An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  There was no way that he was going to simply give it all up.

  Geladra watched him silently, and from the tightening around her eyes, Wirr thought that at least some of his resolve must have shown through. She said nothing for a few seconds.

  “I don’t want this either, Torin. But I cannot trust you,” she said eventually. “You still won’t speak out against the Augurs, despite you and your sister nearly dying after that woman attacked. Why? Simply because you are friends with one?” She shook her head, looking strangely ill at ease. “It is too suspicious—and even if it wasn’t, you are too late. The call for a vote is in motion and I have made certain that the process cannot be stopped, even if I … mysteriously change my mind. So if you’re here to do whatever it was that you did to me back at the house, then get it over with. But it will do you no good.” She stared at him with an odd touch of defiance in her expression.

  Wirr gazed back blankly. “What I did to you?”

  “Don’t act as if you don’t know.” Geladra glared. “You forced me to let you leave with Deldri. I don’t have any proof, but I know you did something.”

  Wirr felt a chill as he processed the words, not responding for a moment. He thought back to that night, those few minutes after he’d opened the safe in his father’s office.

  He’d just found the Oathstone—and he’d been holding it when he had told his mother to let them go.

  He swallowed, paling. If word got out about something like that …

  “I haven’t said anything. I want to see you removed from Administration, not lynched,” Geladra added, watching his expression closely. “I don’t even believe that you think you are doing the wrong thing, Torin—but after living with the bleeders for three years, you are naturally blind to their lies. That is why I am doing this. I will not let you destroy everything that your father worked so hard for, everything he risked, just because you have faith in the wrong people.”

  Wirr flinched at his mother’s almost absent use of the derogatory term, jaw clenching.

  “Destroy it?” He shook his head. “Father wanted this. He died for this!” His scowl deepened but then he gritted his teeth, taking a couple of deep breaths. Anger wasn’t productive here, nor was pride. “Please. Come and work with me. Let me show you the same reports that I see from the north. We can discuss it. We can figure this out without throwing Administration even further into disarray than it already is.”

  Geladra hesitated, then shook her head.

  “No. It’s too late. Perhaps if you had come to me with that offer a few weeks ago … but now, you’re only asking out of desperation. You cannot win a vote and you know it.” She leaned forward, expression earnest. “The people you have been listening to are not good people, Torin. Please, just step down and—”

  Wirr couldn’t keep his frustration bottled up anymore.

  “They’re not good people?” He gestured in bemusement. “You don’t even know them! Fates … you’re … you’re so sure that the Gifted and the Augurs are going to start acting as they did twenty years ago, that you refuse to even consider that perhaps things have changed. I know that they didn’t do the right thing back then. But that doesn’t mean Administration gets to do the wrong thing now.”

  Geladra weathered the outburst in silence, waiting until Wirr was finished. Then as Wirr frowned in confusion she rose, walked over to her desk, and unlocked a drawer. From within, she drew out a bound leather book.

  For a moment Wirr thought that it was his father’s notebook—the cover was similar—but before he could make the accusation, he saw that one was much thinner and well worn, the look of a tome that had been read many times.

  Geladra paused, then handed the book to him.

  “What is this?” he asked with a frown.

  “Your father’s journal from a few years ago. Not like whatever it was you took from his safe, I assume”—she grimaced at that—“but a day-to-day record of everything in Administration. Where he had to be, what he had to do. I found it hidden behind the bookshelf when I was going through his things, after …” She gestured, swallowing. “A day or two before we had to leave for the funeral. It was covered in dust. Had been there since the last entry, I’d say.”

  Wirr opened it with a frown, seeing immediately that the handwriting was identical to that in the notebook from the safe.

  He began flicking through. The information jotted down seemed unimportant—names and dates of meetings, a few personal observations on Administrators, but nothing of real interest. He felt his brow furrow.

  “I don’t see—”

  “Keep going,” his mother said quietly.

  Wirr flipped a few more pages, then hesitated. The content of the notes hadn’t changed, but the penmanship looked … off. Elocien’s hand was usually neat and flowing, the mark of a man carefully schooled from birth. This was an approximation of that, but messier. More haphazard.

  “The handwriting’s changed,” said Wirr slowly.

  “It varies from page to page,” said Geladra, “but what you’re really looking for are the notes in the back. Beyond the first blank pages.”

  Wirr cocked his head to the side, flicking forward until he spotted the first of the scrawls that his mother was talking about.

  Concerned I am being Controlled.

  Wirr’s heart lurched and he shook his head as he read the words again. They were the only ones on the page. Mouth suddenly dry, he flicked forward again.

  An experiment. Short sentences don’t trigger the blackouts.

  Nothing for two pages, and then:

  A longer experiment. Trying to talk to someone about this fails every time. The blackouts are getting longer and when I am conscious, I find it difficult to concentrate. Effect seems less when I’m alone at my desk. Perhaps he only takes over when threat of being revealed is high.

  “This …” Wirr’s voice shook as he looked up, seeing genuine sorrow in his mother’s expression as she watched him. And something else, too.

  Cold, contained fury.

