An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  Asha chewed at her lip as she considered the king’s adviser.

  “I’m not going to pretend that you’ve left me full of trust, Master Kardai,” she conceded eventually, “but at least I now know the reason. If you had not tried to help me at all, this would be a very different conversation … but you did.” She inclined her head. “Your apology is accepted.”

  Laiman gave her a relieved, grateful look. Then he straightened and turned to Taeris, some of his usual self-assurance—completely absent since the beginning of the conversation—finally appearing to reassert itself. “Once you’ve sent Ashalia north, we should talk further.”

  Taeris nodded, glancing at Asha. “The Travel Stones are charged. You can be there as soon as you’re ready to leave.”

  Wirr frowned, wanting to protest, but Asha saw his expression and gave him a rueful shrug. “That’s why I came back here, Wirr—it’s the quickest way north. Whatever else is going on, I don’t think that Nethgalla was lying about what I need to do.”

  Wirr looked at his friend worriedly for a couple of seconds longer, but there wasn’t time to argue right now. He stood, stretching, the nerves that had faded to the background over the past half hour suddenly returning.

  “Just don’t leave until I’ve had a chance to speak with you again,” he said grimly. He glanced at the Decay Clock in the corner, then sighed. “Fates. I really do have to go.”

  With a nod of farewell from Laiman and Asha, and a sympathetic look from Taeris, he slipped out the door and began walking toward the Blue Hall.

  It was time to face Administration.

  Chapter 40

  Caeden pressed his hand against the wall, steadying himself as the heat of Res Kartha once again threatened to overpower him.

  “Garadis!” he shouted again into the shimmering, red-tinged air, not sure if there was anyone to hear him, but not knowing any other way to make his presence known. He was nervous about this meeting—and not only because the Lyth would undoubtedly be unhappy about the way in which he wanted to fulfill Andrael’s bargain.

  He understood who they were now, understood at least part of his history with them. He had slaughtered their people in Dareci, created the Plains of Decay so that they would flee to Andarra and build Deilannis. Build the Jha’vett.

  He had done this to them. He had destroyed them.

  Caeden wiped more beads of sweat from his forehead he walked along the dangerously narrow pathways of Res Kartha. As much as he tried to dissociate himself from the things that he had done as Aarkein Devaed, it was impossible to avoid the deep, omnipresent guilt. Impossible not to feel the weight of his actions every time he remembered just how much suffering they had caused.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the flicker of red light up ahead.

  He came to a gradual, careful halt as a being that seemed made of pure fire strode toward him, heedless of the edges of the path that dropped sharply to the lava far below. It did not take long to recognize Garadis, the Lyth’s blue eyes alight as he gazed at Caeden with a look of unsettling hunger.

  “Tal’kamar.” Garadis’s deep voice boomed through the red-tinged cavern. “You have returned.”

  “I have. I have found a way to fulfill the bargain with Andrael,” said Caeden quietly. “I know how to free the Lyth from Res Kartha.”

  Garadis said nothing for a few moments, but his eyes held a fierce joy.

  “How?”

  Caeden hesitated, then reached into his pocket. Drew out the Vessel that Nethgalla had given him, which was still attached to the one that he had obtained from Meldier.

  Garadis cocked his head to the side for a moment, frowning.

  Then the light died from his eyes.

  “A modified Siphon?” He stepped closer and examined the glass sphere, a slow look of horror spreading across his features. “No, Tal’kamar. No. This is unacceptable.”

  “It fulfills the bargain that you made with Andrael.”

  “In letter, perhaps, but not in spirit.” Garadis’s words were a snarl now. “We allow this, and all our knowledge is for naught. Without Essence, we cannot create. We cannot fight. We cannot build, or experiment, or better ourselves, or ever be close to who we once were—let alone find a way to go back and fix the Jha’vett. We have waited two thousand years for one purpose. And this … this solution … denies it to us!”

