An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  Asha hesitated as she saw what Karaliene was getting at.

  “She’s right,” she said reluctantly, still trying to blink away the dizziness from earlier. She didn’t like the idea—not even slightly—but she could immediately see why Karaliene had suggested it. “It doesn’t sound like Breshada wants to learn anything complex, so I can certainly teach her. And we’re all going to be armed, so if she has a red cloak, there’s no reason she’d stand out.” She nodded slowly. “Besides, Taeris has been struggling to find people willing to go to Deilannis. It’s not as if she’d be taking someone’s place.”

  Wirr scowled at the ground for a few moments, evidently trying to think of a reason why the plan wouldn’t work. “I’m not sure it’s a great idea to send her closer to Desriel.”

  “She’ll still be safer than in the city,” pointed out Karaliene. “And as a rather big bonus, not directly connected to us.”

  “And she won’t actually try to hurt us,” added Asha, the statement a half-question.

  Wirr shook his head slowly. “No. She gave her word. For a Hunter, that’s like being bound by the Tenets.”

  “It would give us more of a chance to find out about whomever it was that gave her that sword, too. Whether it was Caeden, or if there’s some other link that we haven’t put together yet,” added Asha. Wirr had spotted the connection with the name Tal’kamar as soon as Asha had told him of her recent conversation with Taeris.

  There was silence for a few seconds as Wirr thought. Eventually, he sighed.

  “Very well,” he said with a reluctant nod to Karaliene. He turned back to Asha.

  “Time to see if she’s amenable to a journey, then.”

  Asha glanced around the alley, but nobody passing by in the nearby street was paying her any attention.

  She took a deep breath, glad that the dizziness of earlier had passed. She would have to go and visit Brase once again before leaving, see whether he or any of the other Shadows had experienced the same thing. For now, though, she was glad to have a clear head for the slightly unnerving task at hand.

  This section of the Upper District was not yet fully rebuilt, and most of the crowd were workers going about their business, too focused to worry about someone entering a building that was structurally sound but abandoned. She used the key Wirr had given her and unlocked the side door to the Administration building, slipping inside and shutting it quickly.

  She turned to find a knife pointed at her throat.

  “Breshada, I presume?” said Asha carefully, ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart and cautiously raising her hand, pushing the blade away from her face even as she held up the key that she’d used. She met the gaze of the dark-haired woman behind the knife. “Prince Torin sent me. It was too risky for him to come personally at this hour.”

  Breshada scowled at her, lowering the dagger but clearly keeping it at the ready. “And how can I trust that is true?”

  “You saved he and Davian at Talmiel, though you didn’t know he was the prince at the time. You killed two Hunters to do it. Then you saw him speaking to the ambassador and followed him to his parents’ estate, where—”

  “Enough.” Breshada sheathed the blade. “Your point is made, servant. What is it that you want?”

  “I’m not a servant, and you need to get ready to leave.” Asha kept her voice smooth and calm, despite Breshada’s tone. “There’s an expedition leaving the city at noon, and we’re going to be a part of it.” She reached into her satchel and tossed Breshada the red cloak that she’d brought.

  Breshada caught the garment, frowning at it with clear distaste.

  “This is not what was agreed,” she said slowly.

  “You’ll be a lot safer on the road than here. There are no Administrators coming with us, and we’ll be passing mainly through areas that were affected by the invasion. Nobody’s going to bother looking at us twice.”

  “I came here to learn how to stop myself from using Essence,” growled Breshada. “Will a teacher be accompanying us?”

  “I’ll be teaching you.”

  Breshada stared at her blankly for a long moment, as if not understanding the words.

  “You are a Shadow. You are …” She gestured dismissively. “No. I do not see how this will be of any assistance.”

  Asha felt her jaw clench, but she breathed out. “You don’t want to use Essence, so you don’t need a sparring partner—just the theory, which I’ve already learned. I know more than enough for your purposes.”

  The former Hunter stared at her stonily. “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I am unsure how much longer Prince Torin’s protection will be extended to you,” said Asha impatiently.

  She regretted the words immediately, inwardly remonstrating with herself for her loose tongue as Breshada’s eyes went wide with anger and her hand moved to grasp Whisper’s hilt. No matter the vows Breshada had given Wirr, the woman was still a murderer.

  There was a sudden, odd hush as the Hunter smoothly drew the long blade.

  Asha kept her breathing steady as she slipped her hand into her pocket, touching the Veil there. She didn’t activate it yet, though. No need to give away that particular advantage unless it was absolutely necessary.

  Breshada, though, had frozen. Rather than following through on her aggression, she was just … staring at Asha.

  Then, to Asha’s astonishment, she paled.

  Slowly slid the blade back into its sheath.

  There was silence for a few moments as the two women stared at each other, Asha blankly, Breshada looking suddenly uncertain.

  “You have the mark of Marut Jha Andral,” she eventually said softly. “You have held one of the Blades.”

  Asha blinked at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said cautiously, relieved to find that her voice was calm and steady. “But can I take it that you’re not about to attack me, now?”

