“I warned them first, but only one was willing to listen.” Nethgalla shook her head in disgust at that. “So, yes—I ensured that they were prevented from continuing to walk that path. And rather than letting society collapse into chaos as a result, I made the best of the situation. I used the opportunity to prepare for this moment—to make sure that we would have a way to strengthen the ilshara, regardless of whether the Lyth agree to your solution.” She stared into Caeden’s eyes, and there was an unsettling amount of emotion in her gaze. “But more importantly than that? I have a way to save you, Tal. I know how to seal the rift without you dying.”
Asha had heard enough. “You cannot expect us to believe that you were trying to help,” she snapped.
Nethgalla sighed again, glancing at her wearily. “I could have forced every mage in your country to become a Shadow, Ashalia. That’s what I would have done, had I been aiming merely to supplement my own strength.” She shook her head. “But I did not, because there are bigger things at stake. I left most of the Gifted—the strongest—to fight. It was only those who were too weak, those not disciplined or intelligent enough, whom I ensured would be put to a better use. And believe me when I tell you this: there is no better use than keeping what is behind the ilshara from getting to this city.”
Asha stared at her in disbelief, then turned to Caeden. “You cannot listen to her,” she said softly. “If what she says is true, then she started the war. Her actions have caused thousands upon thousands of deaths, and destroyed the lives of countless more.”
Caeden hesitated.
His hand strayed toward the blade at his side.
Before he could do anything, a black cloud of smoke erupted from the ground, arrowing up and enveloping Caeden’s face. The young man clawed desperately at his mouth but it poured into him, choking him with darkness.
“You think to draw a weapon against me here? Here of all places, Tal’kamar?” Nethgalla said irritably. Her focus turned to Asha. “And you. You really wish to stop me?”
Her lips curled into a sneer, and she drew Whisper.
Everything hushed; Asha took a faltering step backward and fumbled at her side for her own blade, but she knew straight away that she was still too weak for it to be of any use. She watched with wide eyes as Nethgalla strode grimly toward her.
The woman stopped a few feet away, then tossed Whisper disdainfully to the ground at Asha’s feet. Even the clatter of steel against stone was muted.
“You have no concept of what is going on here. Your life is a speck of dust compared to mine and Tal’s. I don’t need a blade to face you, Ashalia. You simply don’t have what is required for this fight.” She stared at Asha confidently. “I have watched you over these past few weeks, and you are soft. Not weak, perhaps—but you do not have the fortitude required to be here, either. You thought that you were friends with the Hunter, didn’t you? Liked her? Thought that she’d had a change of heart? And yet I killed her before you even met her. Your nature is too trusting, and you are too soft.” She smirked mockingly as Asha stooped and picked up the blade. “You do not have the—”
Asha stepped forward and rammed Whisper with all her strength into Nethgalla’s stomach.
Nethgalla’s face twisted in pain, the black cloud around Caeden dissipated and everything … changed.
Essence suddenly flooded through Asha, bright and hot, overwhelming. She reeled backward, gaping silently as Nethgalla fell away, Whisper’s steel emerging from her stomach coated in red.
Asha felt the black lines on her face burning, but she barely noticed among the dizzying array of sensations. In front of her, Nethgalla’s body was changing, bones cracking and shifting and reshaping yet again beneath the skin. She became slimmer, lighter.
When the transformation was complete, Asha found herself watching an unfamiliar, dark-skinned woman with pure white hair gingerly levering herself up from the floor. Like all the forms which Nethgalla chose to take, this one was markedly beautiful.
Her gaze traveled to Nethgalla’s stomach. Though the ugly splotch of dark red remained on the shape-shifter’s clothing, the wound itself had vanished, the flow of blood stopped.
“That. Hurt,” said Nethgalla as she straightened, shaking her head irritably. Her voice was rich now, deep for a woman’s. She looked at Asha, and to Asha’s confusion a flicker of sadness flashed across her face. “I am sorry, Ashalia. I actually rather liked you.”
