The Shadow of What Was Lost

by James Islington

  “And I was useless as a witness,” realized Davian, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

  Taeris waved away the apology. “You were unconscious for most of it, truth be told—and even if you hadn’t been, your word wouldn’t have been enough. Administration was set on making an example. I was a nice way to remind people how dangerous the Gifted could be without the Tenets. Without them.”

  “So how did you escape?” asked Davian.

  Taeris hesitated, then drew two small stones from his pocket, one black and one white. “These are Travel Stones,” he explained. “Vessels that create a portal between each other. They’ve come in rather handy, over the years. That day was no exception. Nor was last night, actually.”

  Davian gaped at Taeris for a moment. He’d never heard of a Vessel like that before, but at least it explained how Taeris had managed to quietly transport three unconscious boys from the middle of the forest to an inn. “So why are you in Desriel?” he eventually asked, recovering. “Why were you after him?” He jerked his head toward the young man on the floor. “Are you looking for the sig’nari, too?”

  Taeris winced. “I have some bad news for you, lad. The man who sent you here—Tenvar—has misled you. There are no sig’nari in Desriel.”

  Davian scowled. “That’s not possible. He wasn’t lying.”

  “And you’re sure about that? You said you haven’t been able to learn anything about your ability.”

  “I’m sure,” snapped Davian.

  Taeris looked at him appraisingly. “Does it work through a Shackle?” Davian nodded. “Then let me show you something. I will tell you three things—two truths and one lie. Let’s see if you can tell me which one is false.”

  Davian shrugged. “Very well.”

  Taeris closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. “It is midday. We are currently in a town called Dan’mar. I am forty-five years old.”

  Davian frowned, his head throbbing a little as he tried to process what was happening. No puffs of darkness had escaped from Taeris’s mouth. “They were all true,” he said slowly.

  Taeris shook his head. “It is midafternoon, we are in a town called Anabir, and I am forty-eight.”

  Davian stared in disbelief. Again, nothing.

  “How did you do that?” he asked, stunned.

  Taeris shrugged. “An old trick. Not one many of your generation would know, but common enough knowledge back when the Augurs ruled. It’s a mental defense, a shield against invasions of the mind. It takes training to do for any period of time, but most people could hold it for a few minutes effectively enough.” He shook his head, seeing the stricken look on Davian’s face. “I am sorry, lad. Truly.”

  “But…” Davian stared at the man on the floor. “Who is he, then? Why did Elder Tenvar send me here?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe Tenvar was lying about the Boundary. He probably had to lace his tale with as much truth as possible, to be sure he could fool your ability.” Taeris rose. “I have a few inquiries to make in town. If your story checks out, we’ll talk some more.”

  He started walking toward the door, then paused, indicating the man sleeping on the floor. “It’s not likely he’ll wake before I’m back, but if he does… best to pretend you’re still asleep. I don’t know why Tenvar lied to you, but if he went to such lengths to send you here, he probably didn’t have your best interests at heart. Which means that man probably doesn’t, either.”

  He left. The door closed behind him, leaving Davian pale and shaken.

  Tenvar had lied. It had all been for nothing.

  Chapter 14

  Daylight was fading outside by the time Wirr finally stirred.

  It didn’t take Davian long to explain to his disbelieving friend what had transpired. Wirr took the news about Ilseth’s deception stoically, for which Davian was grateful. It was Davian’s blind trust in his ability that had led them here, placed them in such a perilous situation. He wasn’t sure he could have handled anger from Wirr atop his own guilt.

  Once Davian was finished, Wirr shifted awkwardly on his bed, evidently trying to stretch out some stiff muscles. “So you’re sure it’s Taeris Sarr?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  Wirr bit his lip. “Dav, if it is… I know the man saved you, but… you should know that I’ve heard things about him. He’s supposed to be dangerous. Unbalanced, even. If he—”

  He cut off at the sound of a key rattling in the lock on the door.

  Taeris bustled in, apparently oblivious to the fact he’d interrupted their conversation, and gave a satisfied nod when he saw the man on the floor was still unconscious.

  “Davian’s told you who I am?” he asked, turning his attention to Wirr.

  Wirr nodded, watching the scarred man with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Taeris went on to ask Wirr a series of questions about the past few weeks; once he was satisfied that Wirr’s and Davian’s accounts were the same, he strode over to Davian’s bed and began untying him. “My contacts in town were able to verify parts of your story. A well-known Hunter killed in a scuffle in Fejett. A man in Talmiel who collapsed under suspicious circumstances, and woke up with the last two years of his life missing. Not much, but enough for now.”

  Davian massaged his wrists as he sat up straight, stretching muscles stiff from disuse. “What did you say about the man from Talmiel?” he asked suddenly, a chill running through him.

  Taeris gave him a considering look. “You wondered whether you had done something to make your smuggler friend ‘forget’ about the Vessel. From the sounds of it, you were right.” He moved on to releasing Wirr.

  Davian felt sick. Anaar might have deserved punishment, but that was of little comfort. He was another person Davian had managed to hurt because he’d been too eager, too gullible to see through Tenvar’s lies.

