The Tower of Venass

Rsiran Lareth stood before the sloped roof of the freshly painted wooden building. It was new construction, and unlike most buildings in Elaeavn, made of wide rough sawn timbers rather than block or stone. A building like this was meant to be temporary. 

“You don’t need to do this.”

Rsiran turned to Jessa. Her face still hadn’t lost that haunted expression, the aftermath of what she’d gone through when Josun had abducted her, and her normally flushed cheeks looked pale. Brown hair hung longer than it had since he first met her, passing her shoulder. A length of ribbon tied it back. She pulled on it, bringing it around her shoulder and twisting it between her fingers. Another nervous tick she’d acquired. A yellow flower was woven into her lorcith charm, the first day she’d worn one in many weeks. 

“I haven’t come here since I learned.”

“It’s not like you haven’t been busy,” she said.

Rsiran sighed. Since returning from rescuing Jessa from Ilphaesn, he’d spent his time fortifying the smithy he’d taken over. Bars of the heartstone alloy now lined the inside of the walls, worked together as a barrier. He’d not risk Jessa’s safety again and let someone like Josun reach her. Now, no other Sliders would be able to enter the smithy, keeping them safe from the threat from the Forgotten for now. As far as Rsiran knew, only he could Slide past the alloy.

“I still should’ve come before now,” Rsiran said.

She grabbed his hand and turned him toward her. Her green eyes seemed especially bright under the full moonlight. Were he Sighted, like Jessa, he might see the tight lines of worry around her eyes that had been present since he’d rescued her from Josun. Instead, his ability was different. Once thought to be a dark ability, he’d finally come to accept his gifts from the Great Watcher. 

A hard-packed path led away from the building, winding back toward the rest of Elaeavn. This was separate, almost on the edge of the Aisl Forest, and surrounded by enough trees that you had to know where to look to find it. In spite of that, the steady sound of crashing waves carried even here, bringing the scent of salt air to mingle with the earthy odor of decay.

“Why? What has he done to deserve that?”

Instead of answering, Rsiran checked the knives stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t need to touch them to know where they were. The lorcith pulled on him, connecting to him in a way he still didn’t fully understand. Like his father, he had lorcith in his blood. That was part of the reason he’d come tonight. 

“I need answers. Della only has so many.” He thought about what Della had told him of his ability and of the Elvraeth, remembering her hesitation. “And some she won’t share.”

“You think she’s trying to hide something from you?” Jessa didn’t chide him as she once would have. Neither of them felt completely comfortable with what had happened to them. Risks taken that had kept them in the dark and pulled them into a fight that was greater than either of them.

The lorcith charm he’d made her hung openly from a small chain of the heartstone alloy around her neck. That had been the first thing he’d made after rescuing her. Delicate work that he’d asked the lorcith allow. After losing her once, Rsiran would do anything to keep Jessa safe. 

“I’m not so certain of that anymore.”

“Rsiran—”

“How much did Brusus keep from us? He knew what he had me doing… he knew the risk he asked of me and did it anyway.”

“Would we have done anything differently?”

He sighed again and shook his head. Brusus was family to him. 

“We shouldn’t do this. Let’s return to the city. By the time we get back, maybe Haern will be at the Barth. We can dice and have some ale—”

He shook his head. Since Lianna had died, the Wretched Barth hadn’t felt the same. Maybe that wasn’t right; since learning that Josun hadn’t died as he thought, nothing about the city felt the same. The Elaeavn he’d known was different now. Darker. The only place he felt comfortable was the smithy. Even there, he jumped every time he heard a strange sound.

“I need to see him. He deserves that much.”

“Does he? After what he did to you?”

Rsiran squeezed her hand. “If he hadn’t, I never would have met you.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Meeting Jessa was one of the few good things that had come from what his father had done to him. 

“I think I would have found you eventually. The Great Watcher would have seen to that.”

Rsiran didn’t argue. Only the Servants claimed to know what the Great Watcher intended. After everything that had happened to him, how could the Great Watcher have a plan with him? “Ready?” 

She squeezed his hand, signaling that she was.

