The Shadow Of What Was Lost (35 page)

Taeris placed his hand on
Caeden’s shoulder. “That’s good, lad.” Davian could see a mixture of fascination
and concern in his eyes. “I don’t wish to dampen your enthusiasm, but – do you
actually recall being here? I’ve not been into the inner city before, but I do
recognise many of these buildings from the texts I’ve collected over the years.
Are you sure you’re not simply remembering things you’ve read?”

Caeden shook his head, still
staring around, absently rubbing at the wolf tattoo on his wrist as he did so.
“I don’t think so.”

Taeris gave Caeden a considering
look for a few moments, then just nodded. “Let me know if anything else comes
back.”

They moved on, drawing ever
closer to the centre of the city. Soon they came to a fork in the road, and
Taeris led them without hesitation to the left.

Caeden stopped in his tracks.

“Taeris,” he called quietly,
uncertainty in his voice. “I think that's the wrong way.”

Everyone paused, and Taeris
turned to Caeden. “I know where I’m going,” he whispered firmly, so that
everyone could hear. “I know you think you remember this place, but I am quite
certain.”

Caeden didn’t look convinced, but
eventually inclined his head. “If you’re certain,” he said, reluctance still
clear in his tone.

They walked for a few more
minutes until Taeris abruptly signalled a stop, looking up at an unusual
structure on the side of the road. It was less a building than a spire,
twisting at impossible angles as it stretched skyward and only twenty feet wide
at its base, just large enough to accommodate the broad double doors set into
its facade. Davian couldn’t quite see, but he suspected it stretched well back
from the street.

Suddenly a piercing shriek cut
across the silence. Davian spun, trying to determine the direction from which
it had come, but all was still.

“What was that?” asked Aelric,
his voice thick with apprehension.

Taeris shook his head. “Stay
alert,” was all he said, casting a longing glance towards the building. He took
a deep, steadying breath. “And stay here. I’ll return soon.”

“What?” whispered Wirr in
disbelief. “You’re going in there? Why?”

Taeris didn’t have time to
respond before another cry came. This time it was deeper, clearly a man’s
voice; the sound was so full of pain that Aelric’s sword was out of its sheath
before anyone else could even move. He held it for a moment, wary, scanning the
road ahead before slowly sheathing it again. No-one chuckled at the reaction.
Davian felt blood pounding in his ears, his muscles tensed.

Then he strangled a yell. He’d
been looking at one of the buildings, and for the briefest of moments there had
been someone standing in the doorway and staring straight at them. The
expression on the man’s face had been… quizzical, with neither alarm nor malice
in his gaze.

Then the stranger was gone again.
Vanished.

“What?” hissed Taeris, his tone a
mixture of fear and anger at the comparative loudness of Davian’s cry.

Davian didn't take his eyes from
the building. “There was a man in that doorway,” he said, gesturing towards
where he had seen the figure.

Taeris' eyebrows raised. “Are you
sure?”

Davian nodded mutely.

Taeris grimaced and looked about
to say something else when Caeden gasped, pointing in a different direction.
They all spun to see a young woman standing in the middle of the road, looking
at them with an expression of curiosity. Taeris made to step towards her, but
even as he moved, she was gone again.

“Illusions,” muttered Aelric. His
comment was punctuated by another scream, though this one seemed further away.

Taeris shook his head slowly. “I
don’t think so.”

Suddenly Wirr let out a roar of
warning, and Davian spun to see a figure standing only a few feet away from
them. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. At first glance he thought it
was a man, though it stood head and shoulders above even Nihim, who was the
tallest of the group. Then he saw the reptilian visage, the cold black eyes
regarding them with undisguised rage.

Davian’s eyes travelled down its
body and he saw that rather than legs, it stood erect on a thick tail that
trailed out behind it. Its skin was an oily dark green, almost black in the
dull light of Deilannis. Thick, well-muscled arms stretched towards Dezia, who
was closest to it.

Everything seemed to happen at
once. There was an odd ripple of white light in the grey; Taeris screamed “No!”
as the creature turned, distracted, a look of what could only be called
surprise on its ugly face. Then it vanished.