  “You should finish it, Torin. You should understand what these people you’re so quick to defend are capable of.”

  Wirr slowly, reluctantly turned another page. This time the text was a block, scrawled but still clearly in his father’s handwriting, a stark contrast to some of the earlier penmanship.

  My time lucid is less and less. Memories are fading, too. This is the only way I can keep a record. There are things in this diary, meetings and decisions I do not remember making. Conversations that I’ve had confirmed that I was there, that I made those decisions and issued those orders. These are decisions I do not agree with. I cannot say as much though, else the darkness will come again. I think it must be the boy. I remember taking him in, but nothing beyond that. I told Administration that he was dead, but it seems likely that he is the one influencing me. I think he knows when he is losing control, but if I stay quiet and do nothing, he does not know that I am aware. My intent is to leave this diary hidden, then inform someone of its whereabouts. If someone is reading this, do not let on to me that you know. Watch my actions. Find those close to me who should not be.

  Wirr swallowed, then flipped forward again. And again.

  That was the last entry.

  He said nothing for a long while as he stared at the empty page, trying to comprehend what he’d just read.

  The final dated entry was from a little over three years ago. Back when his parents had been together.

  Just before his Gifted-hating father had changed his ways, covered for him, sent him to Caladel.

  He felt as though he were going to throw up.

  “Of course, this is not the worst thing they have done,” said Geladra quietly. “But then, you already knew that. You helped the Tols cover up what happened in Decis.”

  “Decis?” Wirr stared at her, still dazed, then frowned as he registered where he’d heard the name. “Those people claiming that an Augur Controlled their entire village?”

  �
�Those people who came to you for justice for exactly that,” said Geladra. “I had my own sources look into it, and they’ve verified enough to say it’s true. The Tols scoffed, and the Houses decided that it wasn’t worth the effort.” She paused. “But that’s what they do. You, Torin—Administration—this is why you’re supposed to exist. To protect people. But you didn’t. You didn’t even meet with them.”

  Still disoriented as he tried to process the news about his father, Wirr shook his head, uncertainty suddenly assailing him. Elocien, it seemed, hadn’t intended for him to be here at all … and maybe this was an example of exactly why.

  For a long, gut-wrenching few seconds, he found himself doubting everything he’d done since becoming Northwarden. Wondering whether his mother was right.

  Wondering whether he was a fraud.

  Then he saw his mother’s expression—too pleased at his shock, too smug at what she assumed was her point being proven—and everything that he’d learned over the past month began to reassert itself.

  He’d been put off-balance plenty of times by Administration since taking this position; in all of those cases it was his appearance that had mattered most, not how stunned or confused he was really feeling.

  He swallowed. Straightened his back. Pressed down his distress, and made himself carefully consider what his mother was saying.

  He shook his head.

  “No,” he said, relieved to hear that his voice was clear and steady. “If you had compelling evidence—which they did not, incidentally—then you should have come to me.” He said the words softly, grimly, holding his head a little higher and looking Geladra in the eye as her triumphant air faded. “I do not like dismissing accusations, Mother, but I made the best decision I could with the information that I had. You cannot blindfold me and then berate me for not seeing what is going on. If there was a clear case for investigation then the lack of one is your doing, not mine.”

  Geladra blinked, looking taken aback. She was silent for several seconds.

  Then she stood, flushed, and snatched his father’s notebook back from him.

  “I have absolutely no desire to show people this. It will ruin your father’s legacy—all of it, not just the past few years,” she said grimly. “But do not think I won’t sacrifice that if it’s the only choice left to me.” There was bitterness in her tone, but also resignation. She had hoped to shock him into standing aside, and now she was angry that her attempt had failed.

  It was his cue to leave, and Wirr knew it. He stood, still stunned at what he’d learned about his father, heart heavy as he walked to the door. He thought that he could understand where Geladra was coming from, now; really, it was hardly surprising that she found it so difficult to trust anyone associating themselves with the Augurs. It didn’t excuse what she was doing—and her existing, unreasonable antipathy toward the Gifted had undoubtedly made her behavior far worse—but at least it all made a little more sense to him.

  He stopped just outside the door, something else occurring to him. He turned back to face Geladra.

  “I’m not being Controlled, you know,” he said quietly. “I’m making my own decisions.”

  Geladra watched him for a moment.

  “Well. You have all the facts now. So I suppose we shall see,” she said, her voice harsh with emotion.

  Then she shut the door in his face, leaving him to deal with his shock and devastation alone.

  Wirr was silent as Taerisled him through the large gates and into the Middle District Cells.

  The prison was deceptively small on the outside, its plain white facade barely larger than a house, though its steel gates and windowless, starkly utilitarian form betrayed its purpose. Once inside and allowed entry by the warden, a single, claustrophobically narrow flight of stairs—again constructed from the smooth, flawless white stone that typified the Builders’ work—descended for close to five minutes until they eventually reached an expansive lower level, which was comprised of a grid of long, well-lit corridors that housed a multitude of secure cells.

  Taeris looked across at Wirr as they started along the passageway.

