Jakarris’s claim was thus: that the Augurs have long known about, and passed down knowledge of, a danger inherent to their abilities—one that poses a very great threat to all people. Each generation of Augur as far back as he could trace has, he believes, willfully chosen to ignore this danger. He was reluctant to go into detail, but when pressed, insinuated that the Augurs’ mere continuing existence could ultimately result in the end of the world.
I imagine that you will laugh as you read that last sentence, as I did when it was first said to me. It is a grandiose claim, yet do not doubt: Jakarris trusts in it, heart and soul. He says that he intends to sacrifice himself, once all other Augurs are dead—and I believe that he will. Thus, I am not necessarily certain it is even important whether what he says is truth or insanity. Either way, he is firmly on our side.
After this explanation, it was hard to consider Jakarris’s following statements seriously—and yet, the wealth of weapons he and the woman have produced still provided a compelling reason to listen.
The two of them proceeded to tell us of the final device that they had found for our rebellion: something that they believed could truly allow the Gifted and everyone else to form a new social hierarchy, without fear of an eventual uprising or retaliation from those who were usurped. Jakarris claimed that this device could bind the Gifted—all of them!—to rules of our choosing, and could optionally bind others to an entirely different set.
I immediately inquired as to why we did not utilize this device immediately, and ensure an all-but-bloodless coup. Jakarris and the woman made several salient points regarding this: the most important being that if we were truly not doing this merely for power—if we cared about the success of our revolution not just for next year, but for the next fifty—then we could not use this device as a means to conquer.
I protested, initially, but when Jakarris asked me how enslaving the Gifted in this way would make us any better than they are now, I could not provide an answer. And when Kevran pointed out that we would not impose harsh restrictions forever, the woman inquired as to at what point we thought it would be “safe” to remove them. A year? Ten? Once everyone who had once been in power had died of old age? She and Jakarris insisted that for there to be any kind of balance, the Gifted had to willingly submit to whatever rules were decided upon. Otherwise, the fighting would never truly be over.
It was frustrating, but I eventually conceded the validity of their arguments—though not before Jakarris indicated that he and the woman would not provide the device to us until they felt it was appropriate anyway.
After that, discussion turned to its possible uses. There were several that Jakarris proposed, but the one that resonated with Kevran and I was the concept of a policing force: a group of non-Gifted people in charge of the Gifted, dedicated to keeping them in line and also protecting them from any lingering backlash after the coup.
When I pressed for more details about the device, Jakarris remained vague, though he seemed happy to boast of its history. He said it was Darecian in origin, used originally by their greatest commander two thousand years ago, against the northern invasion by Aarkein Devaed himself. The claim was no less outrageous than others he had already made, and is irrelevant so long as the device works, so I refrained from openly scoffing. After all we have seen over the past six months, who can say? Perhaps there really is some truth to it.
Finally, though, Jakarris got to the true reason he had decided to reveal his involvement to us. Whilst he conceded that the Augurs have been distracted as they deal with their own problems—something which Jakarris refused to discuss, incidentally—they have still been having visions. Specifically, a few days prior, two Augurs had independently implicated both myself and Kevran in plotting against them.
Though this revelation was obviously terrifying, Jakarris says that there have been enough false visions of late that the Augurs have decided to organize a Reading of us to provide proof, rather than risk further inflaming tensions with the populace by simply arresting us. Kevran and I both panicked at this news, immediately wondering if we should move up our timeline for the coup, but Jakarris had a better solution—the reason for which I am now writing this account.
He explained that he has the ability to remove all of our memories related to our dealings with the woman, as well as anything else that might appear particularly disloyal. Kevran and I both initially argued against this—the idea of losing memories was far from a pleasant one—but ultimately, the logic of Jakarris’s plan won out. As far as our efforts have already come, we are not in a position to successfully launch an attack. This, realistically, is the only way forward.
To temper our concerns, Jakarris suggested that I write and Notarize this account, assuring me that he will take part in the verification himself, and that he can keep its specific contents safe from whomever else is present with him for the process. It is a risk, but I think perhaps a necessary one—otherwise, I am uncertain I could fully trust these words, regardless of whether they are written in my own hand.
Wirr frowned, reading a little further and then flicking forward a few more pages, but … that was it. Some final thoughts, exhortations to believe in the righteousness of their cause, but otherwise the end of his father’s lengthy account.
He clenched his fist in frustration. It was interesting, even enlightening information—but not enough. The reference to the Darecian commander could perhaps be related to what had happened with Isiliar and the Administrators, but it could equally be inconsequential. It was too little and too vague to be useful.
His shoulders slumped and he slid the notebook into his safe, locking it again with a sigh. He’d read it again later, perhaps, before giving it to Taeris—see if there was anything he’d missed, try and find if there was some important detail that he’d skimmed over. He didn’t hold out much hope, though.
Shaking his head, he stood and grimly headed to his meeting with Taeris.
Wirr flicked the door to Taeris’s office shut behind him, then slumped into a chair.
The scarred man looked up from his desk with a mixture of concern and amusement at the entrance. “Rough morning, Sire?”
