The Shadow of What Was Lost

by James Islington

  “Go easy,” Caeden said to him, keeping his voice low. “I think you’ve antagonized Aelric enough for one evening.”

  Wirr glared for a moment, then gave a brief, rueful laugh. “I suppose you’re right.” He looked Caeden in the eye. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you. What you did was… amazing. How did you…?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” admitted Caeden, sounding weary. “But I was glad to help.”

  They moved back to the fire. Conversation was stilted at first—everyone was on edge, listening to the sounds of the surrounding forest for any signs of attack. None came, however, and eventually the group lapsed into sporadic, distracted conversation until tiredness overtook their unease.

  Wirr was normally quick to sleep, but tonight he found himself awake long after everyone else’s breathing was deep and regular around him. He had his back to the fire, but he knew that only Nihim and Caeden were still up, having drawn first watch.

  “You’re troubled.” It was Nihim breaking the silence, evidently addressing Caeden.

  “That’s nothing new,” came the soft reply.

  Wirr wondered whether he should move around, make it obvious he was still awake.

  “More than usual, then,” said Nihim.

  There was a long silence, and Wirr was beginning to wonder whether Caeden was simply ignoring the priest when he responded, “I dueled. With Aelric.”

  “I see.” There was a hesitation in Nihim’s voice. “Aelric is an immensely talented swordsman. Losing to him—”

  “I didn’t lose.” Caeden’s voice was flat and low.

  There was another long silence. “You must be an impressive swordsman.”

  “I suppose so.” Caeden gave a bitter laugh. “Interesting skills for a simple farm boy.”

  “I think we both know that whatever else you are, you’re no farm boy.” A pause. “Neither of you was hurt?”

  “No. But… I was angry. I… almost hurt him. I wanted to hurt him.” Caeden choked the words out as if they were poison.

  “And that scared you?”

  “It terrified me.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Wirr could hear cloth rustling as Nihim shifted. “Everyone has a darker nature, Caeden. Everyone. Good men fear it, and evil men embrace it. Good men are still tempted to do the wrong thing, but they resist those urges. As you did. You have nothing to worry about.”

  There was a moment of silence. “That doesn’t sound like the teachings of Marut Jha.”

  Nihim gave a soft chuckle. “Marut Jha doesn’t trouble himself with definitions like good and evil. No—my priesthood here has never been anything more than a facade. My belief is in El, the One God.”

  “The god of the Augurs. The god of predestination.”

  “That’s right.” Nihim sounded surprised at Caeden’s knowledge. “El sees everything, is in perfect and absolute control. The Grand Design, it’s called. Everything that happens runs according to His purpose.”

  “Remind me to thank him for my last couple of months.”

  Nihim chuckled again. “I didn’t say He was responsible, I said it runs according to His purpose. Shammaeloth has his influences over this world, too. He fights, but it’s simply that he is in a war he cannot win, because every move he makes has already been accounted for by El.”

  There was silence for a few seconds. “Then why does El not simply finish him and be done with it? Stop every move he makes?” Caeden sounded irritated. “Terrible things happen all the time. It hardly feels like he’s losing.”

  “The point is, he’s not losing—he’s already lost. What you see are his death throes. Shammaeloth was bound to this world in the Genesis War, and thus bound by time. He was trapped here, and now all he fights for is souls to serve him in his prison.”

  “He must not be doing a very good job. I haven’t heard of many followers of Shammaeloth,” observed Caeden, his tone dubious.

  “It doesn’t work like that. At the end of time, El will leave this world, taking those who gave Him their faith. When He does, what protection this world has will vanish, and it will fall to Shammaeloth to rule what remains—and only what remains—for eternity. Any who do not leave with El will be left here and serve him, like it or not.”

  There was a pause, Caeden obviously digesting this. “I can’t say I like the idea of not being in control of my own destiny,” he said eventually. “If everything is already laid out, if there really is a Grand Design, wouldn’t that mean we have no free will?”

  Nihim grunted. “I can’t tell you how many times I heard that same question debated, back in the Augurs’ day,” he admitted. “There are a lot of differing opinions, but I certainly think we have free will. Just because El knows each choice I’m going to make—even if He created me knowing it’s the choice I would make—doesn’t mean it’s not mine.” He sighed. “But perhaps it’s still not free will as you would think of it. That’s the natural arrogance of man, sadly. We want to believe that free will means complete independence from the plans of our creator.”

  There was a contemplative silence. “Tell me one thing, though,” said Caeden after a while. “Since the Augurs fell… how can you still have faith?”

  “Because my faith is in El. It was never in the Augurs or what they were once capable of,” explained Nihim. “You can put your trust in something that’s obvious, that’s measurable or predictable—but that’s not faith. Nor is believing in something that gives you no pause for doubt, no reason or desire to question. Faith is something more than that. By definition, it cannot have proof as its foundation.”

  There was another silence. “That makes sense, I suppose. It’s something to think on,” Caeden conceded eventually, sounding more polite than convinced.

  “That’s good. But you should think on it, Caeden. It’s important, regardless of what conclusion you come to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it strikes me that a man needs to know what he believes before he can really know who he is.”

