An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  However, it was also, Davian was vaguely surprised to find, fun. Despite the ulterior motive, he hadn’t sat around with friends and played a game in … certainly not since he’d left Caladel. Not even in the months leading up to that, with all his studies gradually overtaking more social priorities. There was laughter, teasing, mock competitiveness. It felt good.

  It felt … normal.

  It had been two weeks since they’d left, and so far things had gone surprisingly smoothly. No one had stopped them, no one had recognized them as anything but a small group of travelers.

  Fessi yawned again, dark circles under her eyes as she threw down the remainder of her cards in mock disgust, lying back and staring up at the starry, cloudless sky. “I need some rest anyway. How far away do you think we are?”

  “Less than a week,” said Ishelle. She shook her head. “Terrifying though that is. We shouldn’t even have been able to make it to Ilin Illan by then.”

  Davian silently nodded his agreement. They had all helped to alter their passage through time and even with consistent breaks, including an extended one around noon each day, they were still covering more than twice the distance he would have thought possible.

  His, Ishelle’s, and Erran’s contribution to the process had been all but meaningless, though, despite their relative proximity to Deilannis now. Fessi did most of the work, eating voraciously and ultimately collapsing a couple of hours after they stopped each night. She would sleep solidly while the rest of them took shifts keeping watch, despite her constant protests that she wanted to help in that regard, too.

  It wasn’t long before Fessi’s distinctive snoring began to emanate from slightly away from the fire, eliciting the usual amused looks between the other three. They continued to play quietly for a while longer, but soon enough the game petered out, the desire to train gradually overcome by the natural physical tiredness that even fortifying their bodies with Essence could not stave off completely.

  “So we’ve decided to share our visions amongst ourselves, correct?” asked Erran suddenly, studying the fire intently.

  Ishelle and Davian glanced at each other. “For now. If we think it’s a good idea,” said Davian. There was no one with them who could act as Scribe, now that Davian’s ability had returned—and it was important that if one of them foresaw something relevant, they all knew what might be coming. They were each privately recording what they saw, too. As always, much of it was irrelevant, inconsequential—but they had still agreed that anything significant should be shared.

  “I think this one might be a good idea,” said Erran. He glanced over at Fessi, whose breathing was slow and steady. “It wasn’t much. I didn’t recognize the region, but it was dry and open—desert, basically.”

  Davian thought for a moment. “Somewhere in the Isles?”

  Erran shook his head. “No sand. Just hard ground, nothing alive. You were there, and Fess was there. I didn’t see myself or Ishelle.” He rolled his shoulders. “They didn’t have the helmets, but I’m fairly sure that you were with some Blind soldiers,” he added softly.

  Davian shifted uncomfortably. “We were prisoners?”

  “Yes. You were the only two that I could see, too,” said Erran.

  Davian accepted the statement with a nod, trying not to get too anxious at the concept. “Anything else? Any way it could somehow be related to my vision from a couple of weeks ago?”

  Davian had told the others what he’d Seen just before they’d left Prythe; his fight against the multiple Gassandrids in the shifting room of steel, and his brief conversation afterward with Nethgalla, were still often on his mind. A few months ago, he would have just chuckled at that latter name being the same as the fabled Ath’s. But after Deilannis, after Malshash had confirmed her existence …

  That was all still conjecture, though. There had been little to tell him where or how far into the future he’d Seen, and since then, he’d had only two brief visions of the day ahead. Nothing more.

  Erran gave him an apologetic look. “Not that I noticed. As I said, it was brief.” He glanced over again at Fessi’s sleeping form. “I just … I don’t think it’s the best idea to tell her. Not right now. She doesn’t need anything extra to worry about.”

  “She’s driven,” observed Ishelle quietly.

  “You cannot begin to imagine. She hides a lot of it, believe it or not.” Erran shook his head. “She knows that sealing the Boundary is important, but her real goal is Scyner. When she finds him …” He trailed off.

