An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  He released the column he’d been leaning against for support and made his way cautiously toward the object, still a little unsteady on his feet. His brow creased as he drew close enough to examine it. There was a shelf affixed to the side, barely noticeable amongst the bladelike extensions, holding a collection of unremarkable items. Some clothing. A long blade and dagger. Three rings made of a metal Caeden didn’t recognize.

  He came to a stop in front of the mass. Made up not only of stone and steel but also of glass, it glinted in the fading light, its pieces interlocking in ways that were both puzzling and yet somehow made perfect sense to him.

  He shifted uneasily, then leaned forward as he spotted a pane set into the side. Unlike the rest of the glass he’d seen, this was smooth. Clear.

  A window.

  Caeden squinted at the pane, trying to see through to the inside, but it was utterly dark beyond. As he edged closer another wave of dizziness struck; he grunted in frustration, laying a hand against one of the smoother sections of the object to steady himself.

  He felt the Essence draining from him too late.

  He stumbled back, staring in shock as the mass whirred to life, a low thrum filling the air as Essence ran around its edges, lines of cold blue breaking the fading light. Pieces of blade began to shift, some slivers withdrawing from the core, others pushing into it. Sections began to rotate and slide, grinding into place with heavy groans.

  After several seconds the motion stopped and silence fell again, though the device continued to glow ominously.

  Caeden felt a chill as he stared up at the new formation of stone and steel and glass. The bottom was smooth, capsule-like now, but the top was something else entirely. Jagged teeth set along an elongated jaw, bared in a snarl. Two eyes staring down at him, blazing with blue light. It was stylized, all sharp edges and angles, but unmistakable.

  A wolf’s head.

  He shivered. Essence lit the inside of the device now, too, and he could finally see its contents.

  The man inside, perfectly preserved, had clearly been tortured to death. Vicious, needle-like blades protruded through his skin everywhere—through the neck, the arms, the hands. Some of the blades remained straight and clean, while others were hooked, as if designed to keep the body perfectly in place.

  Caeden had only a few seconds to react; though he’d snatched his hand away from the device immediately, this final drain on his Reserve had been too much. He sank to his knees, only barely registering that the forward section of the capsule was beginning to ripple, warping and melting away to expose the body to the open air.

  He couldn’t be certain, but as consciousness faded, Caeden could have sworn that the eyes of the man in the coffin began to open.

  Chapter 9

  Asha slipped into the library.

  The darkness of the Decay Clock in the corner indicated the lateness of the hour—well past midnight—but even so, Essence lamps emitted a soft light above every desk. No one was manning the entrance, though she assumed that the librarian was in among the books somewhere. Since the burning of Tol Thane, the Gifted treated their knowledge with a care bordering on obsessiveness. The library was always open, but it was never unattended.

  Still, she released a small sigh of relief at the emptiness of the silence, relaxing. She was allowed to be here, but since the battle it sometimes felt as though her every movement was scrutinized—and the less attention she got while she looked for the maps Taeris had mentioned, the better.

  “Representative Ashalia.”

  She jumped, spinning to see a young blond-haired Shadow reclining in the corner, an open book in his lap. He was trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement at her reaction.

  “Brase?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”

  “Sit here or greet you?”

  Asha just made a grumbling sound, though she smiled as she did it. Brase was one of the youngest Shadows at the Tol—one of the youngest Shadows anywhere, in fact. He’d failed his Trials last year, but hadn’t come to Ilin Illan until after the battle. With the abrupt shortage of Shadows in the city—and a sudden, distinct lack of interest in hiring from the Houses—he’d had no trouble finding a position at the Tol.

  He was also, Asha had discovered over the past couple of weeks, unintimidated by her. Most of the Shadows—the ones left behind, anyway—treated her the same way that they treated the Gifted, or even Administrators. Their unconditional respect-bordering-on-servitude attitude made her deeply uncomfortable, which in turn made it all but impossible to strike up any friendships.

