The Shadow Of What Was Lost (3 page)

“Perhaps,” came the first
stranger's voice, sounding unimpressed. “It should suffice for now.”

“That's good." A pause.
" So do you think it’s Hunters, then? I heard that -”

There was a scuffling of feet too
close for Davian's comfort, right by the door. He darted away. Whatever that
conversation had been about, it hadn't been meant for his ears, and it sounded
far too serious for him to simply interrupt.

He walked around the hallways for
a few minutes, uneasy as he puzzled over what he'd heard. Schools had been
attacked? He knew it happened, every so often - Hunters working in groups, or
sometimes just common townsfolk deciding that they didn't like living so close
to the Gifted. But he hadn't heard of any major attacks in the last few months,
and certainly none on the scale the strangers had been suggesting.

Eventually he sighed, realising
that he hadn't overheard enough to understand what was really going on. If it
was something he and the other students needed to be worried about, he was sure
the Elders would let them know.

Soon he decided that enough time
had passed to try again; sure enough, when he returned to the Administrator's
office the door was wide open. Talean was alone as he pored over some notes,
his shirt sleeves rolled up and his blue Administrator’s cloak draped over the
back of a nearby chair. He removed his reading glasses and stood as Davian came
to a halt in front of the desk.

“Ah, so Mistress Alita finally
found you. I see you’re still in one piece,” he said with a hint of amusement.

The corners of Davian’s mouth
turned upward, relieved that Talean was not going to dwell on the events of
last night with him. “I’ll wait until everyone finds out why there’s no midday
meal before I celebrate,” he said dryly.

Talean grinned. “Probably wise.”
He gestured for Davian to follow him over to a cupboard in the corner, the
motion revealing the tattoo on his bare right forearm. Davian repressed a
shudder, as he did every time he saw an Administrator’s Mark. It was the same
as that found on the Gifted – a circle surrounding a man, woman and child – but
the Administrators’ were always coloured red, not black. It made them look like
burns, as if they had been seared into the flesh.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had
to put one of these on you,” Talean noted as he rummaged about in the bottom of
the cupboard.

Davian shrugged. “I don’t get
sent out as often as everyone else. I can’t imagine why,” he added, sarcasm
thick in his tone.

Talean paused, glancing over his
shoulder at Davian. “It is out of a desire to protect you, Davian. In their
shoes, I might do the same. There’s no shame in it.” He scratched his beard.
“Speaking of which - I know you don’t usually go out alone. I could ask Elder
Olin to find you a companion, if you'd like.”

Davian reddened, shaking his
head. “It’s been three years. I don’t need special treatment any more. From
anyone,” he added significantly.

Talean sighed. “True. True
enough.” He emerged from the cupboard grasping a torc, the twisted bands of
onyx-like metal polished so brightly that Davian could see his own distorted
reflection in them. “Hold out your arm. You should sit down first, too.”

Davian shrugged. “I’ve never
found it has much effect on me.”

Talean grunted. “Still. I’ve had
too many students say exactly that, and then wonder why I can’t be bothered
catching them when they fall. Not a few Elders, too, though don’t tell them I
told you so.”

Davian grinned. “Fair enough.” He
sat compliantly in a nearby chair, stretching out his left arm so that the
wrist was exposed, along with his own tattoo. He flinched as Talean pressed the
two points of the open end of the torc against his Mark, shivering as he felt
the device moulding itself to his arm, the ice-cold metal slithering forward
over his skin and finally joining, completely encasing the forearm. The entire
process only took a few seconds.

He looked up at the
Administrator, who was watching him closely.

“Take your time,” said Talean.

Davian shook his head. “No need.”
Most Gifted found putting on a Shackle a fairly traumatic experience – it could
cause lethargy, dizziness, even nausea for some. All Davian felt, though, was
slightly weaker and a little more weary, as if the cold metal had stolen away
an hour or two of the previous night’s sleep. Even that much could have been
his imagination, given how tired he was already.

Before, he'd always considered
that good fortune... but today, he found himself wondering whether it was
something else entirely.

Still - Davian could sense a cold
layer of
something
sitting just beneath his skin, encasing him, sapping
at his strength. The device was definitely working.

He stood, Talean still watching
him intently. Davian rubbed at the Shackle with his finger, tracing the
markings etched into the cold steel.