  “Attack you? Bah.” Breshada waved away the suggestion dismissively, though her eyes never left Asha’s face. “You do have His mark, though. The sigil of a bear, plain on your forehead, visible the moment I drew Whisper. There was no mistaking it.” She shook her head, then abruptly sat, gesturing for Asha to do so as well.

  Asha felt her frown deepen but she accepted the offer, positioning herself opposite Breshada. Whatever the woman had seen, she’d evidently decided to accept Asha’s presence.

  “The mark of Andral means that you have wielded one of the Blades.” Breshada sighed when she saw Asha’s blank expression. “The five Blades, forged by the God of Invention himself? Of these, Whisper is one. The others are Thief, Knowing, Sight, and Fate.”

  Asha went cold. She’d never heard this legend before—unsurprising, as it was clearly part of the Desrielite religion—but she did recognize one name.

  “Knowing?”

  “As Whisper takes life, Knowing takes the mind.” Breshada cocked her head to the side. “Was he the blade you wielded?”

  Asha licked her lips. Isiliar had used the word, she was certain.

  And it could explain how Asha had known the way out of the catacombs. Maybe the intense, strange dream she’d had, too.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she eventually said softly.

  Even as she said the words, though, she suddenly made another connection.

  The names she’d heard in the catacombs—Isiliar, Alaris, Meldier, Wereth, Andrael, Tal’kamar. They weren’t quite the same, but … she knew why they had been so familiar now.

  Isil. Alarius. Meldier. Werek. Andral. Talkanor. All names from the Gil’shar pantheon.

  All names of Desriel’s Nine Gods.

  “If you do not wish to speak of it, then so be it.” Breshada hadn’t noticed Asha’s stunned expression. “Nonetheless. Perhaps you will be an acceptable teacher after all.”

  Asha shook her head, focusing on the other woman again. “Then … you’ll come?” She wasn’t sure what the similarity in the names meant—if anything—but for now, it didn’t
matter. If the sigil Breshada had seen was enough to make her receptive to the journey, then that was enough.

  “I will come.” Breshada said the words magnanimously. “Where are we going?”

  “Deilannis.”

  Breshada cocked her head to the side. “Deilannis?” she repeated. She laughed softly. “Perhaps I accepted too soon. It is death to go there.”

  “Prince Torin traveled through it just fine.”

  There was silence. “And I have few options,” Breshada eventually added softly, saying what she knew Asha had been thinking. She nodded slowly. “So be it.”

  “Good.” Asha did her best not to show her relief. “Meet us on the north road, out of sight of the Shields. It will probably be late afternoon when we arrive. There will be a half dozen of us, but only a couple will know who you are.” She hesitated. “So make sure you wear the cloak.”

  Breshada’s lip curled and she looked as if Asha had just forced acid down her throat, but she nodded again.

  “Then I will see you on the north road, Ashalia.”

  She stood, indicating that the conversation was at an end, and Asha gladly made for the door. Breshada’s aggression seemed to have vanished, but Asha was no less uneasy about being alone with her.

  She finally allowed herself to relax a little again as she left the Administration building, rejoining the flow of city traffic with no one giving her a second glance.

  There was only one more stop to make before she left.

  Brase brightened as Asha walked into the library.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me,” he said cheerfully.

  Asha smiled back. “I can’t stay for long. I’m leaving on a trip in less than an hour,” she said. “I just came to find out whether you had any … incidents, this morning.”

  Brase’s smile faded. “This morning? No,” he said slowly. “And I was with the others sorting books for most of it. I don’t think either of them felt anything, either.” He looked at her, concern on his face. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.” Asha sighed. “I’m using the ‘I’m just tired’ excuse so much, sometimes I forget it’s actually possible that I could be too tired.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. Even as she said the words, she didn’t really believe it. She’d slept well enough the previous night, and her bout of dizziness had felt suspiciously like the other times, if somewhat less severe.

  Brase grunted. “Are you sure you should be traveling, then?” He hesitated. “Perhaps you should have someone who knows what’s going on along for the journey …?”

  Asha gave him a rueful smile. “Thanks, Brase, but Deilannis isn’t somewhere I want to drag anyone who doesn’t need to be there. It will be dangerous, and even if I thought I could arrange it somehow, I couldn’t do that to you—”

  “I was actually talking about Reubin,” interrupted Brase, nodding toward the dolorous Shadow trudging slowly between shelves on the other side of the large room. “And you know he’s always up for danger.”

  Asha couldn’t help but cough a laugh, the sound loud in the quiet of the library. She shook her head, flushing slightly at some of the irritated looks from Gifted studying along the wall. “Try and keep track of when it happens while I’m gone,” she said quietly once she’d sobered again. “I’ll do the same. I’m curious to see whether distance or location makes any difference.”

  They spoke for a few brief minutes longer, but soon enough Asha was making her apologies, hurrying from Tol Athian again before she ran into one of the Council or another Elder who would try to waylay her.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she emerged back into the Upper District, then headed straight for the palace.

  It was time to leave.

  Chapter 29

  Wirr settled down at his desk with a sigh, flipping open the hefty notebook to where he’d left off.