Taeris rounded on Wirr, whose
hands were still outstretched, his expression frozen in shock. The ripple
faded, but Davian could see clearly that it had emanated from his friend's
body.

“You tried to use Essence, didn’t
you!” Taeris hissed, looking as though he were about to strike the boy.

Wirr nodded, his face pale.

Balling his hands into fists,
Taeris groaned as a cry went up from somewhere in the city. Unlike the other
sounds they had heard, this was completely inhuman, a high-pitched keening that
made Davian’s blood freeze.

Taeris turned to Caeden, and
Davian knew the older man was now genuinely frightened.

“You know the way to the Northern
Bridge?” he asked.

“I think so.”

Taeris pushed Caeden into motion,
back the way they had come. “Then run.”

Caeden stumbled into a quickly
accelerating jog, and Taeris turned to the others. “All of you, follow him and
do not let him out of your sight! He knows the way out.”

Caeden was already disappearing down
the street, and Davian didn't need a second invitation. Aelric and Dezia set
off at a dead run; Davian was close behind as another shriek sounded, this time
much, much closer. Whatever was coming, it was moving faster than should have
been possible.

Suddenly he realised that he
could not hear Nihim or Taeris behind him. Risking a glance over his shoulder,
he saw Nihim gripping Taeris by the arm, the two men talking in low tones.
Davian hesitated, then turned, sprinting back towards them.

“Let me go, Nihim,” said Taeris
furiously.

Nihim shook his head. “No.” He
tugged on Taeris' arm. “There will be other chances, but if you leave those
children to their fate, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Taeris hesitated, his face a mask
of frustration. “El damn you.” Then he spun, spotting Davian. “What are you
doing?” he bellowed. “I said RUN!” He followed his own advice, and then the
three of them were sprinting after the others.

The mist, which had barely been
in evidence a moment ago, abruptly thickened to the point where Davian could
only see a few feet ahead. Taeris and Nihim were lost to view. Suddenly Davian
heard a muffled cry in front of him, and he had to leap to one side to avoid
stumbling over a body writhing on the ground.

He stopped, kneeling. It was Nihim;
the priest was holding his ankle, face twisted in pain.

There was another cry. The
creature couldn’t be more than a few streets away now.

“Can you stand?” Davian asked in
an urgent whisper.

Nihim sat up and pushed him hard
in the chest. “Run, lad!” he said, wide-eyed. “There’s no point us both dying!”

“Neither of us is going to die.”
Davian said the words more as a prayer than encouragement.

The mist was so thick now that
even breathing felt difficult; he felt more than saw Nihim's form, at one point
stepping clumsily on the man’s arm. Muttering an apology, he grabbed the priest
under his armpits and hauled him into the shelter of the nearest building,
wincing as he dragged him over the shattered remains of the door.

This was one of the buildings blackened
by fire, though the roof and all the walls were still intact. He propped Nihim
up against the nearest wall, facing away from the street and hidden from the
view of anything outside. Davian collapsed beside him, trying to slow his
breathing, straining for any sound of approaching danger. There was nothing,
though. The silence was eerie.

They stayed that way for several
seconds. Then the dark mists swirling around them thickened even more and the
shriek sounded again, this time so close it seemed to be right on top of them.
Davian and Nihim sat motionless, barely daring to breathe.

After a few moments, Davian
risked glancing out the door. The mist was getting…
darker
, eddying and
churning until it seemed more like a cloud of black smoke than fog. He shuddered.
The swirling darkness spoke of nothing but death and decay.

The air grew colder as Davian
watched the darkness coalesce in the middle of the street, distending and
contracting until it finally formed itself into the silhouette of a man. It was
unlike any man Davian had seen before, though; its skin was completely black
and seemed to glisten in the dull grey light. Its hands were curved and
elongated, more claw-like than anything else, and its limbs and torso were
unnaturally thin.

A horrible snuffling sound
erupted from it; it turned and Davian sank back, covering his mouth in horror.
Though its face was distorted by the fog, he could see that the creature had no
eyes, a mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and a gaping, circular
hole where its nose should have been.

It raised its smooth, hairless
head. The snuffling sound came again, and Davian realised with mounting terror
that it was sniffing out a scent.

