An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

The dead live on in memory

  He opened his eyes again, sighing as the last strains faded. Those words took on a very different meaning for him now.

  “I never asked why you liked that song so much,” he realized softly. “Most people only sing dirges at funerals, you know.”

  Ell looked over her shoulder, smiling and giving a slight shrug.

  “It makes me … feel, I suppose,” she said. “It’s what any good song should do.”

  Caeden just nodded.

  Ell noticed his expression and stopped, her eyes searching his. “Are you all right?” Suddenly she grimaced, closing her eyes as she understood. “Ah, Tal. Of all the El-cursed things to sing, after what you’ve been through. I’m so sorry.”

  Caeden swallowed the emotion again and gave a half-laugh. “It’s not sadness,” he assured her. “It’s … amazement. As if this is a dream.” His hands shook a little. “A dream I’m terrified of waking from.”

  Ell stepped forward, taking his hands in hers. “There’s no need to be afraid,” she said with a gentle smile.

  It had been a day since he’d woken from his drunken stupor to find Ell sitting pensively at his side, just as beautiful as in his memories. At first he’d thought he was hallucinating; he’d simply gaped at her, mute, desperately grasping for ways to explain what he was seeing.

  Then she’d asked him how he’d known her name. She was cautious of him—afraid, even, given how different he now looked—but she’d heard him calling out to her, and her curiosity had led her to stay despite his apparent insanity.

  So he’d haltingly explained as they sat there in that grimy, deserted tavern, still not quite believing that he was talking to his wife. In the end, he’d related almost everything. Her apparent death, though he couldn’t help but omit what he’d tried to do—what he’d done—directly after. His attempts at suicide, the last of which had led to his waking up a few days from this village in a body not his own, unable to speak the language, and with no idea of how much time had passed or where this continent was in relation to home.

  Ell had listened silently, her skeptical look turning to disbelief and then cautious excitement as she heard details that only Caeden could have known. And when he’d finished, she’d embraced him, weeping for joy.

  It had been only at the feel of her arms around his shoulders, the scent of her hair in his nostrils, that Caeden had finally understood that it was real.

  He’d wept then, too.

  After a while Ell had told him her story, simple though it was. She remembered what had happened at the wedding, but only up to leaving him at the wedding table in Caer Lyordas. After that she’d woken up here, in Elhyris, though perhaps a hundred miles to the north.

  She’d wandered ever since. She would arrive at a village, stay for long enough to work odd jobs, earn some money, and improve her understanding of the language. She would ask about her homeland, about even rumors of Ilshan Gathdel Syn or the Scion War or the Crystalline Palaces. And then, when she was certain that no one knew anything, she would move on.

  For five years, she had done this. All searching for a way back to him.

  He smiled at her and she smiled back, though like everything else since he’d woken it was … different from how he remembered, somehow. Hesitant, though he couldn’t put his finger on exactly how. He shook his head to himself. It was his imagination, trying to find fault in order to comprehend the miracle, to try and force it into a perspective that he could more easily grasp.

  And perhaps some of it was him, too. He knew he’d changed. Maybe Ell was cautious because she saw that every time he looked at her, he couldn’t help but remember what he’d done. Remember what it had taken to bring her back from the dead.

  Would she act the same if she knew what he’d sacrificed to keep her alive? He assumed that it had been his actions at the wedding that had somehow saved her, brought her here. He would tell her, eventually—he had to—but for now, all he wanted was to be with her. To not have to think about anything else but her, alive and well and with him.

  Ell watched him for a moment longer, his hands in hers. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek and stepped back again, gesturing around.

  “This is a nice house,” she observed. “But why no mirrors?”

  Caeden rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I … had them removed.”

  Ell nodded slowly, studying his face. “Of course.” She smoothed back her hair, frowning up at the intricately detailed vaulted ceilings. “I assume being reincarnated didn’t come with a lot of gold, though, so—how did you afford all of this?”

  Caeden grinned, shaking his head. “I’ve been hunting Vaal,” he explained.

  “Vaal? Aren’t they …? Oh.”

  Caeden nodded. The Vaal were creatures of the night, roughly four feet long and scorpionlike. Their armored backs sprouted three long tails when disturbed, each one with barbs coated with poison that could kill a man within a few minutes. They were completely black, virtually impossible to see in the darkness, and moved in packs of up to twenty. Thankfully for the local populace, they also kept to their own section of forest.

  A Vaal’s blood could cure any sickness, which is why a single one of the creatures could fetch a year’s wages. But nobody was foolish enough to actually hunt them—not unless they were desperate beyond measure.

  Caeden unconsciously rubbed at his arm, though there were no puncture marks there now, nor any sign of the wounds that inevitably covered his body each night. He died often during the hunt—less on each subsequent trip, but still many times over. He was becoming a better and better woodsman, able to flit so silently through the forest that often not even the sharp-eared Vaal heard him before he first struck.

  Even so, there was no way to attack one of the pack without the others sensing it—and once they knew that he was there, there was no recourse but to ignore their barbs for as long as he could. He’d move from creature to creature as they swarmed him, flipping them and snapping their necks as fast as possible before the poison did its damage, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling of his heart constricting, slowing, and then finally stopping altogether.