  After seeing Asha off on her journey, he had only an hour before his next appointment. Even so, he forced himself to spend the first half of that wading through more of the crimes committed by the Gifted, unwilling to risk his missing something important. His father had investigated thoroughly, and had spared no detail in his recording of evidence and eyewitness accounts. Wirr didn’t recognize any of the names of the accused, but he could feel his father’s frustration and anger emanating off the pages.

  He could understand it, too. The injustices Elocien described were utterly horrific, unthinkable … and yet for every one, there was copious amounts of evidence to show that it had actually occurred.

  Finally, he came to what appeared to be the end of the list. Exhaling with relief—reading through those pages had been draining—he moved on to Elocien’s next page of notes.

  By now, you will understand why you decided to make this stand against the Augurs—but doubtless are also wondering how such a thing could be possible. For several months, though I quietly searched for a solution, I wondered much the same thing.

  I was traveling through the Middle District three months ago when a young blond-haired woman, very beautiful, somehow slipped past my retinue and caught my arm, claiming that she could help me. At first I took her for a commoner out for her own gain, and demanded that she leave. But she then said that she wished to speak of my efforts against the Gifted.

  Worried that others may overhear, and wondering how she could know such a thing, I quickly arranged for her to meet me back at the palace, where Kevran and I had a conversation with her inside a Lockroom. During that conversation, she claimed to have a means for us to fight against the Gifted—a way to nullify their powers. Ancient Vessels from a time long past.

  Kevran was skeptical, but there was something in the way the woman spoke that convinced me to pursue the matter. She was articulate, calm, certain that the devices she was offering would enable us to succeed in our purpose. She refused to say how she had obtained them, though, or to explain how she could possibly have been able to come by them in such large quantities. In fact, she refused to give us even a name. This caused us no end of misgivings, but we also knew that if either the Augurs or Gifted had any suspicions about us, they would simply have organized for us to be Read. Given that, logic dictated that this was not a trap, so we chose to proceed.

  We wondered at the time—and still do, for answers have not been forthcoming—if the woman is from Desriel, perhaps even an agent of the Gil’shar. They have ever been wary of the Gifted’s power here, though they fear to challenge it. And there have often been rumors of such devices being stored within their sacred treasuries—enough to prevent the Assembly from ever doing more than verbally condemning the extreme attitudes of their religion.

  Wirr’s heart leaped, and he scanned ahead as his father went further into his own conjecture over whom the woman might have been. Elocien seemed focused largely on Andarra’s enemies—Desriel, Nesk, even the Eastern Empire—but there was no mention of the Boundary or anything about the north. Elocien and Kevran had apparently tried to have the mysterious woman followed—several times—but without any success.

  Wirr skimmed forward a page.

  Our first offering of proof finally came almost a month after that first encounter. When we walked into the room in which the meeting was set, I immediately feared that we had been betrayed; three Gifted sat against the wall, two of whom I knew by name—Amin and Cirea, both powerful men. Though they were bound with rope, I also knew from experience that such simple restraints would be no match for them once they decided to be free.

  The woman was waiting, as always, liking to arrive well before the arranged time. Kevran immediately began questioning her about the prisoners, and though he remained outwardly calm, I knew that he was panicking as much as I.

  Yet despite our concerns, the woman was relaxed. She walked over to Amin and pulled back his left sleeve. To my astonishment, his entire forearm was encased in black metal—perfectly molded to the arm. Amin appeared to be in no extra discomfort due to the casing, despite his emotional state evidentl
y swinging between terrified and furious. He recognized both Kevran and I at once, of course, and as soon as his gag was removed, demanded his release. The consequences he cited were beyond severe; truth be told, so accustomed was I to deferring to his kind, I almost complied.

  Yet after weathering the worst of his verbal barrage, I came to realize something: that the words were empty, spouted by a man whose impotence was evidenced by his lack of action. The woman, after gagging her captive once again, explained calmly that the devices covering the men’s wrists were called Shackles. Whilst they remained attached, the Gifted’s abilities were rendered inert.

  To prove her point—much to my and Kevran’s dismay—she proceeded to demonstrate this truth by repeatedly slapping Cirea in the face. When I asked her to stop, she did so, but her point had been well made. Cirea was distressed, shamed, furious—but unable to react.

  The woman went on to explain how these devices functioned, as well as to provide some of their history. She claimed that they were of High Darecian design, originally intended to be worn around the neck; however, she also stated that placing them on the neck, while working similarly under most circumstances, could be unreliable on some individuals. She strongly urged us to use Shackles only on the wrists of the Gifted. This would unfailingly cause what she called a “contract” to be formed—which in turn meant that only the one who applied the Shackle could then remove it.

  When the woman announced that she had thousands of these devices, both Kevran and I were immediately skeptical. But she promised to show us where they were stored, as well as to demonstrate other, similarly powerful weapons to which she could give us access.

  In the excitement of seeing the potential of what she was proposing, it was only when it was time to leave that it occurred to me that the three Gifted still captive were a problem. When I raised the issue, the woman had a simple solution.