“I’m not even sure why I need to
wear this, sometimes,” he said, a hint of dejection in his tone. Talean raised
an eyebrow at him, and Davian snorted at his expression. “Don’t worry, I’m not
questioning the Treaty. I only meant that I can’t use the Gift anyway. This,
the Tenets - none of it really seems relevant to me at the moment.”

Talean grimaced, so briefly that
Davian wondered if he'd imagined it. Then the Administrator gave him a
sympathetic nod. “Of course. Even so.” He placed his hand on Davian’s shoulder.
“By the Fourth Tenet, return to the school once you have finished.”

Davian rolled his eyes, feeling
the slight warmth on his left arm as the Tenet took effect. “Is that
necessary?”

Talean raised an eyebrow. “You
want me to risk a troublemaker like you running away?”

Davian gave a slight smile,
shaking his head in wry amusement. “Fine. I’ll see you when I get back.”

He felt a sudden stab of
nervousness as he walked back out into the courtyard; he hadn’t had time to
think about it since waking, but this would be the first time in months he’d
been outside alone. Despite his bravado to Talean, he really would have felt
more comfortable with a companion on the journey.

It was always that way, though.
He couldn’t let his past – his fears - inconvenience everyone else forever.

He hitched Jeni, the school's
mule, to the rickety old cart they used for transporting supplies. She was a
placid animal, and as always stood happily until the process was complete. He
absently noted that there were three horses tethered in the courtyard, where
there would usually be none. They belonged to the mysterious visitors he'd
overheard talking to Talean, presumably.

Soon enough, he was ready. Taking
a deep breath to steel himself, he gave Jeni’s reins a gentle tug and set off
for Caladel.

The road was quiet.

Davian led Jeni at a relaxed
pace, kicking loose stones along in front of himself as he walked, enjoying the
feel of the sun on his back. This - the solitude - was always his favourite
part of the journey. The cliffside road had been a major highway before the war,
but now it was all but abandoned; the cobblestones were cracked and crumbling
where nature had taken its course, and weeds sprouted anywhere they could get a
foothold. It was still easily the shortest route north for anyone living in
town, but it also passed within a hundred feet of the school. Only the Gifted
used it any more.

Soon enough though, he rounded a
curve in the road and the picturesque township of Caladel came into view,
nestled between the sparkling coastline and surrounding hills.

He sighed.

Davian was avoided as he made his
way down into the streets, Jeni and cart in tow. A few hawkers and merchants
were out selling their wares, but none called to him as he passed. They knew he
would not have money for them - and worse, having him seen at their stall or
shop would keep other customers away.

For his part, Davian kept his
eyes lowered, trying not to meet the gaze of the townspeople giving him a wide
berth. He'd been to Caladel many times before, but the wary, sometimes
disgusted look in the eyes that followed him still stung. After a while he
found himself hunching his shoulders, as if the stares were a physical pressure
on his back. He hurried between his destinations as unobtrusively as possible.

His purchases went smoothly
today. In the past, some merchants had refused to sell to him or had demanded
outrageous prices for their goods; whenever that happened he knew to return to
the school empty-handed rather than cause a scene. This afternoon though, much
to his relief, the storekeepers were cold but willing to trade. Most people
didn’t want to be seen dealing with the Gifted, but the school brought in a lot
of business – and when earnings were counted at the end of the day, a coin from
the Gifted was just as good as one from anyone else.

Even so, it was with some relief
that Davian hitched Jeni outside the small, dimly-lit butcher’s shop that held
the last items on his list. He’d dealt with the owner many times before, and
didn’t anticipate any trouble.

“Afternoon, Master Dael,” he said
respectfully as he entered.

The butcher was a thin man, no
older than forty, with a bushy moustache that dwarfed his narrow face.
“Morning, lad,” he replied, looking neither happy nor unhappy to see him. He
never learned the names of his regular Gifted customers – none of the
shopkeepers did – but Master Dael was unfailingly polite, which was an
improvement on most.

Davian handed him a slip of
paper. “This is everything.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Master
Dael said as he read the list.

Behind him, the bell hanging
above the door rang as another customer entered. The butcher glanced up, and
immediately his demeanour changed.

“Get out,” he growled, looking
twice the size he had a moment ago. “We don’t serve the likes of you here.”