Then it opened its mouth wide and
keened in triumph, a sound so loud and shrill that Davian and Nihim both had to
put their hands over their ears.

It came into the building slowly,
deliberately, as if it knew its prey was nearby and didn’t need to rush. It
moved for Davian with unhurried, almost lazy steps, a blade coalescing in its
hand. In the corner of his mind not consumed by fear, Davian realised that the
blade which was about to kill him was the same blade he’d seen the sha’teth
use.

Nihim moved before Davian could
stop him. He stumbled awkwardly to his feet, throwing himself in between Davian
and the creature.

“You cannot have him. He is not
supposed to die,” he said, lifting his chin in defiance. “You cannot -”

The blade moved forward in slow
motion. Nihim screamed.

The following moments passed in a
blur for Davian. Nihim crumpling to the floor, blood spilling from the gaping
wound in his stomach. The creature moving forward through the mist as if
nothing had happened.

Then it stood in front of him,
its hideous, eyeless face studying his. Davian braced himself for the death
blow, but the creature stopped, cocking its head and sniffing the air.

“
Ilian di
,” it said in a
low, gravelly voice. It sounded angry, perhaps even disappointed. “
Sha di
Davian
.” Davian's eyes widened when he heard his name, but he did not move.

Suddenly the creature exploded
apart, disintegrating back into its wraithlike form, merging once again with
the surrounding mists.

The unnatural, awful chill
vanished from the air. They were alone once again.

Stunned, Davian didn’t move until
a moan from Nihim spurred him into motion.

He knelt beside the priest, whose
eyes were tight with pain. Davian looked at Nihim's wound in despair. He tried
to cover it with his hands, but the hot, sticky blood just pumped out between
his fingers.

“What can I do?” he asked,
knowing he was powerless to help.

Nihim exhaled, his breath
bubbling, taking a moment to compose himself. “It knew your name,” he said
eventually. His tone would have been conversational had it not been forced out
through gritted teeth. “That’s odd.”

“Yes.” Davian rubbed his eyes,
still trying to process what had happened.

“You made it leave,” said Nihim,
his voice weak. “How? What did it say to you?”

“No! No, I didn’t do anything. It
sounded… it sounded like Darecian, but I don’t know what it said.” Davian ran
his hands through his hair, mindless of the fact they were still covered in
blood. “We need to get you back to the others. Taeris will be able to help
you.”

Nihim laughed, though it came out
as more of a hacking cough. “
You
need to get back to the others,” he
corrected. “I fear I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

Nihim coughed again. Already he
looked paler, seemed weaker. Then he drew a deep breath, putting a hand on
Davian’s shoulder. “You’re a brave lad,” he said. “A good boy, and I appreciate
the effort. But there’s no point. I’m fated to die here.”

Davian processed the statement in
silence. “You mean… this was Seen?”

Nihim nodded, even that small
movement causing his face to twist in pain. “By an old Augur friend, more than
twenty years ago. I’ve been wondering for a long time when this day would
come.” He gave a short laugh, a desperate, almost delirious sound. “It seems
it’s finally here.”

Davian shook his head in
disbelief, cradling Nihim's head so that the priest would not hurt it against
the cold stone floor. “Then why come?”

“To prove a point to Taeris,”
wheezed Nihim, a rueful smile on his lips. He held up his hand preemptively as
Davian opened his mouth. “No time,” he said in a whisper. “Go.”

Davian half-stood, then gave an
angry shake of his head, crouching down again. “Fates take it. I’m not going to
leave you here.” He grabbed Nihim and lifted him as gently as possible.

Nihim gave a soft laugh, which
turned to a moan as Davian began walking. “Stubborn,” he gasped.

Davian crept out into the street
again, barely able to carry the weight of the priest. He began moving in the
direction he had last seen Caeden running, trying to ignore the blood still
flowing freely from the gash in Nihim's stomach. He didn’t know much about such
wounds, but he was certain that Nihim would not survive long without
assistance.

“I need to rest,” groaned Nihim
after a couple of minutes. “Just for a moment. I swear.”

Davian considered protesting, but
in truth his arms were ready to give out anyway. He came to a shaky stop,
seating the priest on a nearby piece of rubble and turning to face him, careful
not to let his emotions show. Nihim was dying, and there was nothing,
nothing
he could do about it.

