The darkest shadows lived in the deep fissures of the mountain. Shadows so dense that they’d never felt the stinging touch of light. A black so deep as to obscure sound, distance, and all sense of direction. It tasted of sharp minerals and caressed the skin like a malevolent blanket, making the world spin with a slow, phantom motion.
Am I moving? Slipping? Will the stone give way again?
Riven clung to the rock face, his muscles trembling. It wasn’t so much the drop that set his limbs to their panicked state—it couldn’t be too far, since the pebbles his boots had disturbed had clattered against something not long after taking their ill-fated tumble. He hadn’t thought to count, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before they hit the ground.
Or whatever horror lay below.
What made Riven’s guts tighten as he hugged the curved, irregular surface of the cave wall was the darkness. It yawned beneath him, whispering a steady breeze that tickled the messy hair on his forehead and smelled of rich, pure water. It reminded him of the rain in the springtime, when the warm air in the south would rush northward and bring thunderstorms to the mountains. Clinging to the rock wasn’t so unpleasant. There was no reason to let go. Not until he was ready.
“Are you all right?” came a rough feminine voice from behind.
Riven let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m not sure, Lys. All right is kind of relative sometimes.”
“Where are you?” The sound of hands beating at fabric drifted from the dark, and then Lysara fell into a short fit of coughs. Her boots scrunched on stone, approaching from the corridor from which Riven had just tumbled. “Lost my damn torch in the fall. Where—”
“Stop!” Riven called, turning his neck as best he could while he clung to his perch. “There’s a drop-off somewhere close to you!”
“A drop-off?” She called back, and by the stiffness of her voice, she’d frozen in place.
“Somewhere, though I’m not sure.” Riven took one of his boots away from the wall of the cave and prodded blindly at the air, checking again for a perch, rock, or anything he could use for a foothold. He found only air. “I… took a few wrong steps after the fall. Fell again.”
“Where are you?” she called back. “I can’t see anything.”
“Not far from you,” he replied, grunting as he searched with his toes for another foothold along the stone. “I’m… kind of in a bad spot here. Think I’m going to fall.”
Lysara growled a curse under her breath. “I’m going to slap Nalek bloody if you get hurt. This was a stupid idea in the first place. Can you hang on?”
“Barely.” He shifted his feet the slightest bit. “But be careful. But hurry, too. Hurry and be careful.”
“Don’t be such a damsel,” she shot back, the sound of her voice changing as she began her search. “You are a shadow weaver, after all. Don’t you have any grand powers you can put to use?”
“Very funny.” Riven shifted again, and tried a careful glance below—no good, the darkness was as dense as liquid. “Grand powers don’t just come to you, you know. You have to be taught.”
Her voice drifted further, bouncing from the stone of the cave. “Aren’t shadow weavers supposed to be able to see in the dark? Take a peek back here, Archweaver Yuriel, and see if you can spot where the torch landed.”
“Archweaver Yuriel,” Riven scoffed. “Don’t speak ill on my family name. If I fall and die, it will be your fault, you know.”
“Nope,” she called, her voice even farther away.
Riven’s hands trembled harder, but he tried to keep his voice smooth. “You’ll have to tell my parents, too!”
The sound of cluttering filtered through the air—Lysara searching the darkness. “Oh, you mean tell them how you came in here because Nalek, of all people, dared you? That we were looking for greencap mushrooms? Sure, I’ll tell them, all right.”
“You could leave out the mushroom part.” Riven’s body trembled harder, but he closed his eyes and tightened his mental control of his body. His legs trembled even harder. “Lys?”
“Yeah?”
“I… ah, I think I might fall soon.”
The rooting about paused, then increased. “No, you’re not! Just hold on!”
“I am.” Riven spoke through his teeth, growling with the effort of his spider-like clutch. “It’s… not helping much!”
Lysara continued her search, and with every passing second, Riven could feel his fingers slipping. Another breeze ruffled the fabric of his tunic, and he pressed his body tighter to the rock face. The stone dug into his fingertips with the pressure of his grip, though his only hold was a tiny dip in the rock’s surface. He shifted his feet, and as he did, a piece of stone fell away from beneath his heel.