Asha stared at her blankly. The torrent of power she’d felt rip through her still tingled, still hovered at the edge of her awareness, but too much was happening too fast for her to focus on it.
“Regardless,” Nethgalla continued as if nothing had happened, turning to Caeden as the last of the darkness choking him dissipated, “Andrael’s ridiculous weapon did its job and took my Reserve, so the Siphon is now bonded to Ashalia rather than me. If you want to seal the ilshara, she will need to find the final Tributary. The one that you set aside for Gassandrid, until he began to suspect and split himself. And then yourself until Asar …” She trailed off with a shrug.
Caeden stared at her for a long moment, then paled. “No.” He shook his head fervently. “I cannot ask her—ask anyone—to go into one of those.”
“And yet you will have to. She is the only one with enough power, now,” said Nethgalla matter-of-factly. “Meldier is free. Isiliar is free. Cyr is still frozen somewhere in the south, true—but he is not enough. He cannot hold out forever. Neither would you be able to,” she added, a chiding note to her voice. “Though I would hope that you are not foolish enough to try. You cannot stop them if you dedicate yourself to that, and there is no one else who will.”
“What are you both talking about?” asked Asha, unable to keep the apprehension from her voice.
Nethgalla edged toward the door, not taking her eyes from Caeden. “I’ll leave the explanations to you, Tal,” she said. “But be aware: dar’gaithin have started to breach the ilshara. Tek’ryl, too. And the eletai are not only crossing, but finding more for the Swarm every day.” Her expression turned grim. “Not that any of that will even matter if the ilshara falls entirely—if He is freed and allowed to reach this place. So do not delay.”
She finally glanced across at Asha.
“What you are looking for is with the rest of the Shadows.” Another flash of pity passed across Nethgalla’s face. “You will be able to find them, now—but you’ll need to do so quickly. I wish you the very best of fate, Ashalia.”
Nethgalla gestured abruptly and black smoke burst from the ground again, this time forming an opaque wall, obscuring her from Asha and Caeden’s view. It began to clear after only moments but even as Caeden took a couple of stuttering, frustrated steps toward the door, Asha could see the same thing that he could.
Nethgalla was gone.
Asha sat opposite Caeden, trying to take in everything that had just transpired.
She did her best not to think about Breshada’s absence. Nethgalla hadn’t been wrong about Asha liking the Hunter—or the woman she’d thought was the Hunter, anyway. Breshada had stood up for Asha, trained her. Saved her life. If the shape-shifter had been telling the truth, then in reality Breshada had been dead for weeks—but the pain was sharp and fresh nonetheless.
It wasn’t too hard to focus on other things, though. Everything that had just happened, everything else that she’d just learned, was … overwhelming.
She glanced at the redheaded man sitting across from her, who was staring off into the distance silently, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Laiman was still lying unconscious nearby where he’d fallen; Asha had taken the time to ensure that he was still alive, but beyond that didn’t really know what more to do for him.
“So,” said Caeden as he caught her look, stirring. “It seems that there are some things we need to talk about.” He studied her face curiously. “How does it feel?”
Asha absently touched her face again. She hadn’t realized until well after the fight—not until Caeden had ment
ioned the physical change. Even now, the concept was too much to grasp; every time she remembered it was a stab of realization, a sudden wash of wondering whether she’d been imagining the whole thing.
She was no longer a Shadow.
“Disorienting,” she finally admitted. She looked at the young man, shaking her head. “I know it had something to do with Whisper, but … I still don’t understand how.”
Caeden toyed idly with the sheathed blade. “I know this sword,” he said quietly. “I remember Andrael showing it to me. It was his first attempt at creating this.” He touched his own blade, hanging at his side. “Whisper takes the Essence from anyone it cuts. Takes all of it—including their Reserve—and transfers it to whomever did the cutting.”
Asha frowned. “So … now I have Nethgalla’s Reserve?” She shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Breshada’s—the real Breshada’s—transformation from Hunter to Gifted was starting to make much more sense, too.