  Wirr stood as soon as he was able, walking in circles to loosen his muscles. He nodded to the man on the floor. “So what do you know about him?” he asked Taeris, mistrust thick in his voice. “Davian says you were tracking him. Why?”

  “Because of what’s happening at the Boundary. That part of what Tenvar told Davian, at least, I believe to be true.” Taeris sighed. “Except it’s more than that. I don’t think the decay of the Boundary is happening naturally. I studied it for years, even before the war. The Essence that sustains it has only started to noticeably decay in the last decade.”

  Wirr frowned. “Why is that significant?”

  “Think of it as a physical wall. You build the wall out of good, thick, solid stone, and you leave it for two thousand years. When you come back, it’s still standing—crumbling, maybe, and worn by wind and rain, but still strong. Still serving its original purpose.” Taeris paused. “Then you come back a decade after that, and it’s completely gone. What conclusion do you draw?”

  Davian’s brow furrowed. “Something knocked it down.”

  “Or someone,” Wirr added quietly.

  “Exactly.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Wirr frowned. “Do the Tols know about your suspicions? You said you began noticing the decay ten years ago, and you’ve only been in exile here for three.”

  “I tried to tell both Councils, several times, but…” Taeris shook his head in frustration. “The Tols stopped checking the Boundary regularly more than a thousand years ago, so my old notes were the only real proof that the decay had accelerated. They accepted that the Boundary might be decaying, but not that it was happening rapidly—they didn’t believe that it was being caused by anything except the passage of time. Tol Athian told me I was being alarmist, and Tol Shen just laughed in my face.”

  “But you are certain.”

  “Yes. So for the last few years, I’ve been keeping watch for anything that might be related. Any sign that the Boundary failing is part of a greater plan, proof that I can take back to the Tols.” He walked over and pulled back
the man’s sleeve, revealing the black wolf tattoo on his wrist. “I found a few clues, but nothing I could use or pursue—until a contact of mine told me about this. This symbol is carved into every Boundary Stone. And our friend here has it tattooed on his wrist.”

  “So you think he may know something. Be involved, somehow.” Davian stared at the sleeping man with new trepidation.

  “And by extension, so may Ilseth Tenvar,” noted Wirr, his tone grim.

  Taeris nodded. “That this particular symbol was used as the link for you to find him… I don’t know what it means, yet, but it has to be significant. Something is going on.” He hesitated. “There’s more, though.” He drew back the man’s left sleeve farther, baring his left forearm.

  For a moment Davian didn’t understand. Then his eyes widened, and to his left he heard Wirr’s sharp intake of breath.

  The young man did not have the Mark.

  “Fates. He’s not bound by the Tenets?” Wirr asked softly.

  “It seems not,” said Taeris.

  Davian suddenly made the connection. “This is the man the Hunters were talking about—the one who killed all those people?”

  Taeris nodded. “At least that’s what the Gil’shar are saying. An entire village slain, and they’re claiming it was by his hand.” He shook his head. “As to the truth of it, I can’t say; I know all too well the stories people make up out of fear of the Gifted. Unfortunately, the result is the same.”

  “That story is everywhere. The entire country will be looking for him. For us,” breathed Wirr.

  Taeris nodded. “Before you intervened, he was being taken to Thrindar for a very public execution—during the Song of Swords, no less. The Gil’shar wanted to show all the countries present that not only are the Gifted evil, but that they are something to always be feared. That the Tenets are no reason for anyone to accept us, to relax their guard.”

  Davian frowned, taking a small step away from the sleeping man as the new information sank in. He didn’t look like a murderer, and he was still tied up, but… even so.

  Beside him Wirr was becoming increasingly agitated. “If the Gil’shar finds out that he was freed by other Gifted…” He shook his head, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “There will be outrage. Claims it was ordered by the Andarran government, or that we’re using him to find a way for everyone to break free of the Tenets. A case for war.”

  Taeris nodded, giving Wirr a respectful look. “One of the many good reasons I hadn’t already rescued him,” he said, a little drily. “The Gil’shar barely need an excuse for war as it is. The one reason they haven’t attacked Andarra over the past fifteen years is that they fear it will cause King Andras to change the Tenets—but if they think we’re trying to get around them anyway, there will be nothing holding them back.”

  Davian paled; the implications of their actions reached further than he could possibly have imagined. “So what can we do?” he asked. “We can’t just give him back to the Gil’shar.”

  “We can if he’s guilty,” pointed out Wirr. “We should. Better to let them have their political posturing in Thrindar than to risk an incident like this.”

  Davian turned to his friend, aghast. “You cannot be serious.”

  Taeris held up his hand. “Let’s hear his story before we made any decisions. He’s healed at a remarkable rate—I think we can wake him now.”

  Wirr raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t heal him?”

  Taeris shook his head. “I couldn’t risk using Essence; there are too many soldiers around with Finders. But it seems he’s instinctively drawing from his own Reserve to heal himself anyway. It’s quite remarkable.”

  Davian eyed the sleeping man nervously. Gifted could accelerate their own healing, but he’d never heard of anyone who was able to do it unconsciously.