  Davian frowned. He knew what had happened, of course—knew that Kol had been killed by Scyner, and that the dead Augur had meant a lot to Fessi. He could understand her determination to seek revenge, he supposed, even if he couldn’t approve.

  “You think telling her what you saw could do more harm than good?”

  “I don’t know what it would do. She’s … changed, these past couple of months.” Erran rubbed the back of his head wearily. “So have I, I suppose—but not as much as her. She’s pushing herself so hard; if she finds out that she ends up as a prisoner …” He shrugged. “It could be years away, anyway.”

  Davian nodded slowly. “We won’t mention it,” he said quietly, echoed by Ishelle.

  Ishelle, sitting next to him, suddenly yawned. Then she stretched out and shuffled around, laying her head in his lap.

  Davian sighed, shifting slightly so that her head slipped onto the grass, a little more roughly than he’d expected but not so hard that it would have hurt. After their first week on the road, Ishelle had seemed to regain some of her former humor—including, unfortunately, the pleasure that she took in trying to make him uncomfortable.

  He rolled his eyes at Erran, who was grinning at him, then looked down to see Ishelle giving him a dirty look.

  He shrugged cheerfully at her as she rolled into a sitting position again. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, suddenly reminded. “Is Asha still at Ilin Illan?” Ishelle had previously made physical contact with Asha, and thus was able to track her. Davian didn’t ask about her too often—if nothing else, he didn’t want to endure the constant teasing that he received whenever he did—but it was nice to know that she was well.

  Ishelle grimaced, brushing bits of twig and grass from her long dark hair, then closed her eyes. “She’s not,” she said after a moment, eyebrows raising a little. “She’s heading north. Not toward us, exactly, but definitely north.” She yawned again, indicating that was all that she could be bothered to tell him. “Anyway—it’s a nice night,” she observed cheerfully. “I think I might go for a walk.”

  Davian echoed the yawn, nodding and grateful that for once, it appeared that he wasn’t going to be mocked for asking. “Thank you. And be careful out there,” he added, more from habit than any real concern. They were far from any town, but the road was hardly one along which he expected to see many dangers.

  Ishelle disappeared into the trees, and for a minute there was only the crackling of the fire and the occasional whickering of a restless horse. When Davian eventually looked up from his reverie, he saw Erran watching him with a curious expression.

  “What?” Davian shifted. “Did I do something?”

  Erran smiled, shaking his head. “You really can’t see it, can you.” It was a statement rather than a question, clearly one that amused him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ishelle.” Erran gave him a pointed look.

  Davian stared at him and then snorted, shaking his head. “She’s done that from the moment we met,” he assured Erran drily. “She knows it makes me uncomfortable. Fates, it took almost a month on the road with her before I learned how to ignore it properly without blushing. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Fates but it does.” Erran leaned forward. “Did you not see her expression just then? Or every time you ask her to tell you where Asha is?”

  Davian frowned. “I know she doesn’t like it, but …” He shook his head slowly. “I t
hink you’re wrong—but even if you’re not, what can I do?”

  Erran sighed. “Fess and I were talking about it the other day, and I’m not sure that there’s anything you can do,” he admitted. “She knows it’s not going to happen. But … you could be gentler with her, sometimes. She puts on a front, but she’s still got emotions. She didn’t just go for a walk because she suddenly felt like it.”

  Davian grimaced, heart sinking. He wasn’t ever going to change his mind about Ishelle—he was certain of that—but she was still his friend. Had he been hard on her without meaning to be? He hated the thought that he’d hurt her.

  “Maybe we should go after her?”

  Erran grunted. “Give her a few minutes. If she’s not back by then, perhaps you can go after her.” He shrugged. “Might be an opportunity to actually talk to her. Clear the air without anyone else around.”

  Davian winced, but nodded.

  There was silence for a while after that, until eventually Davian stirred, earning a brief nod from Erran.