Wirr shrugged wearily. “Something like that.”
Taeris sighed, pushing aside the papers he’d been reading. “My news isn’t going to improve anything, I’m afraid.”
Wirr’s heart sank at his tone. “What now?”
“It’s your mother.” Taeris grimaced. “You know she’s here, I assume?”
Wirr nodded, frowning.
“I haven’t confirmed it yet, but … rumor has it, she’s going to challenge for your positon.”
“What?” Wirr stared at Taeris disbelievingly for a few moments, then suddenly shook his head, relaxing slightly. “Wait—no, she can’t. She’s an Andras by name, not blood.” He knew the laws surrounding the leadership of Administration better than anyone, and that was a requirement that could not be circumvented.
“Your sister is, though,” observed Taeris.
Wirr felt his brow furrow as he leaned forward, putting together what the other man was saying.
“So … she thinks that she can use Deldri to … what? Take the position, but then she acts as a kind of regent until Del’s old enough?”
“Something like that.” Taeris rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable at having to deliver the news. “I haven’t gone into the legality of it yet, but … these sort of rumors get discredited fairly quickly when there’s no possibility of them being true. And if it is within the bounds of Administration’s legal framework, then you need to start thinking about being friendlier toward your people.”
Wirr closed his eyes. He wasn’t certain, but he suspected that it was possible. “If it comes to a vote, Taeris, there won’t be any point. You could put a dar’gaithin up against me and it would win in a landslide,” he said heavily.
“And yet we both know the kind of things that your mother would press for if she was in charge,” said Taeris
quietly. “I know that you feel like you haven’t been making an impact, Sire, but don’t for a second underestimate the difference that your being Northwarden makes. You are the champion of the Amnesty, the only reason that it passed and the only reason it is still in effect. Your presence, your voice, has been the only thing stopping Administration from pushing back viciously against the progress that we’ve made in the Assembly over the past month—and your mother has the political capital to change that.”
Wirr straightened, nodding slowly and taking a deep breath. “You’re right,” he said bleakly. “I’ll talk to her.”
“As soon as possible,” urged Taeris seriously. “Head her off now, and this problem goes away.”
Wirr just gave another grim nod in response. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but this wasn’t something that he could ignore.
They spoke for a while longer, Taeris updating Wirr on the Athian Council’s response to Isiliar’s attack—which, dishearteningly, echoed many of the other responses thus far. Though Wirr and Taeris had both tried to explain that Isiliar was linked to the Blind, they had little to go on and no real proof. Instead, most survivors were convinced that Isiliar had been a rogue Augur, crazed and bent on extracting some sort of personal vendetta. Everything that she had said during her attack backed up that claim, and Ambassador Thurin—who had been one of those whom Isiliar had attacked, though he had survived the resulting fall with only minor injuries—had championed the idea.
The resulting mess meant that ultimately, what Wirr had hoped would at least be a wake-up call for the Assembly, had instead managed to begin turning political opinion sharply back against the Augurs.
Eventually, Wirr’s meeting with Taeris began to draw to a close. Wirr made to stand, then paused.
“Before I go, there’s … something I wanted to ask you about. Probably a strange question, but …” Wirr sighed, shifting uncomfortably at the memory. “Once an Augur has started Controlling someone. Is there any way you know of to stop it?”
Taeris frowned. “You mean for someone other than another Augur?” He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”
Wirr hesitated. He didn’t know whether it was a good idea, revealing to Taeris what had happened—but without Davian around, Wirr doubted that there was anyone else who would be able to help.
Grimly, he told Taeris about the Administrators. How his desperate shout had appeared to interrupt what Isiliar was making them do.
“It might have been nothing,” he concluded, the same thing he’d told himself several times already over the past few days. “And it might have been Alaris, I suppose. But it seemed related to what I said.”
Taeris leaned back, studying Wirr.
“Well, you’re not an Augur,” he eventually said drily, “so I think we can discount that. And a simple shout wouldn’t have been enough to break Control.” He thought for a moment. “If you managed to interfere with Control, then it must have been to do with your being Northwarden.”
Wirr nodded, unsurprised that Taeris had come to the same conclusions as he. “There was one other factor,” he said quietly. “It was pure coincidence that I even had it on me, but …”
He slipped a hand into his pocket and produced the Oathstone.
Taeris gazed at it for a long few seconds, frowning. “You had that with you during the attack?” When Wirr nodded again, he leaned back thoughtfully.
“Well. This could be … interesting.” The Representative nodded slowly. “I have some things I need to see to first, but meet me in a couple of hours in front of the Middle District Cells. And bring your Oathstone.”
Wirr frowned. “For what?”
Taeris smiled, and Wirr felt a sliver of unease at the look in his eyes.
“Experimentation,” the scarred man said quietly.
Chapter 33
Asha slid into motion, blocking the blow from Breshada’s blade.
It was steel borrowed from one of the men, of course; even Breshada, for all her bluster, had no intention of training with Whisper. Still, there were no training swords, and over the past few days Breshada had moved from stepping through forms to attacking with a reasonable amount of force. Asha thought that the other woman was probably skilled enough not to hurt her if she made a mistake. Probably.