  Brase, though, showed no signs of the weight that seemed to constantly bear down on the others’ shoulders. He refused to take a cue from them, too, much to Asha’s relief.

  She made to continue on into the library, then hesitated.

  “How well do you know where everything’s shelved now, Brase?”

  Brase straightened. “What are you after?”

  “Maps. Probably very old.” Asha hesitated. “Specifically, of the lower levels of the Tol.”

  Brase squinted at her. “Planning an adventure?”

  “Wanting to be better informed the next time someone tries using those catacombs to invade the city,” said Asha firmly.

  Brase frowned. “Didn’t you block everything off down there, though? Locks, guards, that sort of thing?”

  “Just want to be thorough.”

  Brase cocked his head to the side. “‘Officially’ or ‘unofficially’ thorough?”

  Asha coughed. “Let’s say unofficially?”

  “My favorite kind of thoroughness,” announced Brase cheerfully. “I think I know the ones you’re talking about. Follow me, Representative, and be dazzled by my map-finding skills.”

  He started down the main aisle, Asha trailing after him. After a few moments, she realized that Brase was walking with a slight but distinct limp.

  “Did something happen to your leg?” She wasn’t just asking from politeness. She was all too aware of how badly the Shadows could be treated, even here in the Tol—and she could only imagine how much worse that might have become since the battle. Her position as Representative shielded her from the worst of it, but she knew that the few Shadows who had stayed in the city were far from benefitting from their role in the victory.

  “It’s nothing,” said Brase quickly. His tone indicated embarrassment.

  “Did someone attack you?” Asha pressed.

  “What?” Brase looked back at her, startled. “No. Fates no. Nothing like that.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “My own clumsiness. I was walking down some stairs this morning and I got a little light-headed. I fell.” He sighed. “Right in front of one of the girls from my old school, too—you know, one who actually passed the Trials. So not my finest moment.”

  “Oh.” Asha frowned contemplatively as they walked.

  Then she swallowed.

  “That was this morning, you said?” She glanced across at the young man. “Do you get light-headed often?”

  Brase rolled his shoulders again. “Now and then, I suppose. It’s actually happened a few times, this past month.” He gave her a quizzical look.

  Asha didn’t respond for a few seconds. It could be nothing.

  “The other Shadows,” she said. “Have any of them mentioned getting dizzy, too?”

  “No,” said Brase slowly. “But there’s only Dastiel and Reubin working in the library, and I don’t really speak with them much. They’re not terribly social—by which I mean they never talk to anyone, ever, about anything. Unless one of the Gifted tells them to, of course.” His brow furrowed. “Why? Has the same thing been happening to you?”

  Asha hesitated. She liked Brase and thought he could be trusted not to spread word of her strange infirmity, but she also didn’t want to say too much. “I had something similar happen this morning. Probably just a coincidence.” She shrugged, trying to keep her smile light and disinterested. “Still, it might be worth asking the others if they’ve experien
ced the same thing. And let me know if it happens to you again, too. No harm in keeping an eye on it. Just between us, though—no need to worry anyone else,” she added significantly.

  Brase nodded. “Good idea.” He didn’t press, for which Asha was grateful, though from his expression he understood that there was more to it.

  The young man stretched, then indicated a nearby wall, lined with drawers. “Now. Those maps.”

  Asha refocused. She could investigate this further at a later time.

  For now, she needed to concentrate on finding out more about the Sanctuary.

  Asha held her breath as she approached the great steel door.

  None of the guards looked around from their mostly drowsy conversation as she stepped carefully past them. The door to the Sanctuary was open—it always was, now, as no one could seem to close it—and Asha slipped into the roughhewn tunnel, focusing on the ground ahead.

  Despite her increasing familiarity with this journey, she still found herself nervous every time she entered the Sanctuary. It wasn’t just the danger—though that played a part, certainly. The Blind were likely long gone, but at least one of the sha’teth had frequented this space.