For a moment, Davian thought the order
was directed at him; some shopkeepers were only willing to sell to the Gifted
when there was nobody else present to see. In those situations, Davian knew to
simply take Jeni around the back of the shop and wait for the shopkeeper to
come and find him.

Master Dael’s gaze was focused
past him, though. Davian turned to see an unfamiliar young man – no more than
five years older than Davian himself – frozen in the doorway. Even in the dim
light, Davian could see the black spiderweb of veins running jagged lines
across his face, outward from his eyes.

The butcher’s scowl deepened when
the newcomer didn’t move. “You heard me,” he said angrily.

“I just wanted -”

Before Davian knew what was
happening there was a stout oak club in Master Dael’s hands, and the thin man
was advancing around the counter.

The Shadow turned and fled,
leaving only the clanging of the door’s bell in his wake.

Immediately, Master Dael’s
expression reverted to its usual, businesslike state, as if nothing had
transpired. “I apologise for that.”

“That’s... okay,” said Davian,
trying not to sound shaken. He glanced again at the shop door, hesitating as he
thought of Leehim. He knew he shouldn’t say anything more.

“So you don’t serve Shadows?”

The butcher gave him a withering
look. “No self-respecting shopkeep would, and fates take me if I care what they
do up in Ilin Illan. I may not like you Gifted, but this is a business and I’d
be a poor man if I only traded with those I liked. Shadows, on the other
hand….” He looked around as if trying to find somewhere to spit. “I've been
hearing plenty about them and this Shadraehin fellow that everyone's talking
about. The types of things, the
evil
things that their kind get up to...
well, some stories you just can’t ignore. A man has to draw the line
somewhere.”

Davian kept his expression
carefully neutral. He'd never heard of this 'Shadraehin' before - not unusual,
as the school was too isolated to get many of the rumours that filtered down
from the capital - but it just sounded like the usual fear-mongering
Administration liked to spread.

Still, he could hardly say that
to Master Dael’s face. All that would earn him was a forceful ejection from the
shop, and the distinction of losing the school one of their few reliable
suppliers.

“Maybe they’re not all like
that,” he pointed out, trying not to sound argumentative.

The butcher’s face darkened, as
if he’d just realised who he was talking to. “Some people say the Tols use them
when they want to get around the Tenets, too,” he said, as if defying Davian to
challenge the statement.

Davian kept his mouth shut after
that.

Before long he was heading
outside again, the butcher having regained his usual cool composure and
instructing him to load up his cart around back. Davian looked briefly for the
Shadow before leading Jeni into the alleyway beside the shop, but the young man
had fled. He felt a brief pang of regret, wondering if he should have said
something more in support. It would have been pointless, even foolish to bring
down Master Dael’s inevitable wrath on himself. Still.

Before long, Master Dael had
helped him secure the last of his purchases and had disappeared back inside the
shop. Davian took Jeni's reins.

A small object flew over his
shoulder from behind, missing his face by inches.

He spun, startled, to see a group
of boys lounging at the mouth of the alleyway. They looked younger than him by
a couple of years – they were perhaps fourteen – and all wore wide smiles as
they observed his discomfort. One of the boys was standing, tossing another small
rock from hand to hand, eyeing him in the same way Davian had seen cats eye
mice.

“Sorry, Bleeder. Must have
slipped,” said the boy, affecting innocence. The others laughed.

Davian gritted his teeth, biting
back a retort. Bleeder. A common enough slur against the Gifted, he knew,
though he’d rarely heard it directed at him.

“What do you want?” he asked
uneasily. He was accustomed to hostility and even outright verbal abuse, but
there was something about this situation that seemed… off.

The boy who had called out –
clearly the leader of the pack – smiled at him, hefting the stone in his hand.

Davian’s anxiety hardened into a
sliver of panic; for a moment all he could think about was waking up three
years ago, barely able to move from his myriad injuries. He tensed himself to
run, to abandon his purchases in the event of an attack. The boys were all
smaller than he, but the Shackle would rob him of some of his strength, and it
would be five onto one in a straight fight.

Besides, he couldn’t risk an altercation.
Administration would never listen to his side of the story. He’d be accused of
provoking the attack, no matter the facts.

Suddenly there was a flash of
blue on the main street.

“Administrator!” yelled Davian,
trying to keep the desperation from his voice.