The sudden loss of the stone put too much weight on his toes, and his body started pulling away from the face of the rock. His heart lurched, and his stomach tightened with sudden panic. His fingers began to slip, first a tiny bit, then a steady slide.
“Lys!” he hissed, his voice tight with strain. “I need to tell you something!”
“Tell me nothing!” she shot back. “I found my pack! Just hold on!”
“I—”
His hand slipped from the pitted surface of the rock. He clawed for another handhold, but his fingers only scraped across the stone. His body pitched, and as the narrow footholds slipped from his boots, his last instinct was to cower into a fetal ball as he fell into darkness.
“Riven!” Lys screamed, her echoing voice chasing him downward.
He had a couple of seconds to experience pure terror, his mind conjuring all sorts of dark fates waiting below—a forest of sharp protrusions, a rushing underground river, or a slumbering, hungry beast. He reached somewhere deep inside him, motivated by sheer terror, and opened his mind’s eye to the Essence—that timeless, ethereal force that imbued the world and everything in it. It filled him like molten lava, like liquid lightning, rushing through his senses and igniting them.
The magic hit his body just before he hit the stone, and with his heightened senses, he got to feel every bit of the impact.
Riven had been punched in the stomach before, and he’d once fallen from the Alderman’s wagon, but the cold stone of the cave floor hit him so hard that his sight filled with dancing motes. The breath fled his chest like a hare fleeing a hound, and with it, the heightened senses of the Essence. He tried to suck in a breath, but it was if his lungs were permanently deflated. All he could do was groan while his chest burned for air.
“Riven!” Lys screamed, her tone mad with worry. “Riv! Oh, Holy Mother, please—Riv! Can you hear me?!”
Riven managed to get a mouthful of air into his lungs, but when he tried to form words, his vision sparkled again. The attempt brought on a headache, and as the pain set into his head, the rest of it hit him all at once. His body thrummed with a dull, deep agony. He managed to make some kind of noise, but it wasn’t anything intelligible.
He hugged his arms around his tender body, finally able to take a breath, and rolled side to side in a fruitless attempt to relieve the pain. Despite the movements he made, time was the only thing that lessened the blow. As the shock of it left his system, he was able to draw in a deep breath.
Thank the Mother my ribs aren’t broken. Riven rolled to his side, but when he tried putting weight on his arm, his entire torso protested. He gave up and laid on his back—there was no reason to rush things.
A light appeared above him, and for a moment, Riven thought he’d smacked his skull too hard. Lysara’s victorious curse brought him back to reality, however. The cave gradually brightened as she got her torch burning again, and then it appeared above him, swinging out over the drop. Lysara’s face came next, peering down at him with fear creasing her brow.
Riven’s chest gave an extra thump at the sight of her soft features torn with worry. Her eyes reflected misty in the torchlight, and she was dusty from their fall. Her brown hair was tousled from the simple ponytail she always wore, and sweat cut little tracks through the rock dust sticking to her face. The sleeve of her shirt was torn from their earlier fall, but she bore no other signs of injury.
She was the most beautiful girl on Teradin, even covered in all that dirt.
“Are you… all right?” Riven tried to say, though the words came out in a rough grunt.
Lys made a scoffing noise, and her face did a quick little dance between relief, humor, and fond irritation. “I’m fine, you fool. And you? Is anything broken?”
“I don’t think so.” Riven closed his eyes and kept breathing. “Everything hurts, though.”
“Of course it does, you… you idiot.” Lysara made an irritated growl under her throat. “Gods of the stars, Riv, the way you talked, I thought you’d fallen to your death. I… I thought you were—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not.” Riven opened his eyes, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Lys, I touched the Essence.”
Lysara gave him a bewildered look. “You what?”
“I touched the Essence.” Riven’s smile widened. “Right before I hit the ground, I felt it! It was… I don’t know. It was wild.”
Her expression relaxed into a fond grin. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Riven chuckled and finally summoned the strength to roll to his side. “It was like… like fire inside my body, Lys. I can barely describe it.”
Lysara snorted. “Maybe it’s just your cracked head. I thought you’d died, you great fool. Gods, you had me worried.”
“You were worried about me, huh?”
