An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  “You really need to tell whoever cleans up here about those stairs,” he said to Theshesseth, sounding relaxed. “It’s much nicer up here.”

  The creature gave him another glance, this time clearly in irritation. Davian watched him curiously.

  Then he understood.

  This, here, was a vision of something that would happen to him. Which meant that his confidence when this actually occurred was likely coming from knowing what was up ahead.

  Theshesseth opened a large pair of doors and Davian, unbidden, strolled into the room beyond.

  The chamber was dazzling. Walls, floor, and roof were made of finely cut, intersecting pieces of steel, with lines of blue Essence pulsing and flowing in the minute spaces between. The pieces of the floor in front of him rippled as he walked forward, presenting him with a smooth path to the center of the room, though sloping upward at the sides so that he could not easily change course.

  Davian walked forward nonchalantly, observing the dozen others already in the room, ignoring the prickling sensation that came from turning his back on the dar’gaithin. The twelve rose as one as he entered, inclining their heads in unsettling symphony as he came to a halt in the center of the room.

  Davian gave them a tight smile. “Gassandrids,” he said in mock greeting.

  The dozen faces staring back at him did not move even a fraction in response to his jest.

  “Time has passed, Davian,” said a woman on the left.

  “We had hoped it would give you the chance to reflect,” said a gray-haired man to the right.

  “The chance to reconsider.” The child standing in the middle. Her brown hair came down to her waist. She couldn’t have been older than ten.

  Davian yawned and stretched his arms in front of him, idly observing the veins as they stood out starkly against muscle. “Reconsider what?”

  “You know of what we speak.” Another man, this time younger, dark eyes flashing as he spoke. “Do not treat this meeting lightly, Davian. We will send you back.”

  “We have told you what is at stake,” said the woman who had first spoken.

  “When the lines were drawn, you stood on the side of Shammaeloth,” intoned a woman to the right.

  “You fought for slavery.”

  “You fought for tyranny.”

  “You fought for destruction.” The final speaker, a distinguished-looking older woman, gazed at him unblinkingly. “We gave you the opportunity to do what is right.”

  Davian said nothing for a few moments, staring around at the various faces.

  “Is there any order?” he asked suddenly.

  Silence for a few seconds.

  “Order?” It was the small child again, tone puzzled.

  “When you speak.” Davian rubbed his chin. “I can’t figure it out. Are you choosing people at random? I mean, what about this fellow over here? He’s said nothing the entire—”

  He grunted as a blunt force smashed across the back of his shoulders, forcing him to his knees.

  “Impertinence, we can ignore. Waste our time again, though, and you will be punished,” said one of the men.

  Davian growled, the throbbing pain of the blow something he knew would last for some time. From the corner of his vision, he could see Theshesseth giving him a suspiciously satisfied look. “I keep telling you. I don’t know who she is,” he snarled to the group. “I never had any contact with this ‘Shadraehin.’ I can’t tell you what she looks like, or sounds like, or smells like, or …” He stuttered back to his feet. “You see what I’m saying?”

  “We know,” said the old woman standing next to the child. “We also know that you know those who can tell.”

  “You’re talking about Asha?” Davian could hear amusement in his voice. “Isn’t that the entire reason you want the Shadraehin, though? So that she can tell you where Asha is?” He shook his head. “I’m confused. So you want me to find Asha so that she can tell you what the Shadraehin looks like, so that you can find the Shadraehin in order to make her tell you where Asha is?” Davian sighed. “I think you’re making that process needlessly complicated. Possibly some circular logic in there. You really need to—”

  Another blow, this one even harder than the first. Davian groaned, shaking his head to rid himself of the black spots dancing in his vision.

  “You can go back.” A woman to his left was speaking now. “To a time when you know where she is. A time when she would not be so guarded.”

  Davian took a few moments more to recover, then raised an eyebrow. “Unless something’s happened to the Boundary—ilshara, whatever you want to call it—I’m not entirely sure how you expect to get me to Deilannis,” he said weakly.