The Administrator paused at the
shout, head swivelling towards the alleyway. He was a younger man, perhaps
thirty. His eyes absorbed the scene with cool disinterest.

Then he turned and kept walking.
Within moments, he was lost from view.

The boys had hesitated when
Davian had cried out, but now their swagger returned.

“Nice try,” called one mockingly.

Their leader sauntered closer.
“How did you get to be so ugly, Bleeder?” The boy grinned, tracing a finger
down his cheek to indicate Davian’s scar.

Davian turned to run… and the
blood drained from his face as he discovered more of the group had cut around
the buildings, blocking off the other end of the alley.

The boy continued, “It looks like
you got it in a fight. Bleeders aren’t supposed to be able to fight, you know.”
The other boys muttered their agreement.

Davian’s mouth went dry. “It was
an accident, from a long time ago,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
His hands were shaking, though whether it was in fear or anger he wasn’t sure.
He did his best to sound deferential. “I apologise, but I really must be
going.” He moved to step around one of the aggressors, but the boy side-stepped
back into his path, staring at him with a smile that never touched his eyes.

“This is a violation of the
Treaty,” Davian said desperately, stepping forward once again. This time the
boy shoved him backwards, hard enough that Davian landed flat on his back,
breath exploding from his lungs. Then the youths’ leader was leaning over him,
face close to his.

“Do I look like an
Administrator?” he whispered, a cold hunger in his eyes.

Davian tensed, expecting to feel
the first blow at any moment.

Instead, an angry male voice
yelled something from the main street; suddenly the boys were scattering,
leaving him lying alone, dazed, on the sun-warmed stone.

He sensed rather than saw the
approaching figure. Heart still pounding he stumbled to his feet, hands held
out in a defensive posture.

“Easy, lad. I’m not going to hurt
you.” The man standing before him gestured in a calming manner, his voice
gentle with concern. Davian squinted. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but
the man was a stranger - middle-aged and with a thin, almost wiry build,
probably in his mid to late forties. The small round glasses he now peered over
gave him the appearance of a kindly, absent-minded scholar.

More importantly, he wore the
crimson cloak of one of the Gifted, and his left arm was exposed to display his
Shackle. Davian lowered his hands, finally taking the time to glance around.
His assailants had vanished.

He took a deep, steadying breath.

“Thank-you,” he said,
straightening and trying to brush the dust from his clothes.

The man inclined his head in
acknowledgement. “Were you harmed at all?”

“Only my pride,” replied Davian,
a flush of shame running to his cheeks.

The man gave him a sympathetic
nod. “Something we can all relate to, these days.” He held out his hand. “I am
Elder Ilseth Tenvar.”

Davian shook the outstretched
hand as firmly as he could manage. “Davian.” The handshake felt off; glancing
down, he noticed that the man’s forefinger was missing, only a scarred stump
where it had once been.

Ilseth’s expression hardened as
he gazed towards the street where the boys had vanished. “Do you know who they
were?”

Davian shook his head. “I’ve
never seen them before.”

Ilseth’s scowl deepened.
“Opportunists, then. Cowards and fools. And here I was thinking that things
might be different in the borderlands.” Sighing, he clapped Davian on the
shoulder. “Do you have much more to do here in town?”

Davian gave Jeni a reassuring pat
on the neck, though the gesture was more for himself than for the implacable
mule. “I was just about to head back to the school.”

“Wonderful. I was there earlier
today, but some directions back would not go astray. Would you terribly mind
company?”

Davian glanced at Ilseth
sideways, suddenly realising where he recognised his voice from. The man who
had been talking with Talean.

He frowned. The question had been
posed innocently enough, but he sensed there was something more to it. Elders
visiting the school were not uncommon - yet for a moment, Davian felt an
irrational suspicion.

Then he understood. Ilseth was
offering Davian some support for the trip back, but tactfully enough not to
make him feel ashamed for needing it. He felt a flicker of embarrassment at
himself.

“It would be my pleasure, Elder
Tenvar,” he said gratefully.

Ilseth smiled. “Please, call me
Ilseth. At least until we reach the school.”

They made their way out of
Caladel in silence, Davian lost in his own thoughts, still dazed from the
attack. He began replaying events over in his mind, a bitter mix of anger and
humiliation starting to burn in his stomach. He’d done nothing wrong. Nothing
to deserve this.