Lysara made an even louder derisive noise. “If you die, Riv, I’ll have to spend all my time with Revania. She has the most annoying laugh in Farroden. You’re slightly better.”
“Only slightly?” he grunted, finally getting to his feet.
“Shut up, Riv.” She let out an irritated sigh and disappeared back into the corridor above. “Just stay there. I’ve got a rope in my pack.”
The torchlight faded, and Riven shook his head. “Fine, just leave me in the dark!”
“You don’t need me anymore,” she called from the room above. “You have the Essence now! Big man Riven, he’ll be an Archweaver now!”
Riven rolled his eyes as Lysara went on, making up a story about how noble and squeaky his backside would be now that he’s important. Riven snickered at a few parts of her story and stretched his body, testing the limits of his movement. His body still thrummed with a dull ache, and his breathing was shallow, but he was otherwise fine.
Gods in the dark, I touched the Essence!
Excitement bubbled in his injured chest, and he would have jumped for joy if his legs didn’t feel so unsteady. He’d only managed to touch the Essence three times before. Once during his Awakening—an entirely embarrassing episode. Other weavers might have grand stories about the first time they touched magic. Maybe they’d been facing down a bully or in fear of their life. Riven had been startled by another boy when he’d come out of a public privy, and that had been enough to bring his magic to the surface. Shadows had leapt up around him, but he hadn’t the knowledge to control them, so they followed him around, clinging to him like dark little clouds, until the Essence left him like a disappointed lover. While some of the village kids had been excited, everyone had laughed.
To make things worse, shadow weaving was rare in Aldris, where light weaving was the order of the day. Prince Aldris himself was a lightweaver, and so, lightweavers enjoyed special status in the Princedom. There were three light weaving guilds in Aldrion, the capital, and another two in other parts of the Princedom. Shadow weavers, though? Shadow weavers, as everyone knew, were more valued in Brysta.
Brysta, however, was a long way from Farroden. The village was so high in the Netherine Mountains that Prince Aldris’s officiate, Lord Magra, never bothered to venture into the passes. It was so insignificant, in fact, that Farroden hadn’t seen a tax collector in three years. The Alderman japed that the Lord had just forgotten them, but most of the townsfolk figured he was too fat to make the trip, even in a fancy float-cart.
The ongoing war was another issue, of course. Aldris’s eastern border was shared with Caldar—a Princedom ruled by another of the Four Princes. Aldris’s younger, and more ruthless, brother was always testing the strength of Aldris’s defenses. Farroden wasn’t far from the northernmost part of Caldar’s border, but it was far from the concerns of the Princes.
The problem, however, was that Prince Aldris had put a writ in place three years ago requiring written permission for anyone traveling outside the Princedom, even to join a weaving guild. What’s more, no one in a position of authority would allow a weaver to leave Aldris for Brysta, home to the most cunning and secretive of the Princes. She, who was a powerful shadow weaver herself, had started the most fearsome of the shadow weaving guilds, and it was widely known to be loyal to her.
What’s more, Riven’s parents could never pay the bribes to allow him to go, nor finance his learning. He was doomed to be a weaver without skill, fated to feel his way through essence weaving like a child grasping in the dark. He’d never take shadow form or walk through darkness. Riven’s future would end where it began—in Farroden.
At least Lysara was here, too. Things were tolerable with her. Most of the time.
“Found it!” her voice called from somewhere above. “Just need to find a good spot to tie it off!”
Riven sighed. “Take your time! It’s not like I’m stuck down a shaft in a dangerous cave, or anything!”
“Oh, I’ll get right on it, Archweaver!”
Riven snickered and bent to brush the dust from his breeches. His knees were both scraped, and his breeches had corresponding tears. He groaned—these pants weren’t his best, exactly, but they were the most comfortable. Once you started sewing holes in a pair as nice and worn as these, the days were numbered. Riven only had four pairs in the first place, and his mother’s hands were constantly hurting these days. He’d have to bargain for another pair when the wagons came in from the lowlands, and that wouldn’t be until spring.
