The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1)

by James Islington

  There was silence for several seconds, then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “What if we remove the Fourth Tenet?” Davian asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  Davian gestured towards the shield on the table. “Ionis only stopped you from using Essence, not from altering the Tenets,” he observed. “You said you needed someone here that you trusted. Trust me now, Wirr. If you’ll let me, I’ll change the Tenets exactly as you ask - word for word. From what you told me, all you need to do is stand there. I do the rest.”

  Wirr found himself suddenly, unexpectedly smiling. He hadn’t been called ‘Wirr' in weeks, now. It felt good to hear the name aloud again.

  He inclined his head. Whatever he'd been through... Davian was his friend. He could trust him.

  “Then let's get started before there are any other complications,” he said, glancing again at the pile of dust on the floor where Ionis had been standing.

  Davian nodded. “Good idea. What I took from Ionis should be enough, but we do need to be fast. I have to hold Essence outside my body if I want to use it, and I can’t stop it decaying any more than you could.”

  Wirr strode over to the shield, hesitantly placing his hand against it. As Davian had suspected, now his intent was not to use Essence, he was able to touch the Vessel. Davian gave him a tight smile, then placed a hand on the shield too.

  “Your Grace, if I may interject.” It was Nashrel, looking on with a worried expression. “I mean no offense to young Davian here” – he nodded politely at Davian – “ but if you need someone else to assist you after all, I would… feel more comfortable if you used one of the Elders instead. After what happened to Ilseth Tenvar, one of the Gifted and a man ostensibly under our protection...." He shook his head. "At the very least, perhaps you should be writing down the exact wording of the Tenets you are going to create. The current ones took months of discussion and negotiation before they were settled upon. Let us take a few minute to go over them with you, advise you on how best to -”

  Wirr shook his head. “I’ve known these words for years, Elder Eilinar,” he interrupted gently. “And I mean no offense to the Council, but I don’t trust anyone else to help me. It’s that simple.” He turned back to Davian. “Now. All you need to do is repeat after me, and keep a steady flow of Essence going into the shield. The Vessel should do the rest.”

  Davian nodded, taking a deep breath and glancing around at the Elders, who were all watching with keen interest. “I’m ready.”

  Wirr closed his eyes, remembering the words.

  “I swear I shall not use Essence to harm or hinder non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

  Davian hesitated.

  “I swear I shall not use Essence to harm or hinder non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra,” he repeated, a thin line of Essence flowing from him into the shield.

  Wirr released a breath he’d been unconsciously holding. He did trust his friend, but if Davian had chosen to alter the wording, there would have been nothing Wirr could have done about it.

  The symbols on the shield had begun to glow with an intense blue light. It was working.

  Wirr continued, “I swear I will not use Essence with the intent to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

  “I swear I will not use Essence with the intent to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

  Wirr smiled as the symbols glowed blue again. “I swear that as no Administrator may kill or bring harm of any kind to me, I shall not kill or bring harm of any kind to an Administrator.” After Ionis, Wirr had decided to tweak that Tenet a little.

  Davian repeated the phrase word-for-word. When he was done, Wirr took a deep breath, then gave Davian a shaky grin.

  “That’s it,” he said softly.

  ***

  Davian let out a long breath as the symbols on the shield began to fade.

  He should have felt ecstatic at changing the Tenets – felt something – but instead his gaze was drawn to the pile of dust that had once been Ionis.

  Leaving the Administrator alive had been too great a risk. If Ionis had had even a few more seconds, managed to finish his sentence, then Davian’s only option would have been to stop Wirr in the same manner. Even with so many lives at stake, he wasn't sure he could have done that.

  He frowned as he thought about what he'd done. A detached part of him understood, perhaps for the first time, how deeply experiencing Malshash’s memory had affected him. Killing a man in cold blood – even a man such as Ionis, even in defence of something far greater than himself – should have shaken him to his core.

  It hadn’t.