Nihim looked up at him. “Listen,
lad, there are some things you should know. Taeris hasn’t told you everything.”

“You should save your strength.”

Nihim shook his head. “He’s been
waiting for you, Davian. He knew you would come,” he said weakly. “There’s a
text from the Old Religion, written by a man called Alchesh, an Augur from two
thousand years ago. It talks of the man who will one day stop Aarkein Devaed
from destroying the world. Taeris believes that man is you. He thinks that….”
He trailed off into a coughing fit, blood seeping from his mouth.

Davian frowned; delirium was
clearly setting in. “We can talk about this when we see Taeris,” he said
gently.

Nihim shifted, groaning at the
motion. “Don’t condescend to me, boy. Listen. The Augur who told me about
today… he told me I’d be with someone very important. At the end.” He coughed
again, weaker this time. “Someone whom the Augurs had seen on so many occasions
in their visions, over the years, that they considered him to be the
centrepoint of this time - the fulcrum on which things in this era turn.”

Davian stared at Nihim with
determination. “This clearly isn’t the end, then.”

Nihim gave a weak chuckle, though
it quickly died out. “An optimist. I like that.” He paused for a second.
“There’s something else, Davian. Taeris has a link to you. It’s dangerous for
him. You need to break it, else he will die.” His breath was coming shorter and
shorter now. “When you….”

Nihim trailed off. His eyes had
gone wide, and he was staring over Davian’s shoulder with an expression of
disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and for a
moment Davian thought he had passed away.

Too late, he realised that
something was coming.

He turned, but the blast caught
him in the side. Suddenly he was spinning wildly, tumbling through space. There
was agony, like a hand had reached into his skull and begun squeezing. A scream
ripped from his throat, though whether it was from the pain, the terror or
simply the shock he wasn’t sure.

It was like nothing he had ever
felt before, ever
imagined
before. It was as if he had been cast into a
raging river of grey smoke, a river of emptiness, of nothing – and the currents
were trying to crush his mind, tear it apart, do whatever they could to utterly
destroy him. He felt pulled in a thousand different directions at once, but
unable to go anywhere. The buildings, the road, Nihim – they had all vanished,
dissolved into the endless torrent of twisted void.

He struggled to breathe. It was
impossible to say how long he had been in this state – seconds, minutes or
hours – but Davian was filled with a sudden certainty that if he did not
escape, he would cease to exist.

Acting on pure instinct he found
himself trying to calm his mind, employing every technique he’d ever learned
while trying to use Essence. For a terrible moment, he understood that Essence
did not –
could
not – exist here.

Suddenly there was something
else. Cold and dark. Flowing though him.

He immediately felt an easing of
the pressure on his mind. The sensation was still terribly unpleasant, but what
had been a raging torrent around him now moved slower, flowing almost calmly
past in comparison. He floated in the void, composing himself, the chill
substance coursing through him like blood. Looking too closely at the grey
smoke streaming past hurt his head, but he tried anyway.

Soon enough, he noticed
something. A gap, an area lighter than the space around it. He gazed at it,
trying to focus in on it, ignoring everything else. It was a beacon in this
surreal place – but how to reach it? He knew without looking that he had no
physical body here, no legs to carry him.

Instinctively he fixed the light
in his mind, then
willed
himself towards it…

…and the light was directly in
front of him. Whether he had gone to it, or it had come to him, he did not know.

He studied the gentle glow. It
seemed… familiar. Inviting. He stared into it for what seemed like only a
moment…

… and groaned.

Davian’s head felt as though
someone had taken to it with a hammer. He lay still, eyes closed for several
seconds as he tried to assess the situation.

What had happened? He had been in
Deilannis, and then... the void. That torrent of grey emptiness. He shifted,
feeling cold, chiselled stone beneath him. So he was no longer in that place,
at least. He had his body back. That was something.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open.
A high stone roof greeted his gaze, sturdily made but otherwise unremarkable.
It was dim in here, though the light was still bright enough to hurt his eyes
until they adjusted. How long had he lain there? Had he been returned to
Deilannis, or was he somewhere else? A jolt of adrenaline ran through him as
the memories started to come back. Nihim. With an effort, he raised his head
and looked around.