  Rather, it was more the sense of emptiness that left her unsettled. As she moved along the darkened tunnel toward the distant speck of light, there were no sounds. Not a breeze, not the distant echo of voices, not the scuttling of rats. Only her own breath and quiet footsteps reached her ears.

  She carefully skirted the last of the wards she’d helped place, the ones meant to forewarn the Tol should anyone ever try to enter through these tunnels again. It was difficult—the Essence, generated by a Vessel, was whisper-thin and impossible to see—but she’d helped Taeris set them up, and memorized their locations carefully. The last thing she wanted to do was cause a panic upstairs.

  She shivered, checking her Reserve wasn’t too far depleted from using the Veil. It rarely was and yet a couple of times recently, she’d been surprised to discover that she had less Essence stored than she had expected. She’d been pushing herself hard, though, this past month—harder than most Shadows ever pushed themselves. It stood to reason that her body had been drawing on Essence to keep her going.

  She walked through the tunnel, treading carefully; though she could see the glow of the Conduit at the end, she had to trust the smooth floor underfoot for the most part. Her footsteps made little noise, but even the slightest scuffing of her shoes echoed down into the darkness, making her flinch. When she’d come here with Jin, there had been plenty of other sounds. Conversation, both between them and in the distance. Laughter. Tools at work. The general hubbub of life.

  That was all gone now. The silence was dead, grim and oppressive.

  Asha blinked as she emerged onto the platform overlooking the Sanctuary, squinting against the initially blinding light of the Conduit. The power flowing through the cylinder was as torrential and terrifyingly beautiful as ever. Even accustomed to the sight as she now was, Asha took a few moments just to watch.

  Then she made her way down the stairs, toward the eerily abandoned structures sitting a small distance from the pillar of light. She’d been through each of those houses several times, but there had been no indication of where the former occupants may have gone. The same went for the tavern, the school … everything was simply empty.

  She frowned as she studied the school, a squat building big enough for a single class. Of everything, the absence of the children bothered her most. How had they gotten away without anyone noticing? Had they left before the Blind had come through here? There were no bodies, she had been relieved to find—which seemed to indicate that the Shadraehin had moved everyone in time. But exactly how she had done that remained a mystery.

  Asha pulled out the copy she’d made of the maps Brase had found for her, studying them carefully. They were from a time long past, of course, and didn’t show any of the buildings the Shadows had built. But the Conduit—marked as Cyrariel, though she had no idea what that meant—was indicated clearly, as was the tunnel she’d just entered through.

  She flipped the page, studying some of the other plans. Her map of the catacombs showed just how complicated the warren of tunnels truly was; paths diverged and intersected and twisted everywhere, with many on the map simply ending. Whether that was due to a dead end or a lack of knowledge on the cartographer’s behalf, she didn’t know.

  She was so lost in thought that she nearly didn’t register the movement in the corner of her eye.

  When she did she spun toward it, stifling a sharp intake of breath.

  Two figures walked along no more than a hundred feet away, silhouetted against the blinding light of the Conduit. A man and a woman.

  At first she assumed that they were Shadows, and she took a couple of quick steps toward them.

  Then she registered the sinuous movements, the black cloak and hood of one. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that the other had no black marks on her face, either.

  She faltered to a stop.

  A sha’teth. And … someone talking to it. A woman. Someone not a Shadow, but able to get as close to the Conduit as Asha herself would have dared go. Unafraid of both her surroundings and her company, too, from what Asha could gather from her body language.

  Asha froze for several seconds, not taking her eyes from the pair.

  She should retreat. Leave. She was hidden by the Veil, and there was no reason to suspect she’d be detected if she simply headed back to the Tol. It was the safe thing to do. If Wirr or Taeris were here, they would be telling her to do exactly that.

  But there was a conversation going on. She couldn’t hear it, exactly; the voices were low and the two were enough of a distance away. But listening might tell her who the woman was, or what the sha’teth was doing back down here.

  It could give her insight into what the enemy was planning next.