  He rubbed his forehead, glancing down at the smooth skin on his forearm. After all of that, had it been worth it? He exchanged glances with Wirr. Nothing seemed to be happening.

  “I did everything I was supposed to do,” Davian said worriedly. “Did it –“

  Wirr's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

  Davian dashed forward to help him, but a sudden flash of pain – mild, but noticeable – on his exposed forearm made him hesitate. He glanced down to see the familiar tattoo forming, glowing slightly, just as the symbols on the shield had a moment ago. He’d bound himself to the Tenets again, even if they were different this time. Bound all of the Gifted, in fact.

  He felt a stab of concern, of doubt. Had he done the right thing? He turned his attention to the Council members, watching as they each examined their own forearms in fascination.

  As quickly as it had come, the pain and the light faded.

  “Is it done?” asked one of the Council members.

  Nashrel stared at his arm, then at Wirr's prostrate form. “I believe it is,” he said slowly. “There is only one way to find out, though. Marshal everyone.” The other Council members began filing out, whispering amongst themselves.

  Davian knelt by Wirr. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was regular and deep.

  “He’s alive,” said Davian with relief. He took off his well-worn cloak, creating a makeshift pillow. Wirr’s head had hit the stone floor hard when he'd fallen, but there was no blood.

  Nashrel nodded his acknowledgement. He crouched down on the other side of Wirr and placed his hand on the prince's forehead, a small stream of Essence trickling out of him.

  "He's fine," said Nashrel after a moment. "We're a long way from any beds here, though. It's probably safer if we wait until he wakes up before moving him."

  Davian nodded. "I'll stay," he said. "I'm sure you have other things to attend to."

  Nashrel inclined his head, turning to go. Then he hesitated.

  "Nobody would have blamed you, you know," the Elder said quietly. "I saw your expression. You were tempted to change what he said, at least a little."

  Davian shook his head. "No. He trusted me, and he's thought about this a lot longer than I have. It wouldn't have been right."

  Nashrel gave a thoughtful nod. "I'm not sure any of us would have felt the same," he admitted. "But maybe it's for the best. And those new Tenets may still be restricting, but fates take me if they aren't an improvement."

  Suddenly there was a flurry of activity at the door, and a younger man in a red cloak hurried inside.

  "Elder Eilinar," he said, out of breath. "We're getting reports that some of the Blind are inside the Tol."

  Nashrel stared for a moment, then snorted. "In the Tol? How? They cannot have breached the Resolute Door," he said dismissively. "Someone is seeing things, Ralyse. The Blind haven't even made it past Fedris Idri yet, else we would have heard. And there is no other way...."

  He trailed off, paling.

  "Most of our people are already on their way to the Shields?" he asked. Ralyse nodded, and Nashrel
bit his lip. "Warn everyone else to be wary, then. And have someone watch the El-cursed stairwells to the lower levels." He turned to Davian. "Can you carry him?"

  Davian grimaced. "I think so."

  "Then we need to seal this room, and get moving."

  Davian grabbed Wirr by the waist, slinging him awkwardly over his shoulder. His friend was heavy, but not so much so that Davian couldn't manage the weight.

  "Taeris warned us," Nashrel muttered to himself as they hurried along the tunnels, back towards the main part of the Tol. "He said the sha'teth had turned, and we didn't listen."

  "Probably the one thing he didn't lie about," murmured Davian under his breath.

  Soon enough they reached a part of the Tol Davian recognised. The passageways, normally full of red cloaks, were completely empty. Nashrel frowned at the deserted corridors but said nothing, pressing on.

  Just as Wirr was becoming too heavy a burden for Davian to bear, Nashrel gestured to a nearby room.

  "There's a bed. Set him down in there and rest for a few moments; I'll return when I find out what in fates is going on."

  Davian did as Nashrel suggested, closing the door behind him. The silence of the Tol was making him nervous, as it obviously had been for the Elder, too. The Gifted had sent on several of their people to the Shields already; Wirr had insisted that happen before he changed the Tenets. Even so... there still should have been someone left in this section.