An odd sensation tickled him, like a hum or an itch somewhere deep in his ribcage. It started as a curiosity, but as Riven scratched at his chest and realized the feeling was coming from inside of him, fear bloomed in the back of his mind. What if he’d broken something important inside his body? Old Tullian, when he’d been kicked dumb by the miller’s mule, had popped back up off the ground and spoke as normal as you please. It was the next day, after he’d slept, when the damage was apparent. Maybe it was the same for Riven—maybe this itch would grow into something terrible. Riven crouched to the stone, one hand to his chest, listening to the sound of his own breathing.
There was no more than the pain of his bruising as he inhaled, no catch or stitch as he exhaled. Still, the itch inside of him grew until it became a steady hum that permeated even his ribcage, then spread to the rest of his bones. Warmth filled his muscles, and soon, even the pain of his fall began to soothe. It didn’t go away, but in the noise of the silent hum, it faded to something tolerable.
“Lys?” he said, though it wasn’t clear she could hear him amongst all that noise. “Do you… do you feel that?”
Had he even spoken aloud?
The darkness loomed around him, but it didn’t feel threatening. It caressed him like warm water, and as his mind accepted that idea, something clicked inside him. The hum became a steady vibration, and the Essence once again rushed into his body.
Riven gasped as the magic subsumed him. The air was chill in his mouth, and he could taste the sharp minerals in the air. He stood, suddenly full of energy, and stretched his warm muscles. He was still in pain, but it no longer affected his movement. His body felt limber and warm.
The cave, shrouded in darkness before, now revealed its secrets. Part of the upper passage, where he and Lysara had fallen, had given way in the past. The rock face he’d clung to was maybe the height of a second or third story, and smoother than he would have thought. Lysara’s torchlight now reflected from the smooth rocks above, and he could see her shadow moving around as she searched the little chamber above. In a strange way, in fact, he could feel her shadow.
Before he could explore that idea a bit farther, something thrummed from deeper in the cave. It pulled at him, demanding his attention the way Lysara sometimes did when she walked through a beam of sunlight. Another thrum, and he found himself venturing toward the source of the phenomenon. Riven picked his way deeper into the cave, away from the drop-off where Lysara was looking for a place to tie off her rope. He scrambled down a gentle rock slope, keeping his feet on the stone and sliding on his backside, until he found another chamber.
The stone, now that he could see, was worn into smooth, curved humps as if the cave had been made by a smooth flow of water over thousands and thousands of years. Riven couldn’t see the color of the stone, not exactly, but its shade came to his eyes in ultra-subdued tones of light and darkness. It was striped with lighter and darker veins, creating a mesmerizing pattern that reminded him again of flowing water. The stone narrowed toward the back of the chamber and made a turn to the right.
Something beyond that turn was glowing.
At first, it seemed the light must be from an exit to the cave—at least, that was Riven’s first thought. Where else could light come from, after all, but the outside world? The Essence, however, whispered of something different.
Even with his strange shadow-vision, if that’s what it was called, it was apparent that the light was pulsing in a slow rhythm. Riven breathed in time with the rise and fall of it, though he didn’t remember making that effort. By the time he realized it, though, he couldn’t stop it.
He made his way toward that source of light, picking over the curved, irregular stone. With every step, his body demanded that he move faster. It was a feeling akin to smelling roasting meat after a hard day’s work—a hunger, but coming from somewhere new. From deep in his chest, where the Essence now burned.
As he neared the turn in the tunnel, patterns emerged on the wall of the cave. They were twisted, interlacing lines carved into the stone. The pattern was like the roots of a plant, or maybe the tiniest branches of a spreading tree. As Riven got closer to them, he could feel another tugging sensation, as if his breath were being pulled from his lungs and toward the source of these strange patterns.
When he turned the corner, his steps froze in place.
Set into the cave wall, or protruding from it, was a massive formation of glowing crystal. The lines in the surrounding stone all led back to the crystal, as if they were actual roots drawing nutrients from the rock. Now that Riven could see it, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His heart beat along with the rhythm of its pulsating light now, and his feet moved toward it of their own accord. The hum in his chest grew deafening.
“Weaverstone!” he said, though the words came out breathless.
