An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  Erran frowned, feigning confusion, but the flicker of guilt in his eyes told Wirr the truth.

  His mother evidently saw it, too, because she took an angry step forward.

  “He killed your father, Torin.” She looked at Wirr expectantly.

  Erran licked his lips, glancing from Geladra to Wirr. More than anything else now, he looked sad.

  “I have to go. Davian and Asha are depending on me.”

  Wirr stared at him for a long moment. He glanced at Karaliene, but his cousin’s expression was inscrutable.

  Finally, he nodded.

  “I couldn’t stop you anyway.” He held Erran’s gaze.

  Erran inclined his head, ignoring Geladra’s cry of protest. “Don’t come out until you’re sure it’s safe,” he said grimly.

  He vanished.

  There was silence as Geladra stood there, glaring at her son, trembling with pure anger.

  Eventually, she just turned away.

  There was stony, nervous silence for a while after that. The sounds from up above had ceased now.

  After a minute Wirr walked over to the door, shutting and barring it. If there was anyone else coming, they would be able to hear them and let them in … but he didn’t think that there would be.

  He slid slowly to the ground, back against the door, the horror of what had just occurred above finally dawning on him. Not just the immediacy of the death and destruction, but its implications.

  Even if Asha sealed the Boundary straight away, there were too many creatures that had gotten through. Loose in Andarra, they would cause devastation, wreak havoc for years to come. Decades, maybe.

  Wirr swallowed. Was Dezia still in the south? He hoped so. And then there was Deldri, his uncle … everyone that he cared for, really.

  They were all in danger now.

  He exchanged a glance with Karaliene, seeing the same grim realization on his cousin’s face.

  Neither of them said anything though. There would be time to worry about the bigger picture later.

  If they were lucky.

  Closing his eyes, he settled down to wait.

  Chapter 46

  Caeden steadied his breathing as he slipped silently behind one of the massive black pillars that lined the hallway, allowing another patrol to pass by.

  After coming through the portal, he’d emerged … here. Into the middle of an enormous hall that was completely empty, completely silent. Assuming that the men he’d subsequently seen marching through were not looking for him, his arrival had seemingly gone unnoticed.

  He took another slow, calming breath and looked around. Torches were mounted on every side of each square column, though much of the light was absorbed by the muting black of the stone itself. It wasn’t obsidian like Res Kartha, polished and smooth and beautiful. This was as if everything had been charred, smeared with ash, though when he brushed it lightly with his fingers, nothing came away.

  He wasn’t sure how tall the hall was—he couldn’t see its roof—but a hundred paces away there was a doorway leading outside, evident thanks to the wan light filtering through. He moved cautiously toward it, ears sharp. He’d already had to avoid two other patrols since he’d arrived. He wasn’t sure what would happen if they spotted him—or, in fact, if they were even patrols—but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Until he understood exactly why he was here, he wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

  Reaching the entrance, he emerged onto a wide, completely deserted balcony that overlooked a sprawling city below. Caeden moved cautiously to the railing, peering over. He was standing at least two hundred feet above the city, but he didn’t think that the structure itself was that tall; rather, it appeared to be set into the side of a steep mountain, from which the stones of the building—and all the buildings below—seemed to have been taken.

  He shivered as he gazed down at the city, the dark stone and unnaturally pale light giving everything a hazy, shadowy look. Caeden squinted up toward the sun, which was close to its zenith. There were no clouds to speak of but it was still strangely weak, filtered, despite the oppressive heat.

  He frowned, trying to determine where he was. The streets below were quiet but far from abandoned: in many sections he could see bustling crowds, no different to many other places that he’d been in the past.

  His gaze shifted to his left, where an entire quadrant of the city appeared to be empty. He frowned as he studied the thick, spiked wall that cordoned it off.

  That was definitely unusual.

  Within the abandoned section, jutting out from among the smaller buildings, he spotted a tower. It was a tall and thin square column—probably room enough inside for a stairwell, but not much else.

  He remembered the moment that he saw it.

  Caeden sat atop Seclusion’s third and tallest tower, staring pensively out over Ilshan Gathdel Teth.

  The fortress-city beyond Seclusion looked different here than it did from the Citadel. There it was entirely visible, naked, laid bare by its design. Here it was more mysterious, chaotic, the view of some streets blocked by buildings, the careful layout obfuscated by angle. That wasn’t surprising though. The Builders hadn’t built this tower, hadn’t built any of the warren of structures that adjoined Ilshan Gathdel Teth. They’d never anticipated a view from this particular vantage point.

  “So you are set in this detour of yours.”

  Caeden twisted to see Asar standing a little way into the topmost room of the tower, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, like Caeden looking out on the city below. His expression was absent, a little wistful.

  “Yes.” Caeden said the words more confidently than he felt, rolling the ring around his palm again before holding it up, examining it. Three silver bands twisted together, flowing but irregular. A reminder of why he was doing this.

  Asar watched him sadly. “And when you have determined that it is not possible?”

  Caeden glared at him. “If.”