  “We can send you back from here.”

  “Here?” Davian barked a laugh. “When you split up that mind of yours, Gassandrid, I think you forgot part of it.”

  The man nearest to him moved with blinding speed; before Davian could react he was being slammed up against a glimmering steel wall that had risen from the ground for exactly that purpose.

  “It can be done. Little is impossible for the dead,” whispered the man. His breath smelled of rotting meat, and up close, Davian could see that his eyes were hollow. Empty.

  “I’m sure that’s comforting to your puppet here,” choked Davian.

  The man growled, releasing Davian and letting him slide back to his feet. “You will go back to Ashalia Chaedris. You will mark her; physical contact will echo across time, and the sha’teth will find her.”

  Davian snorted. “Even saying that I believe that’s possible. Which I don’t,” he added firmly. “There is nothing you can threaten me with. I know you cannot kill me.”

  “Cannot?” Though the child in the center spoke, all twelve arrayed before him smiled, at the exact same moment and in the exact same empty, joyless manner. “Your head will be on a pike soon enough. Do not mistake prudence for inability, traitor.”

  “Let’s find out if that’s true, then,” murmured Davian.

  Everything slowed.

  Davian—inside his own head—observed in astonishment. He hadn’t simply tweaked his passage through time. This was akin to Fessi’s ability: everything around him was all but motionless, frozen.

  Davian spun, grabbing a long scale from Theshesseth’s neck and ripping it out in one smooth motion, an odd popping sound as he did so. He moved quickly around the front of the dar’gaithin and coldly, clinically, stabbed the creature in the eye.

  Time was moving so slowly that black blood from the wound was only just beginning to seep outward when Davian turned, focusing on the men and women arrayed in front of him. The steel floor was inclined at an impossible angle, but Davian turned to the leftmost man, draining him of Essence in an instant and then going to one knee, slamming his hand against the cold metal plate. Lines of blue shot out from where he touched it; as the Essence drained away, suddenly the metal plates forming the incline began to shift—relatively slowly, though he knew that they had to have been moving incredibly fast for everyone else.

  The floor beneath the eleven—the twelfth was now a pile of dust—dropped away, leveling out with the steel that he was standing on. Moments later, concern and shock registered on everyone’s faces as they began to fall.

  Then something changed. Though time evidently still flowed around him—the geyser of black blood continued to creep its way out of Theshesseth’s face—the others in the room were suddenly moving faster. Still not as fast as Davian, but close.

  Several landed, catlike, on their feet, but the rest were unbalanced enough to stumble and slip to the floor. Davian dove forward before they could recover, slashing left and right with the dar’gaithin scale. Bright red blood appeared on each neck that he cut, the scale razor-sharp everywhere but the dripping black root where he held it. The acid burned his hand, but he ignored it.

  A redheaded man—one of the ones who had landed on his feet—sprang at him from the left. Davian moved to the side and caught the assailant by
his left arm, spinning and hurling him with all his strength. The arm that he was gripping snapped, the extra force of Davian’s relative passage through time—plus, apparently, the increased strength of his muscular arms—doing the damage. The man flew gracelessly through the air, tangling with an older woman before colliding hard with a steel wall and sliding to the ground in a heap.

  Davian snatched more Essence and slammed his palm into the ground again; the floor rippled once more, snapping upward beneath the feet of a man and a woman rushing toward him. He watched in horror as the plates kept rising after the two had lost their balance, pressing them against the roof with incredible force.

  There was an unpleasant squelching sound. When the steel floor lowered again, only bright red viscera remained.

  He turned to face his next opponent, only to hesitate.

  The young girl stood in front of him after having finally regained her footing, eyes wide as she watched him.

  The hesitation was evidently all Gassandrid needed. Without warning, the floor beneath Davian twisted; he tripped as chains emerged from the steel, rising up and wrapping around his torso. They burned; immediately Davian’s sense of Essence was lost. He roared, trying to free himself, but his restraints were too strong. Too thick.