His hands touched the crystal before he realized he’d crossed the distance, and as his fingers contacted the smooth, warm crystal, a spark went through him. He sucked in an excited breath, and all at once, he could feel the entire crystal deposit. It reached deep into the ground—into the mountain itself!
“Riv?”
Lysara’s voice echoed from the stone, calling to him from far away. He muttered something in reply, though the words were lost as soon as they escaped his lips. A little puff of darkness came out, as if he was smoking his father’s pipe, and Riven’s eyes fell to his body. Shadows rose from him like mist from a pond, but around his hands, where he touched the weaverstone, they swirled like a whirlpool.
“Riv, what’s happening?” Lys’s voice was closer now, and the sound of boots scuffed in the corridor outside.
Riven ripped his hand away from the weaverstone, feeling suddenly as if his mother had caught him sneaking out his window in the night. The effort was more difficult than he thought, but he was able to pull back from it as Lysara stepped around the corner. The darkness that had swirled around Riven dissipated, rising like steam and mixing with the shadows in the room.
When he met Lys’s gaze, he found her gaping at him.
“Riv… is that—?”
“Weaverstone,” he said, nodding. “And gods, Lysara—it’s big.”
“I can see that.” She stepped closer, her astonished gaze reflected in the glow of the magical stone. “Gods, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this much weaverstone in one place!”
“You don’t understand,” he said, his hand drifting back toward the crystal before he pulled back again. “I… I can feel it, somehow. It goes deep, Lys. All the way into the heart of the mountain, if not farther.”
She gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He stepped away, coming even with her, and joined her in staring at the crystal. “I’m touching the Essence now. I couldn’t do it before, but standing here… it’s like I can’t not touch it.”
Lysara gave him a sharp glance and snapped her fingers.
“What?” he said.
Instead of replying, Lysara slung her pack from her shoulders. She crouched to the stone and rooted around inside her pack until she came out with a thick-handled dagger. She showed it to him, walked over to the crystal, and started banging on it with the pommel of her dagger.
“What are you doing?” Riv said, rushing up beside her. “You don’t know what will happen if—”
“I know one thing,” she growled, still chipping at a protruding crystal the size of her hand. “As soon as folks hear about this, things are going to get crazy. Everyone will want a piece, and they’ll all start fighting about how to make gold from it. But you’re the only weaver in Farroden, and you found it, so—”
The hand-sized crystal cracked away from the massive deposit, and despite Riven’s fear, nothing exploded. It tumbled to the stone, and Lysara made a happy little sound and bent to pick it up. She brushed it off, smiled, and shoved it into Riven’s hand.
“There you are, Archweaver.” She smiled. “Maybe that will help you somehow.”
“Lys, I can’t take this!” he said even as his fingers closed around it. “What if someone finds out that I have it? Gods of the stars, what if my mother finds it? My father?”
Lysara shrugged. “It’s not illegal, is it?”
“No, but—”
“But what?” Lysara waved his concerns aside. “Just take it, Riv. Hide it, keep it, use it to learn. I just… I don’t know. I want you to have something before everyone else—”
“Hey!” came another voice from behind them. “Hey! What was all that screaming earlier?”
Riv winced, and Lysara cursed under her breath.
“I told him to stay outside,” she growled. “You have to stop him from coming down here!”
“Nalek?” Riv started to protest, but as soon as the words came to his lips, he hesitated. “How am I supposed to do that? Threaten him?”
Lysara made an uncertain noise in her throat, glancing between the crystal, Riven, and the dark tunnel beyond. Riven winced, shoved the piece of weaverstone into his shirt, and worked his way around the corner. It was more difficult getting up the slight incline than it had been getting down, and before Riven got halfway across the curved chamber, torchlight appeared from the room beyond—Nalek had already climbed down the rope.
“Hey!” he called again, his voice bouncing from the stone. “Lysara! Riven! Are you—”
“We’re down here, Nalek!” Riven said, wincing at the noise. “Everything’s fine! Stop your screaming, for the gods’ sakes.”
“Was just worried, that’s all,” came the reply. The torchlight drew nearer, and the sound of scuffling boots preceded Nalek himself. He was thin and blond-haired, and he wore the same practical clothes that Riven and Lysara did—tunic, breeches, and boots. Nalek’s, however, were in greater disrepair. His family was amongst the poorest in Farroden, as his father refused to do much but drink all day.