  Davian waited for a while, occasionally checking on Wirr, trying to stay calm. Ten minutes passed. Thirty. An hour.

  Then the shouting began.

  Davian's first reaction was to open the door to see what was going on, but suddenly a scream of pain broke through the commotion, cut short as abruptly as it had begun.

  Then a brief silence, followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside.

  Davian hurried over to where Wirr lay on the bed, looking around and trying not to panic. There was nothing in here he could use as a weapon, and he knew that neither kan nor Essence would be effective against the Blind, even if he was willing to risk a close-quarters fight in the same room as his unconscious friend.

  Clenching his fists to stop them from shaking, he carefully drew a mesh of kan around both himself and Wirr.

  There was a scratching at the door, and the handle turned. Davian hardened the layer of kan, praying fervently he was remembering how to do it correctly.

  He turned, holding his breath as the door swung open to reveal the Blind soldier.

  The man had removed his helmet, but the black-plated armour was the same as Davian had seen in his vision. The soldier's eyes swept the room, and for an instant they paused on the bed, as if he'd noticed something amiss. Davian held completely motionless, willing Wirr not to choose this moment to stir in his sleep.

  Then the man was shutting the door again, apparently satisfied the room was empty.

  Davian waited a few seconds, then took several shaky lungfuls of air. He slumped onto the bed next to Wirr, putting his heads between his knees as he tried to slow the pounding of his heart.

  A few long minutes later, Wirr gave a small moan, then stirred.

  "What's going on?" he asked Davian, rubbing his eyes as he propped himself up. "Where are we?" He winced. "Fates, my head hurts."

  "Still in the Tol," said Davian. He recounted the events of the past hour to Wirr.

  Wirr shivered once Davian had finished, looking nauseous. He took a deep breath, staring at the tattoo on his forearm. "So we need to get out of here," he said. "The Tenets are definitely changed?"

  Davian nodded. "I think so. The Council certainly did, too."

  Wirr levered himself out of bed. "Then we should get moving."

  He was halfway to the door when it swung open.

  "Taeris!" Wirr exclaimed.

  Taeris winced, limping inside and putting his fingers to his lips.

  "Not so loud, Wirr," he muttered as he shut the door.

  Davian stared at Taeris for a long moment. He still felt a deep, burning anger towards the man, but now wasn't the time to bring it up. The issues between them would have to wait.

  "What's going on, Taeris?" he asked, tone grim. "I thought you were locked up."

  "I was." Taeris gave the door a nervous glance. "Nashrel came to let me out when he realised what was happening. He told me where you were before he...." He grimaced, looking at the ground. "He didn't make it."

  "He's dead?" Wirr paled. "Fates. What's happening out there?"

  "Most of the Gifted that didn't head for the Shields are dead. The Blind have mostly moved on into the city, but there are a few groups sweeping the Tol, looking for survivors." Taeris spoke quietly, but Davian could hear the anxiety in his voice. "The new Tenets do let us use Essence in combat, but the Blind's armour is still making it hard to fight them, especially in enclosed spaces."

  "How did they even get in here?" asked Davian.

  "Nashrel thought they were coming through the catacombs." Taeris looked sick. "There's a network of old tunnels, deep beneath the Tol, that supposedly have an exit out past Ilin Tora. No-one knows where that exit is, though." He rubbed his forehead. "Those roads are a labyrinth, but Nashrel said the sha'teth have been using them. It's how they get in and out of the city unseen when they go about their... business."

  Davian felt a chill. "So the sha'teth are here? Helping the Blind?"

  Taeris nodded. "It would seem so."

  Wirr grimaced. "And the Tol didn't guard this entrance, I take it?"

  "They didn't think they needed to, and I don't blame them," said Taeris. "The catacombs come out next to the Conduit, something the Builders created to help power the Tol. Any living thing coming that close to it should have died within seconds." He made a face. "The Blind's armour must have protected them against it, somehow."