  He would wake again a few hours later, the remaining Vaal gone along with his wounds, the bodies of the creatures he had killed scattered nearby. Returning with them each morning had made him a legend within the township—one even more mysterious thanks to the days he spent barely able to walk in the tavern.

  It was only when he’d realized that he was earning more coin than he could spend on drink that he’d bought this house. Lavish though it was, it had been practically an afterthought; after a year or two of sleeping by the road, he had become accustomed to hard beds and cold nights. Since he’d arrived here, he had found himself caring little for things like comfort.

  Ell looked at him, a little worriedly. “I know your … ability means that they can’t kill you,” she said. “But there must be less painful ways to make a living.”

  Caeden nodded slowly. “Perhaps I’ll do something else now,” he acceded, trying to keep the reluctance from his voice. He didn’t try explaining that he hadn’t done it for the money, hadn’t done it to “make a living.”

  He’d done it because those blessed few hours, after the poison had taken effect, were the only times that he got anything close to something resembling sleep.

  He grimaced. Looking at Ell now, so beautiful in the afternoon sun, he suddenly understood that that wasn’t going to change. He was fiercely happy that she was alive, but it didn’t alter what he’d done five years ago.

  He had to tell her the truth. It would hurt her, but there were some lies that were too big, too poisonous for a relationship to survive. He could drive her away with another lie—that he didn’t love her anymore, or something equally trite—but he knew that she wouldn’t believe it. She would pursue him to the ends of the earth until she had the truth.

  “Ell,” he said heavily. “I have something to tell you. About the night … about the night
of our wedding.”

  The light in Ell’s eyes died, and she suddenly looked nervous. “No.” She walked forward and stood up straight, meeting his gaze firmly. “Not yet.”

  Caeden frowned. “Ell, I have to tell you. It’s important.”

  Ell paused, then reluctantly nodded, sweeping a strand of her long, straight black hair from her face as she sat again. It was a familiar motion, one Caeden recognized all too well. For some reason, his heart ached to see it.

  Slowly, haltingly, he told her of what had happened that night. How he’d found her. How he’d chased the priest responsible, killed him, filled with so much rage and pain that he could barely understand what he was doing.

  And then how he’d tried to bring her back. How he’d tried to use that strange power—the one he hadn’t been able to tap again since—to buy her life with countless others.

  There was a long silence after he had finished, and he stared at the floor, unable to watch Ell’s reaction. He knew her, knew that she could not let this pass.

  Then there was a hand gently cupping his chin, lifting his face. He looked up in surprise to find Ell gazing at him.

  Her eyes were sad, but they were not shocked. Not filled with disgust or fear or rebuke.

  “I know, Tal’kamar,” she whispered. She swallowed, leaning forward so that her eyes were level with his. “I’ve known since I woke. I remember the bodies. I remember you, standing there like some ancient god, terrible and wonderful, giving me life again.”

  Caeden blinked back tears of relieved confusion, heart suddenly twisting in unexpected directions. Ell knew?

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” he choked out. Ell held him close, smoothing back his hair as tears started to trickle down his cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  They stayed like that for a long time.

  The pain was everywhere, burning, hot and sharp and all-encompassing.

  Caeden began to shake again and he tried to force open his eyes but couldn’t, tried to order his fractured consciousness, but the excruciating crash of emotions and sensations was too much. He opened his mouth to moan, but no sound came out.

  He scrabbled to focus amid the nightmare, grasping desperately at fragments of realization. The woman from the Wells, the one who had killed Asar … it had been Ell. His wife. She hadn’t been lying. Somehow, she hadn’t been lying.

  He tried to understand what that might mean, but his thoughts were drowned out by the thundering roar of blood in his ears.

  “Do you have to go?” asked Ell quietly.

  Caeden pulled on his boots, forcing a smile as he watched the last of the sunset fade through the window. “We could use the gold,” he said, deflecting the question. “I spent too much and saved too little, I’m afraid.”

  It was true, but not really the reason he had decided to hunt Vaal tonight. Despite having had Ell back for close to a month, he still couldn’t sleep. Every time he tried, he went back to Caer Lyordas, took his friends’ and family’s lives all over again. Only this time, at the end, he’d saved Ell … and when she awoke and saw what he’d done, she couldn’t look at him. And he was left alone.

  That was what he had expected Ell to do, when he had told her. Even after discovering that she had somehow known all along—had had five years to process it, five years to come to terms with it—she still wasn’t acting the way he’d thought she would. He saw none of the pain he had caused when he looked into her eyes. Only the joy of seeing him, and … an absence. Those perfect pools of deep blue were most certainly Ell’s, and yet sometimes it felt as though he were looking at a different person.

  And so he hunted at night still, to clear his head, to get the dreamless rest from reality that he could not seem to find elsewhere.

  Ell looked at him for a while, and Caeden got the distinct impression that she knew there was more to it. Eventually, though, she nodded. “I hope it goes well,” she said quietly. She sighed. “And be careful, Tal. I know you’re invincible and immortal and so on, but that doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of losing you again.”

