The Shadow of What Was Lost

by James Islington

  Malshash grinned. “Ah, did I forget to mention? I’m an Augur, too.” He continued to smile as he watched Davian’s shocked expression, then stood. “Finish up your meal, then rest a little more. I will return in the afternoon and we can begin your training.”

  Before Davian could recover enough to speak, Malshash had left the room. Davian stared after him, mouth still open, for several more seconds.

  “Yes, you forgot to mention that,” he eventually muttered to himself.

  He returned to his meal, not knowing whether to feel excited or afraid.

  * * *

  A few hours passed before there was a knock on Davian’s door.

  He had been lying on the bed, tired but unable to sleep, still struggling with the concepts Malshash had tried to explain that morning. He leaped up and opened the door, relieved to find that Malshash’s appearance had not changed since breakfast.

  “Come with me,” said Malshash.

  Davian trailed after the shape-shifter. They walked out of the house and down a street, neither toward the center of the city nor toward one of the bridges.

  “Where are we going?” Davian asked.

  “The Great Library. I can teach you some things, a few tricks here and there, but much would be better coming straight from the Darecians.”

  Davian nodded, falling silent. They walked at a casual stroll; Davian constantly had to slow to match Malshash’s pace, his skin crawling as the mists caressed it. “Aren’t you afraid the Orkoth will attack?” he asked nervously.

  Malshash shook his head. “We need not fear Orkoth.”

  Davian was not going to be put off. “Why?”

  Malshash stopped in exasperation. He closed his eyes, gesturing in the air.

  The mists thickened and a cry came, earsplitting and chilling to the bone. Davian made to flee but suddenly found his shoulder gripped by Malshash, whose eyes were open again.

  The Orkoth formed in front of them, as nightmarish as Davian remembered it. Its eyeless gaze sent a shiver down his spine… however, the creature did not seem aggressive. Instead it just stood there, motionless.

  Awaiting orders, Davian realized with horror.

  “Adruus il. Devidri si Davian,” said Malshash, gesturing toward Davian.

  “Devidri si Davian,” repeated the Orkoth.

  “Sha jannin di,” said Malshash. The creature bowed—bowed!—and disintegrated into black smoke. Within seconds the mists had faded again.

  “You see,” said Malshash. “Nothing to fear. Orkoth knows you now. He will not attack you.”

  Davian gaped for a few moments at Malshash’s back as the older man kept walking, then had to jog to catch up.

  “Why can you control it?” he asked quietly.

  Malshash waved the question away. “A use of kan. Simple enough when you know how.” He turned, raising an eyebrow at Davian. “I’m sure you have more important questions, though?”

  Davian was tempted to pursue the matter, but some of the questions he had thought of in the past few hours came bubbling to the surface. “When I go back,” he said, “will I go back to the same time as I left? Can I save Nihim?”

  Malshash shook his head. “If what I suspect is true, then… no. A part of you—the shadow of a shadow of you—remains in your present. That is what will draw you back, when you’re ready. As much time as you spend here, the same amount of time will have passed when you return.” He shrugged. “The Jha’vett bends the rules, but it seems it cannot break them entirely.”

  Davian nodded; he’d hoped it would be otherwise but somehow the answer didn’t surprise him. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked. “How did you get this ring?”

  Malshash didn’t stop walking. “I did it to see if I could change things,” he said softly. “And I had the ring because you… left it. Left it for me, I suspect.”

  “So we’ve met before?”

  Malshash shook his head. “Not exactly. But our paths have crossed—in my past, your future. Briefly. I was trying to prevent you from going to that time,” he admitted, looking uncomfortable. “But you must have dropped the ring knowing what I would do with it, I suppose. Knowing this younger version of yourself would end up here.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “Clever.”

  Davian hesitated, trying to grasp what Malshash was telling him. “So… you know my future, then?”