  Caeden closed his eyes for a moment, heart breaking at the pain and frustration and fury in Garadis’s voice. He had done so much to these people already. He knew that it was necessary but this still felt like a final insult, one last betrayal, like grinding their faces into the dirt long after they had already been defeated.

  “It is what it is,” he said softly. “And it is the best I can do.”

  “It is the best you are willing to do. As it ever has been, Tal’kamar.” Garadis’s blue eyes glowed with undisguised rage, but his voice was burdened with bitterness and heavy regret. He gestured, and a portal appeared in the air next to him. “Come, then.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Caeden cautiously.

  Garadis’s eyes bore into his.

  “To tell the others.”

  As he walked among the Lyth, Caeden couldn’t help but feel intimidated.

  The portal Garadis had opened had led to another part of Res Kartha, but this … this was unlike anything Caeden had seen in the pits. They were still underground, but gone were the narrow walkways teetering above rivers of lava, area after area of crumbling infrastructure. Everything in this cavern was in perfect condition, and the cavern itself was enormous. The walls stretched out for what Caeden thought must be miles—entirely visible thanks to the stunning, glowing patterns set into them.

  Bright red lava flowed down everywhere onto each of the four main walls, but none of it was haphazard. Up close, the cunningly carved rivulets created a series of beautiful, intricate designs, each section of the wall a work of pure artistry. But as Caeden got farther away, he began to realize that those motifs also formed part of a larger whole—each one meshing with the designs next to them to produce larger pictures, all in glowing, pulsing red. Some of those larger shapes were symbols, unknown to him but not unlike those on the Portal Box. Others were startlingly lifelike images, strange creatures or enormous faces that gazed down at the city below, their pulsing and shifting lines giving them the unsettling illusion of breathing.

  The city surrounded by those walls was sprawling, carved directly from the bedrock; nowhere was there the hint of untouched, natural obsidian. The structures here did not have the elegance of the Builders, but instead managed to exude menace, everything a mirror-finish black set against the red of both the cavern walls and the city’s inhabitants.

  And ultimately, despite all the other wonders, it was those inhabitants who commanded most of Caeden’s attention. Every time he walked past one of the burning men or women, he felt a combination of awe and deep shame. They were strong, bright, and beautiful, a far cry from the fading creatures that he remembered tossing through the Gate. And yet he knew this was not how they had always been.

  Once, they had been better. They had been free.

  As he and Garadis walked along the wide alleyways between buildings, the Lyth who spotted them began to follow—first only a few, but then more and more at each corner until finally they were trailed by a living, breathing beacon of burning light that made the buildings and streets all around them blaze like the setting sun against black night.

  Caeden sweated as he walked; the dry heat of the city was akin to the inside of an oven, perhaps even hotter than the walkways elsewhere in Res Kartha. He stumbled a couple of times from dehydration as he tried to ignore the increasingly loud murmurs, the horrified whispers from behind of those who had seen him.

  The Lyth knew him, and none of their expressions were welcoming.

  “How many live here?” Caeden asked quietly, gazing around at the myriad buildings. The city would be able to hold thousands, perhaps tens of thousands—and yet, th
ere were not a great many Lyth walking through the streets.

  “Those you see. A few others,” said Garadis softly.

  Caeden frowned, certain he’d misunderstood. There were perhaps fifty Lyth following them now. “Only a few? Where are the rest?”

  Garadis did not look at him. “Gone, Tal’kamar,” he said softly. “We built this city in anticipation of our numbers swelling once again, but it was not long before we realized that we could not reproduce. The only thing we had was Andrael’s Law. It was enough to sustain us few, but everyone else … eventually, they grew tired. They lost faith. They Freed themselves.”

  Caeden felt a chill as he understood. He bowed his head and said no more.

  Finally they arrived at an enormous, open square, the stone underfoot polished black like everything else. A small section stood raised above the rest, and Garadis led Caeden onto this platform, turning to face the assembled crowd. Caeden copied him, feeling unsure of himself.