“I think so. And if that Reserve is what the Siphon is linked to …” He nodded uneasily. “I’m not sure that I understand the specifics, but I can see how it could work.”
“How would it change my being a Shadow, though?”
Caeden shook his head. “The Siphon was drawing from your old Reserve; perhaps when you added Nethgalla’s, it somehow broke the connection. Perhaps the Vessel was built to make sure that it could never be connected to its own Reserve. Or perhaps it’s something else entirely.” He shrugged, giving her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I remember pieces about all of this, but … not enough.”
“It doesn’t really matter, I suppose,” said Asha softly. Not for the first time, she glanced down at her left wrist, still vaguely relieved to see that it remained free of a Mark.
Then she closed her eyes, concentrating again on her Reserve.
It was there. Accessible.
Immense.
She stayed that way for a few seconds, trying to focus on the ocean of light. It wasn’t just her Essence that she could sense. Smaller pools of energy slowly began to resolve themselves, subtle differences to each one. More luminescence here, a faster rate of pulsing there. Miniscule disparities, but just enough to determine that it was not all one mass.
There were hundreds of those tiny variations. Thousands, maybe.
“How do we undo it?” she asked quietly. “How do we free the other Shadows?”
Caeden shifted uncomfortably.
“We can’t,” he said softly. “At least, I don’t know how.”
Asha got to her feet, striding over to the Adviser and placing her hand on it determinedly. She shut her eyes, focusing on the Siphon.
When she opened them again, a single blue line was stretching out from the pillar.
Directly to the book that she’d read earlier.
She scowled, frustration welling up inside of her. “That can’t be it,” she muttered.
She tried “Serrin”; there were a few books on the man, but none that mentioned more than his battle with Wereth. She tried “King Vederan”; again, only brief mentions within historical texts. She tried individual words and combinations, specific things and abstract concepts. She tried for close to an hour.
Caeden watched her with sad eyes. When Asha finally came to sit back opposite him, he said nothing for a few moments.
“So it has to be you,” he said softly. “Once I’ve bound the Lyth to this thing, you’re the one who has to use the Tributary.”
“What is it?” asked Asha, from Caeden’s expression already knowing that she wouldn’t like the answer.
Caeden shook his head slowly. “It imprisons you,” he said softly. “I didn’t understand it until recently, but … it drains your Essence. Constantly. There are several of them, all designed to power the Boundary.”
“The Boundary?” Asha stared at him in disbelief. “How can one person be enough to help with that?”
“You won’t be one person,” observed Caeden. “You’ll be the entirety of the Lyth. Trust me. It will be enough.” He hesitated, looking reluctant to accede the next part. “And even if the Lyth refuse this solution and stay in Res Kartha … Nethgalla was right,” he admitted softly. “I think the power that you already have would be sufficient, at least for a while.”
Asha shivered at the thought. Caeden might be right, though. The presence of Essence burned in the back of her mind, making it hard to concentrate. “So is that all?”
Caeden grimaced.
“It … damages your body, to ensure that the flow of Essence is constant. It will be painful. You’ll sleep for some of the time, and other times you’ll be in something called a dok’en. Like a dream, but …” He shrugged.
Asha’s stomach twisted. “For how long?”
Caeden looked away. “For as long as it takes,” he said softly. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Ashalia. If there was another way …”
Asha felt as though she was going to throw up. So this was why Nethgalla had tossed Whisper at her feet, taunted her. Why she’d taken Breshada’s form. Why she’d gone to such lengths to protect her on the journey there, too.
She’d been intending this from the beginning, and Asha had played into her hands.
“Was she telling the truth? Can you sense where the other Shadows are?” Caeden asked.
Asha nodded absently. “Northeast.” That was where the majority of them were, anyway. There was a sense of distance as well as direction, but Asha didn’t yet have enough confidence to interpret that part of it.
There was a long silence.