  “Go easy on her,” the other Augur reminded him quietly.

  Davian inclined his head in acknowledgment, then headed away from the light of the fire. His eyes were slow to adjust as he wandered along the road, heading in the direction in which he’d seen Ishelle go. They weren’t in a forest, exactly, but the area in which they’d stopped to make camp was reasonably thickly wooded, and the campfire was soon lost to view.

  Starlight guided his way well enough—the trees weren’t close enough to blot out the sky—but after a while he pushed through kan, extending his senses ahead of him. There were a lot of trees, a few vague outlines of nocturnal creatures creeping through the undergrowth—but no signs of Ishelle.

  He frowned; he’d expected to stumble across her fairly quickly. They all knew not to go too far from the camp at night. Even if they thought an area was safe, there was never any reliable way to be certain that the road was free of danger.

  He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he pushed on farther. Something was amiss, though he couldn’t put his finger on what. He paused in the middle of the road, closing his eyes.

  There was the faintest sound, coming from all around him. A nearly inaudible hum, little more than a vibration on the air.

  And everything else was silent.

  He pressed on nervously now, using kan again to search for any sign of Ishelle. His footsteps crunched as he trod on dry ground and twigs, but even that sound seemed muted.

  Then, finally, up ahead he caught the faintly glowing outline of a person.

  Ishelle was sitting on a fallen tree and leaning her back against another, facing away from the road and staring out into a clearing. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he approached, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

  “Ishelle?” He stepped forward hesitantly, releasing kan as he came within sight of her, though she was only dimly outlined in the starlight. “You’ve been gone a while. Are you all right?”

  Ishelle didn’t move, and Davian sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” he said quietly, stepping around in front of her. “I think …”

  The words died on his lips.

  The finger-thin, jagged spikes that had pierced Ishelle’s body were more than two feet long, the wicked black barbs slicing through her stomach, arms, and chest where they nailed her to the trunk. There were four of them inserted at different angles, each one glistening in the silvery light, globules of dark, viscous liquid congealing and dripping slowly onto the ground in front of her.

  The humming vibration, soft only moments before, was suddenly thunderous.

  Davian pushed back the shock and flinched around, a blur of motion from the corner of his vision the only warning he had. He threw himself to the ground as an enormous shape whined through the space in which he’d just been standing, the high-pitched droning sound grating on his ears.

  He rolled, looking around wildly, his breaths coming short and sharp from sudden terror.

  There was nothing.

  Davian gritted his teeth, forcing his limbs to unfreeze and stumbling to his feet. The hum grew louder again. He searched the skies desperately, biting back a cry as he spotted a dark mass against the starlight. It was gone in a moment, though.

  The buzzing was all around him now and he broke into a faltering run, skin itching from the expected attack, scrabbling desperately for kan that was suddenly impossible to grasp. He was almost across the clearing when something moved in the shadows beneath the trees opposite.

  He skidded to a halt as the sha’teth emerged in front of him.

  He tried to push through kan again, tried to snatch at Essence to defend himself. Nothing happened; whether it was from fear or for some other reason, he couldn’t tell. He changed direction, moving to the left this time, angling away from the creature as it shot toward him with its unsettling, unnaturally fast gait.

  The sha’teth gestured and a bolt of Essence split the night, sailing over Davian’s shoulder. He stumbled on a root underfoot as the light flashed past his eyes, then fell as the humming, whining sound filled his ears.

  In his heart, he knew he was dead.

  He pressed his eyes shut against the horrific, all-encompassing sound and reached out for kan again. This time he grasped it.

  Immediately, he forced the flow of time to bend around him.

  He rolled to see the sha’teth towering over him, its movements not as slowed as everything else. Directly above Davian, silhouetted against the starlit sky of the clearing, was … something. He caught a glimpse of black shapes. Blurring wings and glowing yellow eyes. Rows of what looked like spears, riblike but protruding from each body, glistening with black ooze.