The clash of steel echoed across the open, vibrantly green plains, brightly lit beneath the midday sun. Asha stepped back and continued to move, not breaking form, despite the incessant tug of the weariness that she still constantly felt. Breshada watched her and then gave a slight nod, lowering her weapon.
“Better?” asked Asha.
Breshada made a noncommittal gesture. “Not worse.”
Asha restrained a smile; it was as close to a compliment as she would get from the Hunter. Though they were certainly still not friends, getting up so early each morning to train over the last week—as well as occasionally, like now, practicing further during breaks in traveling—had formed a bond of sorts, a mutual respect. There was no longer any bite to Breshada’s insults, and Asha could clearly hear the difference between her speaking to Asha, and her speaking to any of the others in the group.
At an unspoken signal they sat, Asha quickly draining the water she kept on hand. Despite the day not being overly hot she was sweating, exhausted, while Breshada seemed to barely be breathing hard. Asha’s fitness was improving, but she doubted that she would be Breshada’s equal even in that regard anytime soon, if ever.
She glanced at the blade hanging from Breshada’s side. “So how did you get Whisper?” she asked, as casually as possible. She already knew what Wirr had told her, but given the apparent connection to Caeden, she’d been waiting for an opportunity to inquire. Laiman had tried asking a few days ago, and Breshada had told him in no uncertain terms that it was none of his business. He’d only stopped pressing when he’d realized that she looked ready to use the blade on him.
Breshada stiffened at the question, not looking at her. There was silence for a few seconds.
“A long story,” she said eventually.
There was nothing more forthcoming, and Asha knew better than to press. Breshada was still standoffish in their interactions, but Asha felt as though her brusqueness toward her was a matter of form now, rather than any actual personal dislike. Still—there was no need to push her luck. They were nearly at Deilannis, but she would have the entire journey back to find out more.
“We should go over the Draw principle again,” Asha said quietly. She hesitated. “I know you don’t want to, but it would be far easier to explain if you were willing to draw just a little Essence. You wouldn’t even need to use—”
“No.” Breshada’s tone was firm.
Asha sighed. “Without the practice, you’re going to keep running the risk of drawing it accidentally—it’s amazing that you haven’t done it again, actually. It’s no different to if I wanted to learn how to use a sword, but refused to actually pick one up. You can teach me theory all you want, but it’s never going to make me any good at it.”
Breshada scowled. “And if the only way to learn was to cut off your own arm?”
Asha swallowed a snarky reply. The same conversation, the same result. Breshada wasn’t stupid—far from it—and she’d managed to avoid further accidents since the incident with the Administrators, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t happen eventually.
“You will have to choose sooner or later, Breshada,” she said softly. Breshada was still absolute in her belief that touching Essence was an abomination, an affront to the Nine Gods. Asha had tried to find out more about the specifics—she didn’t know much about Desriel’s religion at all, if she were being honest—but Breshada was always closemouthed on the subject.
Still, it was an argument that she had already presented enough times for Breshada to know well; for now, it would have to be enough that the other woman was at least reminded of the reality.
“Theory it is then,” Asha said ruefully after a few moments of silence.
They spent the next half hour going over some of the most basic mental techniques for the Gifted. Breshada had picked them up quite quickly, reciting back various principles with relative ease. Whether she was simply a quick study, or whether her time as a Hunter had already taught her some of this, Asha wasn’t sure. Still, by the end, she felt as though they had made progress.
They rejoined the others, and soon they were on their way again, the dull roar of the Lantarche’s violent white waters a constant accompaniment to their journey as they followed the edge of the deep canyon through which it ran. The Menaath Mountains—which they had been skirting for what seemed like forever—were still visible across the border on their left, but they had receded a little, even as more mountains had risen to their right. The area in between that they were traveling through, though, was flat and open.
They were, according to Laiman, getting close to Deilannis now.
Asha found herself slightly apart from the group as they rode, with only the king’s adviser keeping pace with her. They proceeded for a couple of minutes in silence before Laiman stirred in his saddle, giving the slightest of nods toward Breshada.
“You have an interesting relationship with that one,” he said abruptly, quietly enough that for a moment Asha thought that he was talking to himself.
Asha shrugged. “I think anyone who has a relationship with Breshada has an interesting one with her,” she observed lightly. Laiman knew Breshada’s real identity, as Wirr had let him know what was happening before they had left. He was the only other one in the group who did, though.
“Perhaps.” Laiman allowed himself a slight smile, finally switching his gaze to Asha. “But you two are forming a bond. Unusual, given your … unique circumstances.” He hesitated. “May I offer you some unsolicited advice?”
“There’s no way I can answer that question without getting the advice, so go ahead.”
Laiman’s smile widened, and this time he looked genuinely amused. He sobered quickly, though. “It is simply that you should be cautious. I know a little of the Gil’shar, and what they believe …” He shook his head. “People like Breshada do not easily change. If ever.”
An Echo of Things to Come Page 50