  Asar shook his head. “The Darecians were driven by dreams of revenge, Tal, and their theories sprang from that desire. This hope of changing things, of creating limitless realities, was always a fantasy. Albeit a compelling one,” he added softly.

  Caeden was silent for a moment. “You are very probably right, and yet I cannot go farther until I am sure. I’ve already been made to kill …” He gestured, swallowing. “I will not take one more life until I know everything that I can.”

  Asar hesitated.

  “Nobody and nothing made you do what you did, Tal. Inevitable or not, you chose to believe. You chose to follow. You chose to act.”

  Caeden flinched at the rebuke. “I take ownership of my actions,” he said defensively. “But it does not mean that I—”

  “That’s not what you need to do, Tal’kamar,” Asar interrupted gently. “You know this. The true evil is always in the reason and the excuse, not the act. I was fooled. I was angry. I wasn’t thinking. I had to do it, else worse things would have happened. It didn’t hurt anyone. It hurt less people than it would have if I hadn’t. It was to protect myself. It was to protect others. It was in my nature. It was necessary. It was right.” He said the words softly. “We have both been alive long enough to know that evil only wins when it spreads. It can cause destruction, it can cause death—but those are consequences of its nature, not its victory. Not its goal. The danger of evil, the purpose of evil, is that it causes those who would oppose it to become evil also.” He looked Caeden in the eye. “And that, my friend, is what happened to you.”

  Caeden paled under the weight of the words, but nodded. The crushing guilt settled again on his shoulders, his chest, his head. As it did each and every day.

  Asar stepped forward, gripping Caeden’s arm firmly. “I say this only because you asked me to,” he said quietly. “You said—”

  “I know. To not let me deflect.” Caeden gave him a tight smile. “I know.”

  Asar watched him for a long moment. “My original question stands. Once
you have been to Deilannis this last time, will you finally act?”

  Caeden nodded slowly.

  “I will go through Eryth Mmorg.” Here, at the very peak of Seclusion, was perhaps the only place where he could utter these words aloud and not fear being overheard. “I will take Licanius. Kill Meldier and Isiliar, retrieve the Siphon. And then when I have bound the Lyth, I will use the final Tributary to make sure that the ilshara does not fall before its time.” He said the words softly. This was a plan that had been a long time in the making, but he despised it no less because of that. “After that, it will be up to you to seal the rift. I’ll give you Licanius, but you will have to kill the others, as well as any Augurs in Andarra who are old enough to have come into their powers. Then Cyr. And lastly, the both of us.”

  Caeden felt sick as he finished. It was a final evil to oppose evil, a failure of conscience even if they were victorious—and yet even Asar had conceded that the cost of inaction here was too great to bear.

  They could not pretend to a moral imperative, this time. They were choosing the darker path because they feared the consequences of not. It wasn’t something to feel good about or to be proud of. It simply … was.

  “Good.” Asar watched him grimly. “But you’re still thinking about what Alaris said, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Caeden saw no need to deny it. He and Asar had not always been friends—not always even allies—but they had a bond founded on trust, on openness. “His arguments are hard to refute.”

  “I would say that they cannot be refuted,” said Asar. “He is arguing from a position of belief, Tal, as are you. You are both intelligent men, and there are no flaws in either of your lines of reasoning. If there were, then we would not be in this situation.”

  Caeden shook his head, allowing his frustration and indecision to creep onto his face. He could do at least that much here, where no one else would see. “He and the others are all just so … certain. So certain, even after …” He gestured. “We’re not just talking about anyone, either, Asar. These are the best of us. These are our friends.” He grimaced. “And they all think that we are wrong.”

  Asar raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You already know my response to that,” he said quietly. “I love and respect them just as much as you do, but that doesn’t—and shouldn’t—change anything. We have more perspective than that. ‘The people with whom we are friends should never affect our morality; rather, our morality should affect with whom we are friends.’”

  Caeden smiled slightly at the quote, but nodded. Asar was right. They’d both lived long enough to see how people—societies, even—could succumb to mob morality. The desire for acceptance, the desire to feel like they were fighting for something … too many were willing to base their beliefs around such shallow things. It was rarely about what was actually right or wrong. Such influences were understandable, but they were unquestionably to be avoided.

  “Still,” he said softly. “I would like, just once, to be certain.” He motioned outward, over the city. The gesture included everything beyond, too, as Asar would know full well. “I would give anything just to know.”

  Asar was silent for a long moment.

  “You are not alone there, Tal,” he eventually sighed. “But we knew one day that we would die. Then we knew that we were alone, unique. Then we knew that there was no one out there that was more powerful than us.” He shook his head slowly. “Then El found us, and we knew that we were on the side of good. We knew that we were doing the right thing. We knew that we were protecting people and fighting to save the world. We knew that our actions were not our own, that we were merely “the blade.” Each time, we knew these things.” He paused, then walked forward, sitting on the edge of the wall next to Caeden. “Certainty is hubris, Tal. It is arrogance and bluster and those who claim it deserve nothing but to be mocked.”