  “Not really.” Malshash gave him an apologetic smile. “Before yesterday all I knew was your name, and that you were able to travel through the rift. I did see you at a distance, that one time… you had another scar, on the other side of your face. That was a long time ago for me, though.” He shrugged. “That’s all I can offer, I’m afraid.”

  Davian sighed, massaging his temples. “Then why choose me?”

  “You were the only person I knew of who had survived the rift. This was… a first step. A relatively simple way to see if the past could be altered.”

  “So you wanted to use the Jha’vett to change something?”

  Malshash stared straight ahead. “Yes. And the reasons behind that are my own.” His tone indicated he would say no more about it.

  They walked for a few more minutes in silence, until finally they came to a large building with white marble columns at the front and an enormous dome. They climbed the stairs and stopped in front of the massive double doors, which were closed. Malshash gestured at them, and they swung open without a sound.

  “The Great Library of Deilannis,” he said, indicating Davian should enter.

  Davian gaped openly once they were inside. A gentle yellow glow bathed everything, similar to the lighting used in the library back at the school at Caladel. They were in a large room—massive, really—and every wall, every inch of wall, was filled with books. They stretched away into each corner; farther along Davian saw an open doorway, through which it seemed there was another room also full to the brim with tomes.

  “How are we supposed to find anything in here?” he asked, both awed and a little dismayed.

  Malshash grinned. “Fortunately, the Darecians were a rather clever people.” He guided Davian over to a short, squat pillar in the center of the room, atop which was a translucent blue stone. “Place your hand over this, and think of what you need to know.”

  Davian touched the stone lightly. “But I don’t know what book I need.”

  “You don’t need to know the name of the book. Just think of what you’re trying to find out.”

  A little skeptical, Davian took a deep breath and concentrated. He was there to learn to use his Augur abilities, so he could go home. That was what he needed.

  The stone beneath his palm began to glow; Davian snatched his hand away as if burned, though there had been no physical sensation. A thread of blue light crept from the stone, slowly but surely stretching out, moving toward the wall until it came to rest touching the spine of a small red book. Another tendril appeared, this time drifting in nearly the opposite direction, eventually attaching itself to a book on the other side of the room.

  Three more tendrils appeared, Davian watching in stunned silence. When it became clear there were to be no more, he walked over to the first book, which itself now glowed with the gentle blue light.

  He took it carefully off the shelf. It didn’t have a title, so he flipped it open to a random page.

  His eyes widened as he read. It was a discourse, thorough and frank, on the best ways to practice reading another person’s thoughts. He flipped to a different section; this one talked about natural offshoots of being an Augur. Even his own ability—the ability to sense deception—was briefly discussed.

  He read on in fascination. There were methods to subtly engage a person’s thoughts, in order to manipulate them. Implied rules, discussions of moral implications. Techniques of focus, ways to achieve clarity when two minds were linked.

  It was all there, written plainly and simply, as if it were nothing at all remarkable.

  He was lost for a while, flicking pages back and forth in com
plete fascination. After a time there came a polite cough, and he looked up to see Malshash watching him in amusement. Davian flushed, realizing he had been caught up for several minutes now.

  “Sorry,” he said, a little abashed. “It’s amazing.”

  Malshash smiled. “You’d be wise to at least skim all of them,” he said, gesturing around. Davian glanced up to see that the other books touched by the tendrils of blue light were still glowing. “The Adviser is rarely wrong. It will have picked out only the very best books to satisfy your query.”

  Davian looked at the blue stone. “It’s called an Adviser?” He gave a slight smirk.

  Malshash rolled his eyes. “I call it that… you can call it what you want. Just use it. Learn the theory, and I’ll help you put it into practice.” He gestured around grandly. “All the knowledge of the Darecians is here, Davian. They weren’t perfect, but they were more advanced than any other civilization that has walked this earth. Believe me.” He turned, heading toward the doorway. “You know the way back? I will be gone for a few days.”

  Davian froze. “You’re leaving?”

  “Only for a short while.”