  The moment he realized, he forced calmness upon himself. Closed his eyes. Breathed.

  Let time wash over him again.

  There was utter silence for a few moments.

  “Wonderful!” The redheaded man who had been thrown to the far side of the room stood, straightening his misshapen arm with a slight grimace. There was a flash of Essence and he flexed his fingers, the break healed. “Your progress is impressive. Better than I could have dreamed.”

  Davian kept his face smooth, not rising to the bait. “I’m glad you approve.”

  The child in front of him brushed her clothes, though there was no dust in here, no grime to speak of at all. “Tomorrow, Davian. Tomorrow you will go back and you will meet with Ashalia Chaedris.” She placed a hand against one of the steel plates; it pulsed with blue light for a moment and then part of the wall slid aside, revealing another doorway.

  “Aniria. Please escort our friend to his new accommodations and then clean this up,” she said, satisfaction in her tone.

  Aniria—a slave girl from the looks of it, a stunning young woman wearing an embarrassingly small amount of clothes—entered the room with head bowed. Her surrounds, evidently, were not unusual enough to throw her. “Of course, Lord Gassandrid.”

  She took Davian’s bloodied hand, ignoring the dar’gaithin scale in the other, and calmly led him to the exit.

  “That must have been quite a performance,” she murmured once they were through. “But I have to admit, I am curious. Why the charade? Why allow them to send you back?”

  “Because you said that you owed me nothing,” Davian replied softly. “But I don’t believe that is true anymore. My name—my real name—is Davian.”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Now figure out a way to get me out of here, Nethgalla.”

  Davian groaned as he woke.

  It had been a vision, not a dream; he knew that from the moment he opened his eyes. He frowned, trying to commit as many details as possible to memory, even as he puzzled over the fact that it had happened. He hadn’t had even a glimpse of the future since Deilannis—not since Malshash had repressed the ability. Why now? What had changed?

  He lay there for a few more moments, thinking. Driscin had said that the vault entrance was supposed to remove all influences from someone’s mind. Could that have been it?

  The sound that had woken him—a knock at the door—came again. Remembering how he’d left things with the others, Davian grimaced, then swung to his feet and opened it.

  All three of the other Augurs were waiting outside.

  Davian frowned at them. “I still haven’t changed my mind since—”

  “You were right.” Ishelle said the words bluntly, but she was clearly speaking for all three of them. “We had a long talk about everything, and …” She gestured irritably. “You’re right.” Davian raised an eyebrow at her, and she scowled back at him.

  Davian repressed a smile but nodded; it was as close to an apology as he was going to get from Ishelle. He glanced at the other two, seeing contrition in their eyes. Or Erran’s, at least. Fessi was staring at the ground, but whether it was from remorse or something else, he couldn’t tell.

  “Then we’re all agreed?” he asked quietly. “Rohin goes to the Tol tonight, and we leave tomorrow?”

  The other three nodded.

  Davian breathed out, unable to contain his relief. He wasn’t sure what he would have done, had the others chosen otherwise … but he didn’t need to worry about that now.

  He smiled, even the darkness of his vision temporarily receding as they began to talk about organizing horses, provisions, and everything else that they would need for the journey.

  It was finally happening. They were going to the Boundary.

  Chapter 28

  Wirr shook his head as he watched Asha pack.

  “I don’t think you should go,” he said quietly. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Asha paused just long enough to roll her eyes at him, then continued her task. “I’m going, Wirr,” she said firmly. She brandished the Veil at him. “I can look after myself.”

  “You can’t use that in Deilannis,” pointed out Wirr.

  Asha shrugged. “Then I’ll need to use my wits to survive, just like everyone else.”

  “So dangerous,” said Wirr immediately, shaking his head solemnly. “So, so dangerous.”