  “Tell them,” said Garadis quietly.

  Caeden gazed at the crowd, resisting the urge to shield his eyes. Men and women watched him expectantly. Hungrily.

  “I have found a way to set you free from Res Kartha,” he said loudly. There were murmurs at that but most remained silent, evidently seeing that he had more to say. He waited until the noise had died down, then continued, “but it may not be the solution that you had hoped for.”

  He drew the glass sphere from his pocket, holding it up and bracing for the explosion of fury that he knew was coming. For a few moments, there was utter silence.

  Then the muttering started, the Lyth in the square beginning to talk among themselves. It was low and furious, a rumbling rather than the outburst of anger that Caeden had expected.

  This … this was worse, somehow. These men and women were the last of their kind, thousands of years old, and had hinged so many of their hopes upon this. He could hear the sharp sound of bitterness and disappointment in each word that was spoken.

  Garadis watched with sad eyes, then motioned Caeden to the side.

  “Wait here,” he said grimly. “We will discuss. We will decide.” He cast his gaze out over the square. “It will not be long,” he concluded softly.

  He motioned to the others, who trailed after him into a nearby building. None of the Lyth looked at Caeden, even glanced in his direction. The air was thick with sadness, frustration, anger and grief and despair. But it was … as if it were expected, an inevitability. As if his mere presence had forewarned the Lyth that this was how things were likely to end up.

  Caeden watched them go, seating himself at the edge of the podium and then focusing on the surrounding city. It was hot and stark and as markedly beautiful as it was empty. A reminder, perhaps even more than Deilannis, of what he had taken from these people. What he had taken from the world.

  As the last of the Lyth left the square, the memory clicked into place.

  Caeden swung open the massive steel door.

  Beyond was … nothing. There was a path—little more than a ledge—that extended perhaps ten steps beyond the door, out over a completely black abyss. The thin light from the hallway seeped inside, but beyond an impression of the walls that surrounded the doorway stretching upward and away, Caeden couldn’t see anything.

  He stepped forward, lowering his gaze and shielding his eyes. He knew this place. Knew what was coming.

  He closed the door again, and knelt carefully.

  “I am here, El,” he said firmly into the void. His words were swallowed by the emptiness.

  Light.

  Caeden rocked back in pain and shock. The light was not merely bright; it seared his eyeballs and a fierce, ceaselessly burning pain echoed through his skull. He braced himself, knowing that moving—taking his hands away from his eyes—would only make the pain worse.

  Tal’kamar.

  The voice was … everything. Deep and strong, reassuring and soft, filling his every sense. The agony of his eyes was forgotten as he did everything that he could to focus, to comprehend.

  He’d known that it was coming, and yet there was little he could have done to prepare.

  “I am here, Lord.” Caeden breathed the words.

  It is done? The voice came from all directions, burrowing inside his head.

  “Yes.” Caeden allowed himself the smallest sigh of satisfaction, the slightest flicker of pride. “We saved them. We saved them all.”

  This is well. Your faithfulness commends you, Tal’kamar.

  “We all know that if we follow Your instructions, Lord, then good things will follow.”

  And yet it is you who leads the way. It is you who trusts to the courses of action which I provide, who pushes the others when their own wisdom says that they must surely fail. It is you who shows the strength and conviction and drive for what is to come.

  Caeden felt his brow crease, even as a thrill of pleasure ran through him. Accolades from El Himself were rare, but this one sounded as though it preceded something more. Something important.

  “What is to come, Lord?” he whispered.

  There was silence for a moment. Would you say that the Venerate have been a force for good, Tal’kamar?

  “Of course,” said Caeden with alacrity. “We have prevented deaths, suffering, disease, wars …” He shook his head. “Since You brought us together, since You began telling us what needed to be done, we have made a difference unlike any I had ever imagined. We are changing the world.”