“If I do this,” said Asha eventually, reluctance heavy in her voice, “will it really help to seal the Boundary?”
Caeden nodded.
“I think so,” he admitted. “I think one of the reasons that the Boundary has been weakening is that some of the people who were originally in Tributaries have been released. It only stands to reason that adding someone with your power would strengthen it again.”
Asha swallowed, the weight of what had happened finally beginning to settle on her. There was excitement, true—she was free of being a Shadow, and that was far from something to lightly dismiss—but the responsibility that was now on her shoulders was immense.
With a heavy heart, she realized that it wasn’t something that she could ignore. Wasn’t something that anyone else could help her with, either.
Caeden glanced across at Laiman, frowning. “What about him?”
Asha sighed. She didn’t want Laiman as a traveling companion, not after what had happened on the bridge. “I suppose we go our separate ways. I head north, and he heads … wherever he wants.”
Caeden nodded slowly. “You’re going to do it, then?”
“Do I have a choice?” asked Asha quietly.
Caeden chewed at his lip, his avoidance of the question answer enough. “I could open a Gate—a portal—for you, if that would help,” he said eventually. “But it has to be to a place that I already know. Somewhere I’ve been before.” He rolled his shoulders apologetically. “I have no memories that can get you further north, I’m afraid.”
Asha sighed, nodding an acknowledgment. Then she hesitated.
“Could you open a portal to Ilin Illan?”
Caeden gave her a questioning look.
“Taeris gave one of his Travel Stones to the men who he sent up north. Get me back to Ilin Illan, and I think I can get straight to the Boundary,” she said quietly.
“You think?” said Caeden dubiously. “It’s a lot farther south if you’re wrong, and it’s best if I don’t go with you. Now that I finally have these Vessels, I need to deal with the Lyth.”
Asha hesitated, then nodded firmly. “I’m certain.”
It took them only half an hour to travel outside of Deilannis—a necessary precaution, according to Caeden. The Gate could cause damage to the city, apparently, though Asha didn’t really understand how.
Caeden made the entire journey with a still-unconscious Laiman slung over his shoulder, never once stoppi
ng to rest. Asha glanced occasionally at the king’s adviser as they picked their way around the dar’gaithin and Gifted corpses on the long white bridge, then emerged from the mists and finally stepped back onto Andarran soil.
“Is he going to be all right?” she asked eventually as Caeden propped the man carefully against a nearby boulder. She was still furious at Laiman, but not so much that she wanted to see him come to serious harm.
“I checked him. Nethgalla doesn’t seem to have done anything worse than draining a good portion of his Essence,” Caeden said quietly. “He might sleep for another few hours, but I think he’ll be fine.”
There wasn’t much conversation after that, with Caeden focusing on creating his portal. In all, it took the young man about an hour to construct it. Asha watched curiously as she sat next to Laiman, though to her eyes, very little appeared to be actually happening.
Finally, though, Caeden stepped back and glanced over at her, giving a cautiously optimistic nod. “Ready?”
Asha nodded, scrambling to her feet as Caeden turned back and closed his eyes. Abruptly, a blue ring began to form, twice a man’s height and just as wide. It began to spin, ever faster, blue flames blurring together to form a single circle.
Caeden breathed out.
“Step through it,” he said to Asha. “You’ll be in Ilin Illan. I’ll close it as soon as you and Laiman are through.” He waited until she had acknowledged the statement, then produced something from his pocket. A small bronze cube with strange markings on it.
“I will do my best to find you all again once I am done,” he continued softly, gazing introspectively at the metallic box. “Tell Karaliene what happened here. Tell her that Nethgalla is still alive.”
Asha stooped, grabbing Laiman’s still-limp form and slinging him awkwardly over her shoulder. He wasn’t a large man, thankfully, but even so, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to travel far with him like this.
“I’ll tell her,” she said to Caeden. She gave him a short nod. “Fates be with you, Caeden.”
Caeden gave her a wry smile. “You too.”
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