  He ducked as Asha threw her cloak at him, giving her a grin. It faded quickly, though. “You haven’t been there, Ash,” he said gently. “If you had, you wouldn’t want to go. Let me ask Master Kardai or one of the Gifted to find the information you’re looking for. They’ll be willing, I’m sure.”

  “I have to go myself.” Asha had made up her mind. “They’re trying to find ways to seal the Boundary, maybe a weapon to use against whatever’s coming … and from what you and Davian told me, the longer that they stay there, the more dangerous it will be. They’re not going to waste their time researching the Shadows for me.” Not to mention that she had no desire to reveal her dizzy spells to either Master Kardai or Wirr.

  Besides, she’d already told Wirr about what she’d been through over the past few days. He knew as well as she did that there were too many unanswered questions. That, combined with the Assembly still preventing her from openly looking into anything to do with the Shadows, meant that ignoring this opportunity would have been foolish.

  She sighed at Wirr’s still-unhappy expression. She appreciated her friend’s concern, but she also felt that she understood the dangers well enough. Taeris hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of her going to Deilannis, either, though his argument had at least held more weight—that it made it difficult to justify her position as Representative when she decided to leave the city for such long periods.

  Even so, her mind was made up. She was getting increasingly concerned about whatever was happening to her and the other Shadows; that, along with what she’d seen in the catacombs … she couldn’t just let it lie. There was too much going on that none of them understood.

  “At least let me go through more of my father’s notebook before you leave,” said Wirr. “What if it has the answers you’re looking for?”

  Asha shook her head. “I hope it does, Wirr, but it will still be here when we get back. The party heading to Deilannis leaves at noon. This is my only opportunity.”

  Wirr growled, evidently frustrated, but before he could continue arguing there was a quiet knock at the door. Asha looked up, surprised to see the princess standing at the entrance to her rooms.

  “Princess Karaliene,” said Asha, dipping her head formally. “What can I do for you?”

  Karaliene walked in, shutting the door behind her and cheerfully waving away the
show of respect. She knew that Asha was a friend of Wirr’s, and had spoken informally to her a number of times. “No need for proprieties, Ashalia. Actually, I’m mostly here to speak with Torin before I leave, but it’s convenient that you’re here as well.” She turned to Wirr. “Have you told her about your … guest?”

  Wirr nodded; Breshada’s appearance had been something that he and Asha had discussed at length that morning. “She knows.” Then he peered at his cousin. “Wait. You’re going somewhere?”

  “North—not as far as the Boundary, but visiting some of the areas affected by the Blind. Father’s reputation isn’t all it could be up there right now, and it’s important for them to see that we’re—” She stopped as Wirr suddenly held up his hand, frowning across at Asha.

  “Are you all right, Ash?” he asked.

  Asha waved her hand at him, indicating that she was fine. Another bout of dizziness, though this one at least felt less severe than previously. She shook her head to clear it.

  “Just tired,” she said with a frown. She looked up, giving a reassuring smile to both Wirr and Karaliene’s concerned expressions. “A little light-headed. I’ll be fine.” She turned to Karaliene. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  Karaliene studied her worriedly for a few more seconds, then nodded. “I’m leaving for a while,” she summarized to Wirr, brushing a strand of flaxen hair back from her face. “But the reason I’m here is actually Ashalia’s upcoming journey. It occurred to me that perhaps one more could be accommodated in her group.”

  Asha and Wirr both stared at her blankly for a moment. Then Wirr’s brow furrowed as he understood.

  “Oh. No,” he said slowly. “That won’t work.”

  “Why not? Weren’t you saying just yesterday how hard it was to find Gifted who might be willing to help? The Representative here may not technically be Gifted, but I’m assuming she has a requisite knowledge of the basics.” Karaliene shrugged. “Besides, there are already too many who know that Breshada is here, and Ambassador Thurin’s people are good at their jobs. If you don’t get her out of the city, it’s only a matter of time before he finds her.”