  Motion. The sha’teth leaned down, a cold, white hand grabbing him by the foot. Davian tried to kick it away, but it was of no use.

  The sha’teth pulled and pivoted, sending him airborne.

  Davian landed in ungainly fashion, the air knocked from his lungs as his chest bounced on the ground and his shoulder slammed into a thick-trunked tree. His vision blurred from the sharp, grating pain of rough bark slicing across his skin and he lost his grip on time; suddenly the thunderous buzzing filtered back into his consciousness, punctuated by whining shrieks that sounded even angrier than they had before.

  Everything passed in a haze after that. He could see the ground next to the sha’teth had suddenly sprouted five spears, all oozing black in the dim silvery light; it took him a long moment to grasp that it was exactly where he had been lying just a moment ago. The sha’teth had somehow extended its shadowy blade and was leaping through the air, impossibly high as it slashed gracefully at things that Davian couldn’t quite make out. There were wet thuds. More furious whining, humming noises, but suddenly distant.

  And then silence.

  When he finally got up the energy and nerve to raise his gaze again, he was alone.

  He slowly, stiffly dragged himself to his feet, every muscle protesting as he flexed cautiously. Nothing was broken.

  His gaze traveled to Ishelle’s body, still pinned to the trunk on which she’d obviously been sitting when she’d been attacked. Her eyes were open, staring ahead blankly. The only movement was the ever-so-slight rise and fall of her chest.

  It took a moment for Davian to register what that meant.

  Injuries forgotten he sprinted over, skidding to his knees in front of her, barely daring to believe what he was seeing. But it wasn’t just an illusion, the shifting shadows of the trees. She was breathing.

  He gazed at her with a mixture of terror and hope. The spears were thin, perhaps the width of his forefinger, but they had gone clear through her body where they’d struck. None in the face or neck, none through the heart. Stomach, though, for two. Right shoulder. Left thigh. Each one clearly coming out the other side of her body, pinning her to the wood behind.

  He reached out to grab the first; he knew that it was dangerous but if he was going to heal her, he couldn’t do it with those sti
ll in her body. He paused with his hand only an inch from the weapon, though. Large, slimy globules of black were still seeping from it—not just from its tip, but everywhere along the shaft. There was an acrid smell in the air, too.

  He drew his hand away again, then carefully siphoned off some Essence from the surrounding forest and looped it around the first spear. To his surprise the Essence didn’t seem to connect or dissipate; rather it appeared to simply slip off, unable to touch the black substance.

  Davian frowned, refusing to let his rising panic get the better of him. He concentrated, delicately weaving kan to guide the Essence into something closer to a sheet, sliding along the spear and then closing over the far end. Gritting his teeth, he pulled.

  The spear slid free, leaving a black trail of muck—but no blood, apparently—in its wake.

  Davian was halfway through breathing a sigh of relief when his heart skipped a beat. Ishelle was motionless.

  She’d stopped breathing.

  Desperately now, Davian set about removing the other spears. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t think of any other way to heal her. Each came out more easily than the last, until finally Ishelle’s limp form slumped face-forward to the ground, her body finally freed.

  Davian knelt beside her, hands shaking as he rolled her onto her back. There was no breath, no sign of life.

  Just like Ell.

  The thought came unbidden and suddenly Davian was light-headed, reliving the wedding he’d never had. Reliving what he’d gone through, and then what he’d done to try and undo it all.

  He growled, shaking his head vigorously to get the images out of his head. Ishelle wasn’t Elliavia.

  But he still remembered what Malshash had tried to do to save her.

  He began drawing Essence from everywhere that he could, letting it drain into Ishelle, the threads many and intricate as he directed them. He could sense more than see the wounds begin to close; he knew that he should probably try to get more of the black ooze out of her before doing so, but even if he’d had the means there was simply no time.