Rsiran Slid past the door.

There came the familiar rush of stale air, reminiscent of the bitter scent of lorcith. Flashes of color streaked past him as he felt movement, though took only a single step. 

Such a brief Slide took little energy. Since facing Josun again, he’d taken to Sliding everywhere, building up his stamina so that Sliding great distances wouldn’t challenge him. When alone, he practiced Sliding rather than walking. In the weeks since he’d left Josun trapped inside Ilphaesn, he Slid everywhere. 

Bringing Jessa with him took only a little more effort. From the beginning, he’d Slid with her. First, throughout Elaeavn as they made their way through the city. Later to Ilphaesn and back or out to Firell’s ship. Usually, having her along comforted him. Today felt different. Today, she would meet his father.

Rsiran emerged from the Slide to see a shadowed room around him. Hard-packed dirt formed the floor, more evidence of the temporary nature of the building. A lantern with weak orange light streaming from it rested on the floor near the far wall. A small raised platform for a bed tucked into the corner. A low counter served as a makeshift kitchen. The place stank of a mixture of smoke and sweat.

Everything seemed more welcoming than the man living here deserved.

A small fire pit set away from the wall. Three logs that had burned down to glowing coals sent smoke drifting toward a hole cut in the roof. A stump rested near the fire pit and a lean man sat atop it, staring into the coals.

“Are you sure about this?” Jessa whispered.

“There’s nothing more he can do to me,” Rsiran answered. 

He took a step forward, Sliding without thinking about what he was doing. Jessa held his hand as they Slid, but said nothing. She had grown accustomed to him Sliding everywhere. Often, she preferred it. 

“They said you would come.”

The voice came from behind him and Rsiran spun. He should have realized there was someone else in here with them. Brusus wouldn’t leave him unguarded, not until he fully understood why his father had been in Asador. The Forgotten had taken him there, but they still didn’t understand why. 

He didn’t recognize the man near the door. Brown eyes looked back at him. Not of Elaeavn. 

Dressed in thick leathers, he carried a short sword—forbidden in Elaeavn except for the constables—made of steel. Rsiran frowned at it, thinking it might be one of his forgings, though it was difficult to tell. Working with steel gave him a way to practice the skills lorcith taught him, to see if he could carry it over to other metals. 

“What else did they say?” Rsiran asked.

The man grunted. He wore hair shorn close to his scalp, revealing the end of a long scar. He shrugged. “That I wasn’t to interfere with you.”

Rsiran narrowed his eyes. Did Brusus actually think this man could interfere with him? “And that’s it?”

A smile split the man’s face and reached his eyes. “Also said I should run if I saw one of your blades. Figured that was a joke.” He shrugged again as he studied Rsiran.

“How do you know Brusus?”

The man tilted his head, considering him a moment. “We’ve worked a few jobs together.”

“In Elaeavn?”

The man shook his head. “Mostly in Thyr.”

Rsiran tried to hide his surprise. Thyr. One of the great cities, though far enough away he’d never thought to be able to visit until he learned he could Slide. Rsiran knew little about the great cities. He’d only Slid to Asador once, and that was because he searched for Jessa. Like Asador, Thyr was home to a university. This man looked nothing like a scholar. But how had Brusus managed to reach Thyr? He couldn’t Slide like Rsiran, which meant he had to travel using more conventional methods. He’d never heard Brusus mention leaving the city before. 

“What’s your name?” He wanted to know who Brusus assigned for this duty. Until recently, he’d felt removed from Brusus’s work. Even now, he didn’t think he fully understood everything Brusus had in motion. 

The man tipped his head slightly, revealing more of the scar. It stretched from the top of his forehead all the way back along his skull. 

How had he survived a blow like that?

“Thom L’alin.” The man waited, as if expecting Rsiran to recognize his name. When he said nothing more, the man chuckled again. “And you must be Rsiran Lareth.” He turned, eyes slipping over Jessa. “Jessa?”

Rsiran frowned. How much had Brusus shared with Thom about Rsiran? Enough to know he could Slide. To Thom, it would appear as if Rsiran simply appeared in the room. Had Brusus said anything about Rsiran’s other ability? 