  Taeris stooped beside the redheaded man, then hesitated. “Davian. I doubt he’ll have the awareness to mask any deception, even if he knows how. Tell me if he lies.” He gripped the sleeping boy by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

  The young man groaned, coming awake.

  “Where am I?” he asked, voice rasping slightly.

  Taeris, Davian, and Wirr all looked at the stranger in silence for a few seconds. His appearance was markedly different from last night; his skin was pale, showing no sign of the bruising that had covered it only hours earlier. Ice-blue eyes searched the room, trying to evaluate what was happening; his reddish-brown hair hung to his shoulders, framing a face that looked narrower than it would normally due to his sunken cheekbones. His frame was slight, but that was again most likely due to a lack of food and not part of his natural physical appearance.

  It was Taeris who finally spoke. “For now you are safe. But if you lie to me, you will be back in Gil’shar custody within the hour. Do you understand?”

  The stranger nodded mutely.

  Taeris held up the Vessel in front of him. “What is this?”

  The stranger squinted at the object. “I don’t know.”

  Taeris flicked a quick glance at Davian, who inclined his head. It was the truth—so far as he could tell, anyway.

  “But you can see it glowing?” asked Taeris.

  The red-haired man nodded. “The same as my wrist,” he said, sounding confused.

  Taeris considered for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “Who do you work for? What were you to do with this after it was delivered to you?”

  The stranger gave Taeris a perplexed, helpless look. “I am sorry. Truly,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My memory is…” He shook his head. “Beyond three weeks ago, I remember nothing. I don’t even know if I’m guilty…” He trailed off again, a pained look in his eyes.

  There was a moment of silence, then Taeris gave a derisive snort. “You will need to do better than that.”

  Davian had been watching the stranger, a small frown on his face. He turned to Taeris. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

  Taeris scowled. “Do you at least have a name?”

  “Caeden,” said the man. “That’s what the villagers said, anyway.”

  Taeris grunted. “Caeden. Like the Darecian fairy tale. How appropriate,” he said drily. “Well, Caeden, perhaps you should tell us what you do remember, and we can go from there.”

  “There is not much to tell,” Caeden admitted. “A few weeks ago I found myself in the middle of the forest, no recollection of how I got there or who I was. I didn’t even know which country I was in. I was holding a sword, and my clothes were soaked in blood. At first I thought the blood was mine, but apart from a couple of scratches, I wasn’t injured.

  “I found a stream and tried to wash the blood out of my clothes, but most of it had already stained. I wandered for a few hours until I found a road, and eventually a group of men came across me. When I told them I couldn’t remember anything, they offered me shelter in their village and food for the evening. One of them thought he recognized me, said I’d probably been attacked and beaten by bandits. They seemed like good people at the time.” Caeden grimaced at that.

  “The next day word came that my village had been wiped out. Someone had gone through the town and put everyone to death. Everyone. The people who’d seen the aftermath said there were women and children lying in the streets, blood everywhere. And that all the faces had been… disfigured. Mutilated beyond recognition.” He shuddered. “Many of the people where I was staying had friends and family that had died. There was a lot of grief, a lot of fear.

  “It didn’t take long for people to make a connection. At first they just locked me up—said not to worry, that I’d probably been a survivor, maybe a witness, and that they were doing it ‘just in case.’ But I think they’d already made up their minds.

  “After a couple of days, there was a farmer whose wife had been visiting the other village when the attack came. He’d gone and found her body—what he thought was her body, anyway—and then come straight back to find me.” He shivered. “He was
a big man, so they let him into my cell. The constable just looked the other way. Locked the door with the two of us inside and left. I tried to explain, but he was so angry.” Caeden’s voice wavered as he remembered. “He was going to kill me. I was so afraid, and then I just… reacted. I used the Gift, I suppose. Threw him back against the cell door so hard that he broke his neck.” He ran his hands through his hair.

  “It was an accident, but no one believed it. The village cleric’s Finder went off, so they knew how I’d done it. But I didn’t have a tattoo, which made them even more afraid… once they knew I had powers, though, it settled any doubts they’d had.

  “They were going to hang me—there were enough people who wanted it to happen—but the Gil’shar sent word that they wanted a public execution in Thrindar. So they put a Shackle on me, and kept me locked up for another week.” His hands shook as he remembered; he clasped them together to stop them from trembling.

  “They beat you?” interjected Taeris, his tone gentler now.

  Caeden nodded. “Every day,” he said softly. “And when the soldiers came to take me to Thrindar, they took me out every evening and did the same. Gave me just enough time to heal so that I would be conscious for the next night.” He hesitated. “I am grateful we didn’t reach Thrindar, though.”

  Taeris didn’t respond. He thought in silence for a few seconds, then turned to Davian. “Well?”

  Davian didn’t take his eyes from Caeden. “It’s all true,” he said eventually.

  Except it wasn’t. On Caeden’s last sentence, the tiniest puff of darkness had escaped from the young man’s mouth. He’d been lying about not wanting to reach Thrindar.

  He’d wanted to be executed.

  Taeris inclined his head in acknowledgement and Davian could see the struggle on his face, knew what the Elder was thinking.