  “We’ll figure it out, Sire. With your mother, I mean,” he said. His words echoed along the quiet corridor. Though everywhere Wirr looked was lined with barred doors, most of them were open; despite the size of the prison, only a few of the cells down here were currently occupied.

  Wirr just grunted in response, saying nothing for a while. He hadn’t gone into detail regarding the meeting with his mother, nor had he told Taeris the revelation about his father. Quite aside from how painful the knowledge still was, he needed time to process the ramifications before he could decide who to trust—if anyone—with it.

  “Whatever happened to those people from Decis? The ones who told us that an Augur had been Controlling their village?” he asked suddenly.

  Taeris frowned at the question. “They were sent away. Remember? It was impossible to verify what they were saying, and giving it the legitimacy of an investigation was only going to stir up trouble, politically speaking.” He shook his head dismissively. “I cannot say whether they were lying, but I think it was for the best.”

  Wirr grimaced. “But what if they weren’t lying? Now that I—Administration—have dismissed their claim, where else could they possibly go to get justice?”

  Taeris gave Wirr a vaguely bemused glance.

  “These are extraordinary times, Sire,” he said eventually. “Their accusation may well have been genuine, but there were several dozen other complaints, quite similar in nature, that I guarantee were not. If things were different, then yes—we would treat them all seriously. Right now, though? If we give credence to one, then we give credence to all. We have to investigate. We have to give each allegation our attention, commit men and hours and judges and …” He gestured tiredly. “All of which would be an ongoing process which affects the very delicate perception of the Augurs. If we suddenly dedicate half of our resources to investigating whether they’re criminals, you know that it will take the Assembly all of two seconds to distance themselves. We’d be risking the Amnesty, Sire. Risking our one chance to seal the Boundary.”

  Wirr took a deep breath, nodding. Taeris wasn’t saying anything that he hadn’t known, but it helped to hear it from someone else.

  Taeris watched him for a moment, then sighed. “I don’t know what your mother said, but don’t let her get inside your head. Your position is hard, Sire—perhaps harder than anyone else’s in the Assembly right now. But you’ve been making the best decisions that you can, and you’ve been doing a remarkable job. I don’t say that lightly, either. So don’t start second-guessing yourself now.”

  Before Wirr could respond, Taeris brought him to a halt and gestured, pointing through the long bars of a nearby cell. Wirr swallowed as he examined the prisoner within, who was watching them silently from the back of the small stone room.

  It was hard to believe that it had been less than two weeks ago that this man had tried to kill him.

  “You,” sneered the man suddenly as he recognized Wirr. “I suppose you think you’re brave, coming down here to face me from behind those bars?”

  Wirr glanced at Taeris, who just nodded.

  Wirr took a deep breath, putting a hand in his pocket and grasping the Oathstone tightly.

  “I came to ask you who arranged to have me killed,” he said quietly.

  The bald assassin stared at him for a long moment, then barked an obnoxiously loud, mocking laugh.

  Wirr kept his face smooth, waiting until the sound had died. “Tell me who arranged to have me killed.”

  “I don’t know. Vanni was the one who dealt with them. She’s the one who told us about it, who organized everything. She never said who gave her the job, and we never asked.”

  There was silence for several seconds once the “gray” Administrator had finished, and Wirr felt a chill as the man gaped at him, eyes wide.

  “What in all fates?” the prisoner whispered
, blood draining from his face. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Guards! GUARDS!”

  “No one is coming to help you,” said Taeris as the shout was swallowed by the silent hallway. “That’s what happens when you try to kill the prince.”

  The bald man stared at him for a moment, then started to yell again, though this time there were more curses than pleas.

  Wirr closed his eyes.

  “Be silent,” he said.

  The would-be assassin immediately stopped yelling, though his eyes were even wider now. He scrambled backward until he was pressed against the far wall of the cell, his breathing heavy and panicked, opening and closing his mouth but no sound coming out.

  Wirr gazed at the terrified man in horror.

  “Fates,” he muttered to himself, shuddering. It was that easy?

  “Fates indeed,” murmured Taeris, watching the man in fascination. “It looks like a binding. He knows what he’s doing, knows that he doesn’t want to do it—but he can’t help himself.”

  Wirr frowned, tearing his eyes away from the prisoner. “Like the Tenets?” He’d never heard the term “binding” used before.

  “Exactly like the Tenets.” Taeris nodded thoughtfully. “We know that the Oathstones are connected to the main Tenet Vessel. Your unique relationship with it must allow you to create new bindings, somehow. A sort of … localized Tenet, I suppose you’d say,” he clarified, seeing Wirr’s confusion.

  Wirr shook his head in disbelief. “If that were possible, my father would have said something to me. Someone would have known.”

  “Your father wasn’t Gifted. He couldn’t change the Tenets by himself, so he very well may not have had this ability. Or even been aware of it.” Taeris said the words absently, his gaze drifting back to the cowering man in the cell. “I wonder. Did the binding take effect because he could hear you, or was it because you were directing the command at him?” He turned to Wirr. “Go to the end of the passageway—out of his sight and out of earshot. Then tell him to say something to me.”