  Caeden smiled at that, meeting her blue-eyed gaze. Then he stood, stretching.

  “I will. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before dawn,” he promised.

  He slipped out the door, exhaling as he felt the cool night air on his face. The days in Elhyris were hot and damp, tropical; his skin always felt clammy while the sun was out. The nights, though … the nights were fresh and clean, crisp, every trace of moisture vanished from the air. He didn’t understand why; the weather here was still beyond his comprehension, even after five years. But night was by far his favorite time. It woke him up. Made him feel alive again.

  Still, he quickly found his thoughts weighing on him as he walked down toward the dingily torchlit streets of Ashmal. He’d felt—more and more, over the past couple of weeks—that he was doing Ell a disservice. That perhaps she was staying with him out of a sense of obligation, because he’d saved her life and her leaving him would mean it was for nothing. Perhaps she was afraid of what he would do, too, if she left—remembered how he had been when she’d found him, and couldn’t bear the thought of him returning to that wretched state.

  He knew her well enough to know that that would be something Ell would do. Sacrifice herself, her own happiness, because someone she cared for needed it.

  His dark thoughts were evidently reflected on his face, for the few people still out in Ashmal scurried away as he approached. Some gave him a respectful nod and one even went so far as to bow slightly, but he barely noticed. These people eked out a living here, some legitimately, but most through criminal endeavor. He took neither pleasure nor pride in their awe.

  Soon enough he was through the town and into the Everwood. The moon was bright tonight, making navigation easier, though the close-growing, gnarled trees with their enormous leaves still blocked out most of the light. He had a regular path now, a trail he’d beaten over countless journeys just like this. Even in pitch black, he could usually make his way with a minimum of effort.

  Eventually he waded through the small, murky stream that marked the Vaal border, grimacing as the tiny fish that swam there at night nipped at his ankles. The Vaal did not like water, he’d discovered—probably the main reason that their territory hadn’t advanced right into Ashmal itself. Unlike the locals who pretended education in such matters, he doubted their reticence was from a fear of humans.

  Vaal territory was different from the rest of the forest. There was very little undergrowth here; the Vaal liked to use their armored tails to crush or uproot anything growing lower than three or four feet from the ground. It gave them better vision of their surroundings and let them move faster in packs. It also left any growth over that height alone, meaning that Caeden’s vision was still obscured half the time.

  He stood still, closing his eyes, listening for the strange clack-clack sound the Vaal liked to make with their silvery, forked tongues when they gathered in a pack. Sometimes he wondered if it was a language of some kind, wondered whether the monsters had more intelligence than anyone gave them credit for. Every time he had the thought, though, he ignored it. He didn’t care to find out either way.

  Eventually the faint sounds of a pack filtered through the whispering forest; he pinpointed the direction and began walking, careful not to make a sound. Surprise didn’t necessarily matter—the pack wouldn’t run—in fact if he yelled now, they would likely come to him. But it was a challenge he liked to set himself, a way to determine if he was improving. Even in his darkest moments he’d always needed some sort of motivation, some sense of achievement and progress.

  He crept along as the clack-clack sound increased, eventually lying on his stomach and worming forward until he could see the group of Vaal, sitting together in a clearing and facing one another. Their vision was sensitive to movement so it was always better to move slowly, edging forward until he was within striking range of the first one. If he was lucky, that one would be dead before the others even reacted to his
presence.

  He was ten feet from the nearest Vaal when the clack-clacking suddenly stopped.

  He frowned, freezing as the Vaal shifted, turning to face the opposite direction. He’d never heard them just fall silent like that.

  The clack-clacking came again. Quieter but higher pitched, urgent.

  Then the Vaal were off as fast as their centipedelike legs would carry them, moving at an angle away from Caeden. He let out a mental curse; whatever had just happened had cost him a good hour of hunting.

  He shifted, squinting through the foliage. There was something coming. Nothing moved, but suddenly the moonlight was more … intense. A gentle, warm glow bathed the clearing, rapidly becoming brighter and brighter until Caeden had to look away for fear of hurting his eyes.

  Behind the intense light was … something, moving toward him. A presence at the center of that blinding glow. It paused as it drifted through the trees, and Caeden had the distinct impression that it was searching.

  He felt its gaze focus on him.

  Caeden held his breath, willing himself to melt into the ground. For the first time since he’d died, he felt fear—true, blood-chilling, mind-numbing fear.

  The light crept closer, its warmth touching his skin now, moving lazily. Caeden knew that the presence was focused on him, suddenly understood that he could run for a thousand years and still be no farther from the being in front of him. It knew what and who and where he was, and it did not need to rush to get to him.

  The light settled only feet in front of him, its presence like the sun itself, throwing the forest around him into painfully sharp relief. He forced himself up into a kneeling position, hands shaking with inexplicable terror. Even with his head turned to one side, the light still burned; his one attempt to face the presence resulted in him immediately having to look away again.

  He shivered, despite the beads of sweat collecting on his brow. He hadn’t been able to make out any details, but there had been a vaguely humanoid figure in the midst of that light.

  Then there was a voice, filling Caeden’s head with quiet intensity.