  Wirr didn’t hear Caeden’s response, but after a few more moments there was the sound of yawning, and Nihim chuckled. “I hope it’s not the conversation, lad, but you look like you can barely keep your eyes open,” he said. “Perhaps you should get some sleep. I can take the rest of the watch.”

  “It’s not the conversation. Just a long day,” Caeden assured him with another yawn. “You’re right, though—I might take you up on that offer, if it’s no trouble. Thank you.” There were some scuffling sounds as Caeden made himself comfortable, and soon enough another note of regular breathing joined the others.

  Wirr lay awake for a little longer, wondering at the conversation he’d overheard.

  Eventually, though, his eyes shut of their own accord, and he knew nothing more until dawn.

  Chapter 22

  Asha unlocked the door to her chambers wearily.

  It was the end of only her fourth day at the palace, and so far the entire experience had been one long blur, with Michal proving to be a merciless teacher. She was woken each day before dawn so that he could tutor her; when he had to attend to his other duties, he made her work through entire tomes of genealogies, explaining that the blood ties among Houses motivated much of their politics. He would then return in the evening, drilling her on what she’d learned and refusing to let her leave until she displayed enough progress to satisfy him.

  She sighed. There had been opportunity for little else; she’d barely had time to come to grips with what Elocien had told her about Wirr and the attacks, let alone do anything in her new position as Scribe.

  Still, despite her exhaustion, she was far from ungrateful. The more she saw of the Shadows in the palace—treated much the same as those in the Tol, if not worse—the more she came to understand just how fortunate she was.

  “Ashalia Chaedris.”

  Asha looked up at the sound of her name. The only other person in the hallway was a Shadow, a man in his midtwenties, heading straight for her.

 
“Do I know you?” she asked as he drew closer.

  “The Shadraehin wants to know if there is news,” said the man.

  Asha repressed a scowl. “It’s only been a few days since I got here,” she pointed out.

  “And yet you’ve been made Representative. It seems clear the Northwarden trusts you,” the man noted. He drew a slip of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. “Instructions. A way to leave a message for us, should anything new come to light.”

  Asha hesitated, considering telling the man outright that the deal was off. But she knew that would only lead to recriminations, possibly violent ones given what Erran had shown her. And the Shadraehin couldn’t know that she’d changed her mind, wouldn’t have any reason to think that the Northwarden would have disclosed the attack on Administration to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the note. She turned away.

  “As soon as you know something, make sure you tell him,” said the Shadow softly. “He is eager to hear from you.”

  When Asha glanced over her shoulder, the man was already walking away. She stared after him for a few moments. Maybe it was the image of the swinging corpses in Administration still fresh in her mind, but something in the man’s tone made her… uneasy.

  Asha examined the piece of paper as she walked inside. It was the name of an inn in the Middle District, the Silver Talon, along with directions and a short list of names to ask for once she was there.

  She paused for a moment. Then she wandered over to the fireplace—still burning, thanks to the ministrations of one of the servants—and tossed the note in.

  The paper quickly caught, curling and disintegrating.

  “What was that?”

  Asha flinched, spinning to see an enormous, muscular frame reclining in one of her armchairs.

  “Kol,” she said in surprise, trying to sound pleased by the unexpected intrusion. “It’s nice to see you.” It wasn’t, but this was the first time she’d encountered the big Augur since their brief introduction, and she was still hopeful of making a good impression.

  Kol studied her intently for a few moments, as if trying to see inside her head. Perhaps he was, she realized with a stab of discomfort.

  “Burning notes is a little suspicious,” he rumbled.

  Asha scowled. “It was instructions on how to meet with the Shadraehin’s people, if you must know. I burned it because I’m never going to use it. Just as the duke asked.”

  Kol said nothing for a few seconds, then nodded. “Have you read through the papers Elocien gave you? The visions not in the Journal?” His tone was brusque.

  Asha shook her head mutely, flushing, feeling as if she was being chastised even though there was no way she could have found the time. She’d managed to read all the entries in the Journal itself, but the duke had given her a ream of loose papers as well—all the visions that hadn’t been confirmed. The ones she would need to read, in order to compare them against anything new.

  “Then you should get started.” Kol rose and crossed the space between them in two quick strides. His expression was so grim that Asha’s first reaction was to shrink back defensively, but all the big man did was press a folded sheet of paper into her palm.

  Then he was out the door, shutting it firmly behind him without another word.

  Asha took a deep breath, partly relieved, but also a little annoyed at Kol’s rudeness. She understood he had misgivings about her, but she’d done nothing to deserve such curt behavior.

  She walked over and sat at her desk; once the lamp was lit and she was comfortable, she unfolded the paper Kol had given her and began to read.

  I found myself in a cavern, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Molten red rock glowed everywhere around me. There was no way to tell, but it felt as though I was deep underground.

  I walked forward along a narrow path, through a tunnel, and then into a large room that had strange symbols carved into the floor. In front of me stood a creature. It seemed to be made of fire, in the shape of a man but with glowing skin and hair, undoubtedly not human.