“I’d like some time alone here,” he said to Thom.

A dark hunger shone in his eyes as he looked at Jessa. “Guess we’ll be going then?”

She shook her head. “I stay.”

Thom shrugged. “Tell me when you leave.”

Rsiran nodded and Thom turned to the door, twisting the lock quickly and slipping outside. Jessa released Rsiran’s hand long enough to hurry to the door and lock it again.

Now they were alone with his father. Perhaps Jessa was right—maybe he shouldn’t have come.

“You finally come to finish me?”

Rsiran turned and looked at his father. He stared at the glowing embers. His face appeared long and gaunt, wasted compared to the muscular man Rsiran knew, but the beard that had been there the last time he’d seen him—the beard that prevented Rsiran from recognizing him—was gone. Lantern light reflected off eyes that had once been a brighter green. 

“Finish you? I’m the one who brought you out of Asador,” Rsiran said, Sliding forward a step. “I saved you.”

His father still didn’t turn. “You should’ve left me there. Then I wouldn’t have to see what you’ve become.”

Rsiran blinked slowly, hating how his words could still sting, even after all this time. “I’ve become what you made me. What the Great Watcher made me. Nothing more.”

His father finally looked toward him. His eyes were deep hollows. “If that’s what you wish to believe, but don’t think to lie to me. I’ve seen your work. The forgings you made. Dark works, things the Great Watcher never intended a smith to make with lorcith.”

Rsiran tensed. How had his father seen his forgings? “I make what the ore requests.”

He snorted and looked back toward the fire. “You should be better than that, but I’ve seen what you’ve made. Was forced to study it. ‘Recreate it,’ they said.” He shook his head. “Lorcith never calls like that unless you want it. Had you stayed and learned, you’d have understood.”

Without thinking, Rsiran Slid forward to stand in front of his father. He would make him look at him. He felt Jessa as she neared, the lorcith charm pulling on his senses. Even the heartstone chain around her neck pulled at him, though its call was soft, and barely there. He had to focus on the heartstone to hear it fully.

“Anything I learned of lorcith, I learned by working with it. Had you only been willing to listen, you might have understood how I made my forgings. The lessons the ore taught—”

“Dark lessons,” his father snapped. “Dangerous and forbidden.” His eyes looked past Rsiran and over at Jessa, lingering on the heartstone chain. They widened slightly. 

“Forbidden by who? The Elvraeth? Or the Great Watcher?”

He looked back at Rsiran. “Yes.”

Rsiran shook his head. Why did he let his father push him like this? “The Elvraeth only want to keep power. That’s why they control the lorcith so tightly. That’s why they created the myth of the dark ability.” He Slid forward, just a step, remembering when Josun told him how the Elvraeth worked to eliminate Sliding. Identifying the ability as a curse went a long way toward that end. Rsiran had lived nearly a year thinking he needed to hide what he could do… and when his father had learned of it, he punished him. “I’ve learned much since you banished me.”

His father blinked. “And forgotten much, as well, it seems.”

“What does that mean?” Rsiran heard the word “forgotten” and thought of everything he’d feared since learning of his ability. Banishment from the city, sent away from everything he knew. But by sending him to work in the mines, it was his father who had banished him, not the Elvraeth council. Exiled from everything he’d ever known. Forgotten, just as much as if he’d been sentenced by the council, until he’d decided he wouldn’t accept the exile. 

More than that, he thought of the Forgotten. He knew little about them other than that they were out there, searching for a way back into Elaeavn and back into power. Josun had worked with them to achieve their goals, until Rsiran left him in the mine he and Jessa had discovered on the other side of Ilphaesn, chained, unable to escape. 

His father leaned forward. Once thick arms had lost much of their muscle. Skin seemed to hang where before it had been taut and youthful. “You reach too far, Rsiran.” Was that a note of concern in his voice? “There are things we weren’t meant to make. Had you chosen to listen—to learn—rather than being so stubborn, you might have understood. Instead…” He shook his head and turned his eyes back to the fading fire.

