ruddy. Soot still smeared his cheeks and clothes from the forge. The fumes from the ale mixed with the soot.
“The shop is clean,” Rsiran answered, straightening his back.
“Took ya that long, did it?”
Rsiran blinked. Again, he considered Sliding away. That he would think such a thing only reinforced how badly his father treated him, but doing so would only make everything worse. He considered his next words carefully. “I worked at the forge a bit,” he admitted. His father would see the results of his work regardless.
Reddened eyes narrowed. “Did I say ya could work the forge?”
Rsiran took a steadying breath. If his father became unwilling to sponsor his apprenticeship, he truly would be lost. Working at the forge was the only thing he enjoyed. “Sir?”
His father stumbled, catching himself on the wall near Rsiran’s head with a beefy hand. Rsiran flinched, unable to help himself. A dark look flittered across his father’s pale green eyes, the mark of their people.
“You think you already know enough?” he asked. “Think yourself ready to be a journeyman?”
“I’m nearly of age, and I have apprenticed now for three years.”
His father pushed off from the wall with a grunt. He wobbled briefly as he stared at Rsiran. “Three years and you think you can run my shop?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Three years and you can work my forge?” he said, raising his voice.
His mother slipped into the hall, wearing a pale yellow robe and slippers. Her face was drawn, and her greying hair pulled severely over her head into a tight roll. Just once, he hoped she would intervene instead of simply watching. Her eyes flared deeper green as she Read his father. As drunk as he was, his barriers were likely down. Not for the first time, Rsiran wished he shared that gift, as useless as it often was in Elaeavn.
“You pay attention when I speak to you!” his father shouted.
Rsiran snapped his eyes back to his father. His heart hammered. Get away, back to his room, close the door, and let his father sleep off the ale. Tomorrow he could pretend none of this happened. “Father?”
His father’s mouth turned into a sneer. “Do not call me ‘Father.’ Not while I hold your ’ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Rsiran said. He tried slipping back a step, but his heel hit the wall.
His father leaned in, his breath hot and stinking of ale. “Did you fire down the forge after you finished your ‘work’?”
Rsiran blinked, sudden panic freezing his mind. Had he tampered the coals? Leaving the forge blazing could damage it, or worse, the shop.
“I think so,” he stammered.
His father leaned back and shifted his weight. In an instant, he drew back and slapped Rsiran across the face with an open palm. The force sent him flying backward and slamming into the wall. “You think?” he roared.
Rsiran clutched his cheek. Heat burned across his face, and he leaned forward, steadying himself from falling. “I will return to the shop and check,” he managed to say.
His father tottered backward and leaned against the opposite wall. “You will tell me if you failed to tamper the forge.” The rage in his voice seemed to be fading, the effort of striking him stealing some of his anger.
Rsiran stood and nodded.
“Restock the coals while you are there.”
Rsiran could only nod again.
His mother would not meet his eyes as he turned. She stood with arms crossed over her chest, her jaw set tightly in a frown. As usual, she said nothing.
Rsiran started toward the front of the house. Alyse stood near the door, her face less severe than their mother’s but no more compassion lining it. “I told you that you should not have returned,” she whispered.
He looked down at her and shrugged. “Where else would I go?” he asked again.
As he grabbed the handle to the door, his father lumbered out of the hall. “Rsiran.”
Rsiran turned, hoping for an apology, a show of emotion, of something that would tell him that he was useful. “Sir?”
“What were you forging?”
Rsiran noted the dangerous tone in his voice. “Iron,” he lied. He did not dare mention that he used lorcith.
His father sniffed. “And what did you make?”
Rsiran blinked. “Something simple.”
His father snorted. “Simple. Don’t ya go tarnishing my shop with any dark creations.” He coughed and bounced off another wall. “Another mistake, and I’ll send you to the mines till you’re better prepared for your ’ship.” Without waiting for a response, his father turned and weaved back down the hall, his wide back slowly fading into the shadows.
Rsiran stepped out the door and back onto the street. Half of him hoped his mother or sister would come after him; tell him his father was being unreasonable. But they would not. Alyse wouldn’t risk angering either of them, and Rsiran could not seem to stop.
Rain now fell from the grey sky. The air had a hint of salty sea spray mixed with the smells from the fishmongers wafting up from the docks. He considered Sliding to the shop but decided against it. Walking might clear his head, and the rain would cool the flame in his cheek where his father had struck him.
Pulling his cloak tight around his neck, he started up the slanted street. Rainwater cascaded down carefully set stones, forming small pools in the wide flat areas between streets. Narrow drains filtered the water through hidden pipes, draining toward the sea f
ar below. The earliest city engineers were artisans in how they designed the city, and from above, the effect appeared like a waterfall.