  You are, said El. His voice was soft and yet it pounded against Caeden’s ears like a thunderclap. And with each action, you form a different future from the one Shammaeloth first planned when he left me here. Each time you place your faith in me, you nudge this world in a direction away from that which he envisaged. You have been warping the very nature of the slavery that he wished to enforce. A pause. And yet, it is not enough. This, still, is merely an altered certainty. A different prison, but a prison nonetheless.”

  Caeden’s heart dropped.

  “You said that one day, the difference that we made would mean an opportunity to go back. To break you free. To begin again in a world without inevitability, without his influence.” Caeden shook his head, hearing the panic edging his voice. “I still believe that, Lord. I beg of You, please, tell me that that vision of the future has not changed.”

  My words are promise, Tal’kamar. My words are truth. You need never fear that. El’s voice was calm, soothing. But it is still as I forewarned—the path that we take must be the one that best diverges from Shammaeloth’s. This is no simple battle, no mere case of preventing evil. He broke this world, but he understood enough to leave some of its beauty. Some of its joy. He knew enough to realize that sometimes, beauty is a temptation, and joy is a call for inaction. He knows to use good for his own ends also, Tal’kamar. He knows how to turn our own hearts against us.

  Caeden nodded slowly. “I understand.”

  Do you truly? It is his most powerful weapon, and it is one that none of you have yet to properly face. In fighting it, the depth of your faith will be laid bare like never before. In fighting it, you will need to above all remember the truth that I have always told you—that I have told each one of you again and again, because it is easy to comprehend but difficult to sincerely accept. Which is that while I offer you a choice, it is a choice of duality and nothing more. You are always doing his will, or mine. But never yours, Tal’kamar.

  “I do understand that, Lord. I do.” Caeden put every ounce of certainty he had into the words.

  Then hear me. El’s voice was suddenly more intense and Caeden flinched; it was as if someone was shouting in his ear and yet the words were deep and compelling. Because the time has come for action, and you alone amongst the Venerate have the strength to do this.

  There was a warmth in Caeden’s head and he gasped, trying to steady himself. Images flashed through his mind, knowledge of … something. A device. Enormous. Unthinkably complex, and yet he could see all of its workings, and unders
tood them.

  Five black columns.

  A weapon, one more powerful and more deadly than any Caeden had ever seen, had ever conceived. A device created only to destroy, to drain life from miles around until nothing remained. Until every living thing within its radius was completely, utterly extinguished.

  “Lord,” he said softly, the beginnings of tears in his eyes at the horror he was being presented with. “This is … evil.”

  This is necessary, said El. This pains me more than anything, Tal’kamar, and yet it is my will. It is the act that will drive the Darecians to begin their studies. It is the act that will force them to flee south, to find the entrance that Shammaeloth sealed and to try and break it open again. A pause. So. Do you see the truth of his great shield, now? Do you finally understand what you must accept, must overcome, in order to defeat him?

  Caeden shook his head, tears trickling down his cheeks now. “I … cannot,” he whispered.

  You can, Tal’kamar. This is why it had to be you—the strongest of all. Because the others will balk. Some will despise you, oppose you. Others will fear you. None will fully understand. El’s rich, resonating voice was full of sadness. I cannot and will not force you to take up this burden—as always, this is the only freedom I can give. But I ask that you look to the greater good. I ask that you remember that all that is done will be undone. And I ask that you never forget that these sins will be mine to bear, not yours. Just as Gassandrid told you when you first met.

  Caeden trembled, and for once it was not merely from the impact of El’s words. “You ask much, Lord.” He swallowed a lump in his throat.

  I ask all, Tal’kamar. And still I urge you. I beg you. Change your name, if you must. Divorce yourself from your actions. But become the man the world needs, even if it a man whom you despise.

  Then, as abruptly as He had come, He was gone.

  Caeden blinked away tears for several long moments, still shaking. Eventually, though, he gritted his teeth.

  “We are the blade,” he reminded himself softly.