  There was silence for a few moments, then Davian shifted nervously. "So what do we do now?"

  Taeris chewed at his lip, expression thoughtful. "There's nothing more we can do here. If we want to help, we need to get back to the fight."

  Davian and Wirr both nodded; Davian helped his friend to his feet, glad to see that Wirr's strength seemed to be returning.

  Taeris opened the door a crack, peering through cautiously before beckoning for the boys to follow.

  They started out through the Tol in a silent half-jog, Taeris going ahead and checking around each new corner. After a minute, they entered a new hallway and Davian faltered.

  Crumpled, lifeless bodies littered the way ahead. They were all Gifted, from their red robes. He knelt by the closest one – a young man, no older than Davian – but the Gifted’s chest was still, and his eyes were glassy as they stared at the roof. Davian stood unsteadily.

  "It's like this everywhere," Taeris warned him.

  They moved on; every new corridor greeted them with eerie, unsettling silence – and in a few cases, more bodies. A couple of the corpses were holding daggers, which Wirr collected as he went. Davian wasn't sure how much use they would be against swords; even so, he didn't refuse the one that Wirr offered him.

  A few tense minutes passed. Davian's eyes and ears strained for any hint of danger, but it was still without warning that the two black-armoured men wandered into the passageway up ahead.

  Though they were not wearing the distinctive helmets, there was no doubting who they were.

  Before anyone could move, Davian felt Wirr gathering Essence; his friend threw it at the soldiers, aiming for their exposed heads. To Davian's dismay, the bolts seemed to simply evaporate just before they made contact.

  “Looks like we missed a couple,” snarled the man on the left.

  Wirr and Davian both took a faltering step back and drew their daggers as the men began walking towards them; though they started more than thirty feet away and appeared to be moving at an almost casual pace, they were covering the space between unnaturally fast.

  "Your knives, boys. Throw them now," said Taeris urgently.

 
Davian and Wirr both hesitated for a split second, then did as Taeris instructed, throwing the blades wildly at the oncoming soldiers.

  Taeris stretched out his hand.

  The daggers stopped for a second in mid-air as if frozen in time, then spun, their blades pointing straight at the approaching men.

  The soldiers were fast, but Taeris was faster. The daggers blurred forward; the Blind may not have needed their helmets to stop Essence, but steel was another matter. They yelled something incomprehensible as they saw the danger too late.

  Taeris sunk a dagger into each man’s left eye.

  The soldiers crumpled to the ground, pools of scarlet forming on the stone around their heads. Davian leaned weakly against the wall, staring at Taeris, who was busy reclaiming their blades from the bodies.

  "So the new Tenets really are working," he said eventually.

  Taeris gave a tired nod. "We were just lucky they weren't wearing their helmets. Fully armoured, we would have had to run." He handed both boys a dagger each, the blades now smeared with red. "We should get moving. We're not far from the gate."

  Davian nodded, accepting the dagger and trying not to look at the corpse it had come from. His stomach churned. Fighting the Blind with their helmets on, without the advantage of the Shields... Tenets changed or not, he shuddered to think of how the Andarrans were going to fare. For the first time, he couldn't see how this was a fight they could win.

  Still, they had to try. He took a deep breath to steady himself, nodding to Taeris.

  "Lead the way," he said quietly.

  They headed down the corridor at a jog.

  - Chapter 53 -

  Caeden looked around the massive cavern in despair.

  This one was nearly identical to the many others he'd already crossed, and he was beginning to wonder if he was moving in circles. His head spun a little from the oppressive heat as he examined the expansive maze of narrow paths ahead. Slim walkways of hewn black stone crisscrossed the vast, open space, their treacherously sheer sides plummeting into the seething river of molten rock far below.

  Some paths ended abruptly, their crumbling edges highlighted by the fierce glow that emanated upward, tingeing everything an angry red. Others appeared solid enough... but that made the prospect of walking on them no less daunting. He'd already had several secure-looking footholds threaten to crumble beneath his weight.