“We’re all right,” Riven said. “Took a little fall, but we’re good.”
Nalek narrowed his eyes. “You look pretty banged up for good, Riven. Why are you looking at me that way?”
Riv stiffened, but did his best to appear casual. “What way? Don’t be weird.”
“Guilty.” Nalek narrowed his eyes. “Same look my da gives my ma when he’s done something stupid. What’s happening down here? You and Lys finally tear each others’ clothes off, did you?”
“Oh, shut up, Drenor!” Lysara shouted from behind Riven.
Nalek grinned. “Are you naked back there, Lys? Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Nalek made to step past Riven, but Riven stepped into his path.
“Don’t, Nalek.” Riv shook his head. “Please.”
A playful smile split Nalek’s face. “Oh, she is naked back there, isn’t she?”
Riven shook his head again, but before he could say more, Nalek shuffled to the side. Riv side-stepped to meet him, and the two engaged in a quick battle of position, Nalek laughing all the while. The blond man was quicker, though, and he feinted toward Riven’s face with his torch, forcing him backward. Chuckling with glee, Nalek slipped past Riven and scrambled toward the back of the cave.
“Nalek, wait!” Riven called, but it was too late.
Nalek skipped toward the turn in the cave, and when he reached the point where he could see the massive weaverstone deposit, his playful steps slowed to a bewildered stop. He gaped at the glowing crystal, eyes reflecting its light blue tone. Lysara made to push him away, but Nalek pushed her hand aside and remained in place, speechless.
“That’s… that’s weaverstone, isn’t it?”
Lysara uttered an irritated sigh, but she nodded.
“And… and that’s just been here this whole time?” Nalek said. “Just… just waiting here, like this?”
“It takes thousands of years for Essence to form weaverstone,” Riv said, “so it must’ve been.”
Nalek took a deep breath and stepped toward the crystal. He ran his fingers along its formations, hands shaking. He shook his head in disbelief, then as if to clear it, then in disbelief again. He made to speak several times, but couldn’t seem to find the words. Finally, he turned to them, his eyes full of hunger.
“Listen, both of you—forget about the damn mushrooms. We’re going to be rich.”
“We can’t tell anyone about this!” Lysara snapped. “What do you think will happen when word gets out?”
Nalek made an angry shrug, as if the answer were obvious. “We get rich, Lys! That’s what!”
“Don’t be a fool, Drenor.” Lysara shoved stabbed her hand toward the crystal. “That much weaverstone will cause a war, Drenor. You think someone’s going to come pay for the right to mine it? You think Aldris will pay you some kind of finder’s fee, like discovering it makes it yours?”
“Maybe!” Nalek scoffed. “You don’t know how these things work, Lys. You’re just a stupid village girl. If we found it, they’ll pay us! That’s how it works!”
“We didn’t find it,” she said, shoving a finger in his face. “Riv found it. So by your rules, it’s his.”
Nalek scoffed again. “Is that right?”
Lysara crossed her arms and raised her chin. “That’s right. What do you have to say to that?”
Nalek grinned. He turned to Riven, still smiling, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Riven expected him to ask for his opinion, but the next thing he knew, Nalek’s friendly hand was pulling him toward the stone. His knee came up to meet Riven’s stomach, and in the impact, he felt a hefty portion of the pain from his fall again. He crumpled to the stone, the Essence fleeing him.
“Hey!” Lysara growled, stepping toward Nalek. “You can’t—!”
Nalek shoved Lysara hard against the side of the cave, and she went down with a yelp. Her torch tumbled to the foot of the crystal, but luckily, it didn’t go out. Riven growled, suddenly filled with rage, but with no breath in his chest, the sound only made him dizzy.
Before either Lys or Riven could rise, Nalek had scrambled up the incline and into the chamber with the rope. Riv tried to get to his feet, but his gut protested any movement. Nalek’s curses echoed from the cave as his torchlight faded.
Lysara raised herself from the floor and shared a grim look with Riven. There was no stopping it now—everyone would know about the weaverstone.
Everything in Farroden was about to change.