  “But…” Davian floundered. “I thought you were going to train me?”

  “I will,” Malshash reassured him.

  “What if someone else comes?” pressed Davian. The thought of being left alone in the city frightened him. “Am I safe from the Orkoth?”

  Malshash grunted. “I told you, Orkoth won’t harm you now. And there is no one and nothing else here to fear.”

  Davian gave an uncertain shrug. “So I’ll just… see what I can find?”

  Malshash smiled. “Good. Study hard. The faster you understand the basics, the faster you will be able to return home.”

  Without anything further he turned and left.

  Davian stared after him for a few moments, feeling cast adrift. He hadn’t known what to think of Malshash—still didn’t; the man clearly didn’t want to reveal much about himself—but the presence of another human being had been comforting. Left so completely alone now, Davian was struck by just how silent the building was, how empty the city felt.

  Shaking off the sensation as best he could, he turned back to the book in his hand. Whatever else the events of the last few days had done, they had delivered him an amazing opportunity to learn about his powers—his hopes for which had been dashed since the moment he’d realized Ilseth Tenvar had lied to him.

  His face hardened into a mask of determination as, for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to think about the man who had fooled him into this journey. Who had probably known in advance that Asha was going to die.

  He would learn these abilities, and find a way back to his own time. Do his best to stop whatever was going on with the Boundary.

  And after that he would seek out Ilseth Tenvar.

  Chapter 29

  Caeden woke.

  He climbed slowly to his feet, wincing as he stretched stiff muscles. It was just past dawn; the sun had not yet risen above the mountains behind them.

  They were only a day past Deilannis, yet already he felt… less. The overpowering familiarity he’d felt in the city—his recognition of buildings, streets—had faded almost as soon as they had left the mists. He’d felt stronger there, more confident.

  Now it was all a distant memory, and the old feelings of helplessness had returned. He didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know why Davian had been sent to find him, or why he was connected to the Vessel Taeris was carrying, or what he was involved in.

  Worst of all, he didn’t know if he’d done what he’d been accused of.

  He rubbed the Shackle on his left arm, trying to ignore the constant glow of the wolf tattoo there. Its light never faded; Taeris still had the Vessel on his person somewhere, though Caeden hadn’t sighted it since Thrindar. There were moments he’d considered trying to find it—there had been opportunities, while Taeris was asleep—but caution had won out each time. Taeris said it could be dangerous, and the scarred man had helped him, saved him. Caeden had to put aside his uncertainties and trust in his companions.

  Still, the lure of the box was almost more than he could bear, sometimes. None of them spoke about it, but everyone knew that there was a possibility it was meant to restore his memories. And as much as Caeden dreaded that happening, not knowing the truth was worse by far.

  Sighing, he glanced over toward the rest of the group as it began to stir.

  Everyone’s mood, Caeden’s included, had been understandably morose since the loss of Davian and Nihim. Caeden had liked Davian, and his conversation with Nihim after his duel had been a comfort, too. He’d felt their absence keenly since Deilannis, and still sometimes found himself glancing over his shoulder, scanning the horizon for them.

  He often caught Wirr doing the same thing. Despite Taeris’s grim assurances, none of them really felt as though the other two were truly gone.

  He stretched, nodding to Taeris, who was already up and had evidently been on watch. Though Caeden tried not to let on, Taeris’s scars sometimes made him uncomfortable. They were a constant reminder of what the Gil’shar had accused him of doing to the villagers’ bodies.

  Taeris nodded back, looking thoughtful, then walked over to him.

  “Can I trust you?”

  Caeden blinked, taken aback by the question. “Yes. Of course,” he replied after a moment.

  Taeris locked eyes with him for a long few seconds. Then he reached down and, before Caeden realized what was happening, touched the Shackle on his arm.

  There was a cold, slithering feeling, and the metallic torc dropped to the ground. Caeden shook his head in surprise. He suddenly felt lighter, more energetic. Free. Even the tattoo on his wrist seemed to pulse brighter. It had been so long since he’d felt this way, he’d barely remembered what it was like.