  Her heart pounded, and she licked her lips nervously. It was a risk, but it was also too good an opportunity to pass up.

  She quickly slipped the map back into her pocket, careful to minimize the sound of crinkling as she steadied her breathing, making sure it was as even and silent as possible. Then she crept forward, carefully placing her feet so as not to make any sound. The dead silence meant that the stranger’s conversation with the sha’teth would be easy to overhear.

  It also meant that any sound Asha made would likely draw attention.

  She inched closer, studying the stranger in particular. The woman was young—older than Asha, but not by more than five or six years. Her shoulder-length red hair was arranged in a style Asha hadn’t seen before, and her clothes looked finely made.

  There was something about her, though. A set to her features, the way she carried herself. Motions jerky, eyes too wide, fiercely intelligent one moment and then glassy the next.

  As terrifying as the sha’teth was, it was the stranger who filled Asha with a deep, unsettling sense of dread.

  Shivering, she forced herself closer, until the words passing between the sha’teth and the woman became clear.

  “… still no sign.” The sha’teth’s rasping, whispery voice was just as disconcerting as Asha remembered. The way it was speaking, the way it held itself around the woman, seemed … deferential. “You are certain that the Trace you gave us is real?”

  The woman gazed directly into the blinding light of the Conduit for several seconds without answering, without blinking. Asha thought she hadn’t heard, but eventually she cocked her head to the side.

  “Certain?” She gave a laugh, low and throaty, and Asha flinched at the sound. It was raw, tinged with madness. She continued, in a voice that would have been a whisper anywhere except in the deathly silence that surrounded them. “Yes. Certain. As certain as the high tide. As certain as the moon. Certain, certain, certain.”

  She finally turned to study the sha’teth, leaning in close and peering up under its hood in a childlike motion. “Certainty is a funny thing. Because you were cer
tain that you could perform this task as ably as Aelrith. A wish from the mindless, a flight of fancy from the thing that does not breathe? Surely not. And yet you were not made for this purpose. Are you certain, Vhalire?”

  Asha felt a chill as she processed what had been said, recognized the name from her very first visit here. When the time comes, do not let Vhalire suffer. Aelrith’s words to her seemed like forever ago now, but those awful moments after it had so casually killed Jin were etched indelibly on her memory.

  Ahead, the woman continued to just stoop and stare under the creature’s hood, smiling wildly, her face inches from the sha’teth’s.

  Then, when there was no immediate response, she straightened again with an odd sigh, her gaze sweeping beyond the creature and around the Sanctuary. The action was absent rather than suspicious, but Asha froze even so.

  The woman’s gaze was about to pass over the space in which Asha stood when the sha’teth rasped again, drawing her attention back.

  “Yes.” The response was flat, lifeless. It contained neither concern, nor any indication of offense. It was a statement, nothing more or less than that.

  The woman stared at the creature silently for several seconds.

  Then she screamed.

  Asha recoiled instinctively at the sound. It was a shriek of rage, of frustration, confusion and fury and terror all rolled into a single note. The woman turned and as Asha watched wide-eyed, she plunged her hand deep into the Conduit. Within moments she was a pyre of pure energy, as hard to look at as the Conduit itself.

  “Lies!” She flung her fist at the nearest building; there was a roar and every stone in the structure exploded, raining debris on the nearby houses. Asha took a stuttering step backward. The point of impact had been some distance away, but it was clear that the woman was unhinged.

  “Lies!” Another roar, another building crumbled. “Lies! Lies!” Another. Another.

  The destruction was away from Asha but she still stood with every muscle tense, prepared to run if it came to it. Thunderous echoes crashed around the cavern as pieces of wall and roof still collapsed; an enormous cloud of dust rose from the area the woman had targeted, thick and slowly billowing outward. Asha kept a close eye on that cloud, too. Dust landing on her would naturally be absorbed into the Veil’s protection—she knew this from her tests—but it would make it difficult to breathe. And a single cough could give her away as easily as becoming visible.