He was lying atop the altar of
what appeared to be a vast temple. Columns stretched away into the darkness in
all directions; Davian could not see any walls, any edges at all to whatever
this room was. The light was coming from a skylight in the roof, but it must
have been the only one in the room, for outside of a small pool of light – in
the centre of which Davian now lay – nothing was visible. Everything in the
room had a cold greyness to it; though there were no mists, Davian had the
immediate sense that he was still somewhere in Deilannis.

“Welcome, Davian. Be at ease. No
harm will come to you.”

Davian scrambled to his feet,
looking around apprehensively for the source of the words. “Who’s there? How do
you know my name?”

The disembodied voice chuckled,
though it was a joyless sound. “
That
is a story.”

Davian slowly stepped back, until
he was pressed against the stone altar. “Show yourself.”

There was movement from the
shadows, and a man stepped forward into the light. His appearance was
unremarkable – mousy-brown hair cropped short, a plain, slightly lumpy face, neither
tall nor short, fat nor thin. Yet he carried himself with an air of authority.

There was something else, too,
something almost unnoticeable but definitely there. Though there were no
physical signs of it, the man’s eyes were old. Weary beyond reckoning.

The stranger slipped something
into his pocket, frowning at Davian. Davian tried to shift, to place the altar
between himself and the other man, but suddenly found he could not move.

“Do not try using your powers.
They will have no effect on me,” said the man absently as he walked closer,
squinting as he stared into Davian’s face. He wore a puzzled expression. As he
drew near he stopped, a sharp intake of breath making a hissing sound as it
passed through his teeth.

“You have only one scar,” said
the man in disbelief. He looked shaken.

“Yes. One scar. Now tell me who
you are and what I’m doing here!” Davian tried not to let panic seep into his
tone.

The plain-looking man appeared
not to hear him. “Impossible,” he muttered, now standing only a few feet from
Davian, who was still powerless to move. The stranger began circling him,
staring at him with morose fascination. “I was so sure.
So
sure. Perhaps
the old fool was right after all.” The energy seemed to go out of him.

“Are… are you going to kill me?” Davian
asked, unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. The man seemed completely
mad.

The stranger stopped at the
question. He gazed long and hard into Davian’s eyes, then let out a loud laugh,
a raucous sound that echoed off into the shadows. “I’m hoping we can avoid
that,” he said with a wry shake of his head.

Davian swallowed, not entirely
comforted. “Then what do you want of me?”

The man did not reply, continuing
to study Davian with an intent expression. Finally he sighed. “I will release
you, but only if you swear not to run.”

Davian nodded. “I can do that.”

The man moved to stand directly
in front of him, placing a hand against Davian’s forehead. He closed his eyes.
“Now repeat after me: I swear I will listen to what you have to say, and judge it
fairly. I swear I will not harm you or try to escape from you.”

Davian felt his brow furrow in
confusion, but seeing little alternative, repeated the words. A jolt of energy
flashed through him, and there was a brief burning sensation on his left forearm.
He jerked, glancing down.

For the first time he realised
that his Shackle had somehow fallen off and was lying on the altar next to him;
where the Gifted mark had once been on his arm, there was now a simple circle
of light. As he watched, the circle faded, dissolving into his skin and
vanishing.

“What was that?” he demanded.
“And where is my Mark?”

The man frowned. “That was a
binding,” he said. “It enforces your vow to me. As to the other… I don’t know
to what you are referring.”

Davian paused for a moment, taken
aback. “My
Mark
. From being Gifted.” When the man still stared at him
blankly, Davian shook his head in disbelief. “You haven’t heard of the Tenets?
They bind the Gifted and the Administrators to one another, stop us from using
our powers in certain ways.”

The stranger cocked his head to
the side. “Interesting,” he said. “A binding applied to
every
Gifted.
Impressive. I wonder which one of them did that.” He looked at Davian
thoughtfully. “What symbol did it leave?”

“It was the outline of three
people within a circle. A man, woman and child.” Davian stared at his arm. He’d
lived with that brand for so long now, had known with such certainty that it
was permanent. It was unsettling to see clean skin there again.