  Across from it, at the end of the room past all the symbols and standing beside a short stone pillar, was a plain-looking man with red hair. There was a sword on top of the pillar, and the man was in the midst of reading something on the blade.

  “‘For those who need me most.’ What does that mean?” he asked.

  “Another question I cannot answer,” said the creature.

  “What does Licanius mean? It sounds Darecian. You could at least tell me that much,” said the man.

  “‘Fate.’ The translation is more specific, but in your language it means ‘fate,’” said the creature.

  The man nodded, then picked up the sword. He shimmered for a moment, as if I were looking at his reflection in a pool of water, and then seemed to disappear entirely. I could still see everything else—the room, the creature—but he had vanished.

  The next thing I knew I was back in the palace, and I recognized the scene straight away—it was just like the other times. Fessi, Erran, and Ashalia were kneeling next to me. We were in a Lockroom, and I was lying on the floor; when I looked down I could see that I was bleeding from many wounds. The pain was sharp, but fading fast.

  I felt my head growing light, and then the dizziness became too much. The vision ended.

  Asha sat back, stunned.

  It made sense now. No wonder Kol had been so brusque—and had looked so apprehensive when they’d first met.

  Slowly she reached over and unlocked her desk drawer, then fumbled around until she felt the bundle of pages the duke had given her two days before. She drew it out, untied the string around it, and flipped through the pages one by one.

  It wasn’t long before she found another of Kol’s entries, written a few weeks earlier:

  We were in a Lockroom. Fessi, Erran, and a girl I do not recognize were all kneeling next to me, looking upset. There was an excruciating pain in my chest, and when I looked down I could see blood pouring out of several wounds. Fessi was trying desperately to help, but I could see in the eyes of the others that it was too late.

  Suddenly I felt dizzy; the room spun and the pain faded, replaced by a kind of dreamlike state. I tried to stay conscious as long as I could, but I also knew it would be of no use. I said something to Fessi, at the end—I can’t remember what. I hope it was something meaningful.

  I closed my eyes, and the vision ended.

  Asha just stared at the page for a long moment in horror. She knew this wasn’t confirmation—a vision needed to be Seen by a different Augur for that—but if Kol had Seen this one twice, there was a good chance it wasn’t just a dream.

  Feeling sick, Asha began flipping through the rest of the papers. An entry in Fessi’s delicate hand caught her eye:

  It was night, and I was in a strange city. Everything was made of stone, and it was all black—the roads, the walls, everything. As if fire had scorched every surface. The sky was darker than it should have been, too—perhaps it was just cloudy, but it felt as though it was always like that there.

  The streets were empty, but I was running as fast as I could. I wasn’t altering my passage through time, though. Maybe I couldn’t for some reason? I was trying to be as quiet as possible, but I couldn’t stop my footsteps from echoing off the cobblestones, and even that small sound was as good as shouting in a place like that.

  Then there was a growl behind me and I turned to see a great wolfhound, so big that its face was at the same height as mine. There was something strange about its eyes—they were too intelligent for an animal, I think. The creature came toward me, and I turned to run but in front of me another one had appeared. They moved in slowly, taking their time, as if they knew I had nowhere to go. I screamed for help, but no one came.

  The first creature finally attacked, and the last thing I felt was its teeth biting into my neck.

  Not long after that, there was an older entry by Erran:

  I was aware I was in a vis
ion just in time to see Commander Hael driving a dagger into my stomach, screaming something at me.

  Then I was waking up, lying on the floor of a Lockroom in the palace. There was blood everywhere—a disturbingly big pool of it on the ground where my face was. It was hard to orient myself, but when I checked my stomach, there was no wound. Most of the blood seemed to have come from my nose… and maybe my ears, which I thought was strange. Everything ached and I felt weak, nauseous; I tried to stand, but that turned out to be a bad idea. I collapsed back onto the floor, and everything went black.

  When I woke up again, I was being led out into an unfamiliar courtyard. There were gallows there, which unfortunately meant that I got fixated on them and didn’t take much notice of my other surroundings. The executioner watched us as we filed up beside him, and we all stood obediently in front of our assigned length of rope. I’m not sure why I wasn’t struggling, but when I looked around at the people next to me, they seemed resigned to what was happening, too. I didn’t recognize anyone. I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad about that.

  We all just stood there silently as the executioner walked down the line, draping the nooses around our necks and tightening them. I watched him with a kind of detached fascination—I remember thinking I was glad he looked professional, because that wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to have botched.

  I stared out over the courtyard, but it was empty. Shouldn’t there have been a crowd watching something like that? Witnesses? I didn’t think it strange at the time, though.

  Then the trapdoor below my feet opened, and I got the sudden rush of falling for just a moment. Everything went black again, but this time I’m fairly certain it was permanent.

  Asha continued through the stack of papers in fascinated, horrified silence. Most of the visions were inconsequential: what was happening the following day, snatches of arguments or personal moments, but nothing of real significance. Hidden among them, though, she found repeated descriptions from each of the three Augurs—three identical visions written by Fessi and two from Kol. Erran’s vision of the hanging was repeated, too, though not the first part about getting stabbed by Commander Hael—whoever that was.