Rsiran sighed. Arguing with his father would not get him the answers he sought. Better to confront him directly. Rsiran no longer needed his approval. 

Drawing on the sense of the lorcith knife in his pocket, he pushed it out and hung it suspended over the fire. The knife was simply made, the blade solid lorcith and forged in such a way the dull grey metal still appeared liquid. The knives he carried with him were weighted for pushing. Small enough to flick with a thought but dangerous enough to harm.

“Could you teach this?” he asked his father. Rsiran knelt, leaning so his father had to meet his eyes. “Did you keep this secret from me?”

His father blinked. For a moment, Rsiran thought he felt pressure on the knife, but maybe that was simply his imagination. Then his father’s eyes flickered up to Jessa, brighter than they’d been before. “You’re with him?”

The question carried a certain weight, but Jessa didn’t hesitate as she nodded. 

“Then it falls on you to keep him safe.” He looked at the knife but made no other movement. 

“From who?” Jessa’s voice came out like a whisper. Rsiran heard the uncertainty in it.

“From himself.”

Rsiran pulled the knife back toward him and snatched it out of the air. He thumbed the smooth edge of the blade, running his finger along it. Why had he come here? To taunt his father? To find the answer why he’d been pushed away from his family? He glanced at Jessa. Those answers didn’t matter anymore. Not like they once had. 

But there were other answers he did need. 

“Who took you to Asador?” Rsiran asked, wanting confirmation that it was the Forgotten. He slipped the knife back into his pocket, feeling foolish for letting his emotions get the best of him. Seeing his father took him back to all the times spent within his smithy, times when he’d feared making any wrong move while hoping to impress him enough that he’d allow him to work the forge. Now it didn’t matter. Rsiran had his own forge and access to a supply of lorcith his father once would have longed for. 

His father stared at the crackling coals and said nothing.

Rsiran stood and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t get angry—not again. “Why were you trapped there? What did they want with you?”

Moments passed with the only sound that of the coals snapping. Finally, his father shook his head. “They wanted you.” He spoke softly and didn’t look over at Rsiran.

“Why? What would they want with me?”

“Because you started this. You began making weapons of lorcith again. For centuries, that had been forbidden.” He looked up, and a distant look crossed his eyes. “You think you control the lorcith? You think me cruel for forcing it to become what I want rather than letting the ore work through me? You think you have learned so much, that you know what it means to have the blood of the smiths run through you, but you are nothing more than a child playing at the forge.”

Rsiran swallowed and leaned forward but felt Jessa’s hand on his arm. She squeezed, pulling him back before he did or said something more foolish than he’d already managed. He looked over at her, saw the way she bit her lip, her chin tilted toward her flower as she sniffed softly, and knew she’d been right. He shouldn’t have come.

He took her hand. “This was a mistake,” he said.

“You’ve made plenty,” his father said.

Rsiran sighed. “Maybe I should have left you in the cage in Asador with the Forgotten. You would have been happier then, if you’ve ever been really happy. At least I wouldn’t have to wonder if I did right by bringing you back to Elaeavn.” He turned and looked at Jessa. “Let’s go.”

She looked over at his father as if she wanted to say something but bit her lip again. She held his hand, squeezing. 

Rsiran Slid toward the door. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of hiding the ability from him. Not after everything he’d been through. At the door, he hesitated. Without looking back, he said, “Alyse thinks you left her and mother. Should she think you’re dead too?”

His father sucked in a quick breath. “You’ve seen Alyse?”

It hurt that Alyse meant so much to him. “I’ve seen her. She works in Lower Town now.”

“How… how was she?”

Rsiran snorted and shook his head. Perhaps he should have started with word on Alyse. Maybe then, he would have gotten the answers he wanted. “Angry. But well.” Rsiran looked back. His father stared at the wall rather than the fire. “If I see her again?”

“Whatever else happens to them, it’s better for them that I be dead.” He looked over to Rsiran, and his eyes softened. “Let them have that,” he begged.

Rsiran stared, debating his answer. Finally, he nodded and then Slid past the door.