  Aelric, who was standing a little way off, rushed over when he saw what was happening. “What do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed.

  Taeris raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been thinking about this all night, Aelric, and Caeden has earned our trust. We have monsters hunting us—going through Deilannis has gained us some respite, but they won’t have given up. And you saw how powerful those creatures are. We need every advantage we can get.”

  Aelric scowled. “You still can’t let him free,” he said grimly. He turned to Caeden. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying I think you’re a threat to us, but after what you were accused of in Desriel…”

  Taeris scowled back. “He’s been with me for many weeks now, Aelric. He saved us in Deilannis, and I’m risking my life to bring him before the Council. I feel warranted in making this decision.”

  Caeden frowned. Taeris’s voice was suddenly… small. Far off. He tried to focus on what else was being said, but the sounds all blurred together.

  He stood on a hilltop, a breathtaking vista below him—green fields and rolling hills for a short distance, and beyond that the ocean, glittering like diamonds in the afternoon sunlight. A pleasant warm breeze ruffled his hair gently. He was suddenly aware he was holding hands with someone; he looked to his side, heart leaping to his throat.

  The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was standing next to him. Her alabaster skin was flawless. Her long black hair was loose, cascading down her back almost to her waist, shining in the sunlight. She had a perfectly oval face, with full, red lips and cheeks rosy from the climb up the hill. Her eyes were blue, not like the ocean or the sky, but something deeper, stronger, more indefinable. She turned to him, smiling, and those eyes shone as they gazed upon him. So focused. As if he were the only thing in the world, or at least the only thing of importance.

  The image faded, the color draining away from the scene. He was standing outside a massive city. Even from a distance away the walls loomed ominously; at a glance he thought they were at least a hundred feet high, probably more. They were made from black stone, jagged edges everywhere.

  Above the walls rose t
he city itself. It was built atop a peak; Caeden couldn’t see any buildings near the wall, but could easily make out roads and structures farther toward the city center. Nothing moved within, though. There were no guards, nor any gates he could see. Massive fires burned at various points around the top of the wall, the red-orange of the flames the only color in an otherwise drab landscape.

  It was night, the moonlight casting a strange silver pallor over everything. He was in a field, though most of the grass was dead, or at least struggling to survive. He looked over his shoulder. There were no trees in sight, with the flat, barren fields stretching on as far as the eye could see in all directions. All was silent here. No wind, no animals.

  Then he was somewhere else. It was day again, he thought, but the sky was blacked out by billowing smoke from burning homes. Around him he could hear the screams of people as they died, not quite drowning out the quieter cries of panic and confusion. The smoke shifted and twisted around him; suddenly two dark silhouettes were visible through it. They were humanoid in nature, but too tall, too thin.

  Then he could see them properly. Covered in black scales, the creatures stood at least nine feet tall; their bodies were slim and sinuous, with no necks to speak of. Their heads were shaped like snakes’, and when they looked at him, he saw the rows of tiny, sharp teeth that filled their mouths. The two creatures watched him for a moment, lashing their tails as they stared hungrily. There was something eerily intelligent about their expressions.

  Then they were gone into the smoke, moving faster than he would have believed.

  He was kneeling. He looked up to see the smoke had gone; he was in an underground cavern of some kind, the roof stretching upward so far that he could barely see the top. He was sweating; a little way to his left a pool of molten rock bubbled threateningly.

  In front of him was a being that appeared made of pure fire, its skin smoldering and writhing, even the strands of its hair glowing with energy. Its eyes, though, contemplating him, were undeniably human.

  The creature was holding a sword, and Caeden knew that the sword was important somehow. It bent the light around it, drank it in, but Caeden could still see the symbols inscribed onto the blade, words in a different language. They were familiar to him, but he didn’t have time to concentrate on them.