  Caeden let his silence concede the point. He’d known the answer, hadn’t really expected to be told anything new. He’d just needed to hear it again. To be reassured that he was not alone in the pain of his doubt.

  They were silent for a time, just watching the people of Ilshan Gathdel Teth scuttle like ants below, going about their daily business. At one point he thought that he saw movement deep in Seclusion itself, but as soon as he opened his mouth to point it out, it vanished. He settled back again, trying to decide whether it had simply been his imagination. No one had seen anything in Seclusion for years, but men and women nonetheless disappeared beyond its gates regularly.

  Asar glanced across at him, evidently spotting that he was still troubled.

  “Do you ever wonder why He chose us, Tal’kamar?” the white-haired man asked quietly.

  Caeden blinked. “Because without us, the rift would have closed. Without us—and now without the Augurs, too—He would have had no way to escape this world. He gave up a great deal of His power, but He did it to serve His own ends.”

  “That’s why He chose someone.” Asar gazed out over the city contemplatively. “But He could have chosen the Venerate from amongst those who lusted for power, or from those who would have happily killed for him no matter the reason. We both know that there have always been enough of those people in the world.” He shook his head. “Instead, He chose from amongst those who wanted to do good. To be good.”

  Caeden was silent for a while.

  “There’s a purity of purpose to redemption, I suppose,” he eventually said softly. “To being able to undo the things for which we hate ourselves. Especially when we are told that it is in the service of the greater good.”

  Asar grunted, nodding. “The lesser of two evils, or the greater good. Get a good man to utter either of those phrases, and there is no one more eager to begin perpetrating evil.”

  The sun was beginning to cast long shadows across the city, and Asar stretched, his contemplativeness evaporating with the light. He offered his hand to Caeden, who allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

  “Once we leave Seclusion …”

  “I know.” Caeden hesitated, then embraced the other man. His camaraderie with him was as strong as any of the others, save perhaps Alaris. Without Asar, Caeden was unsure whether he’d have had the strength of will to continue. “He is getting too wary; this will have to be the last time. I know that it will be a long wait, but I need to send you back to the Wells. I’ll contact you if Deilannis changes anything.”

  Asar gave a tight nod.

  “A century is not so long to be patient,” he said softly. “We lit this fire, Tal, and we are the only ones who can put it out. That is more than enough motivation to get me through.”

  He disappeared down the stairs.

  Caeden took a long look out over Ilshan Gathdel Teth, and followed his friend into Seclusion for the final time.

  Caeden’s vision cleared, and he felt sick to his stomach.

  After all his protests to himself, all his denials, it was true. Part of the plan—his plan—had been to kill the Augurs.

  Not to mention his friends and himself.

  Asar had lied to him in the Wells, feigned ignorance, claimed that he didn’t know the details … but Caeden could immediately see why. Simply explaining their intentions would never have been good enough, not for this. Had Asar tried, Caeden would probably have fled the Wells and never returned.

  But that was something that Asar had understood from the beginning—that without his memories, without context, there was no way that Caeden would ever have accepted the truth.

  Even now, he wasn’t sure that he could.

  He swallowed; so much of it was coming back now, it was overwhelming. He remembered struggling with the concept of yet more killing, the refusal to admit that it could possibly be necessary … and then, finally, a breaking point. The reluctant acknowledgment that there was no other way. He didn’t recall the specifics, exactly—not in the same way in which he’d been reliving other moments from his past. This was more just … the knowledge that it had happened. A gene
ral recognition that it was a decision that he had made, simply the way that things had been.

  He leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath. A hundred years ago. This memory had been by far his most recent, near two thousand years after the creation of the Boundary. He’d still been pretending to be loyal to El despite the others’ mounting suspicions, walking an impossibly fine line between trying to stay safe and trying to convince his friends of the truth. He had delayed for longer than he should have in that pursuit, taken more risks than were strictly wise in the hope that even one more of them would eventually change their mind.

  None of them had, but he had never regretted trying.

  As he peered down at the black stone buildings below, there was suddenly more. This city was deep in northern Talan Gol, and it had been his home since El’s invasion—Aarkein Devaed’s invasion—had ground to a halt. He’d only ever meant to be here for a few years at most, the Boundary merely a means of delaying their progress so that he could settle his growing unease about El’s plans before pressing on. But the more he had investigated, the more that Andrael’s words had seemed less and less those of a madman.

  And then El had acted. He had restricted the Venerate to Talan Gol, announcing that despite Caeden and Gassandrid’s ability to create Gates, none of them were to leave without His permission. He had given them plenty of reasons as to why, and as always they had made indisputable sense … but it had nonetheless increased Caeden’s doubt. The more he had considered the situation, the more it had seemed that El simply did not want the Venerate away from His influence.

  The more it had seemed that He did not want them traveling to Deilannis before He could get there, too.

  Caeden frowned, nodding slowly as he stared down at the black stone buildings and took a deep, shuddering breath. It was coming back. There were still holes in his memory, but they were holes now. Gaps between the things that he remembered, rather than the other way around.

  He straightened again, glancing around back at the palace. The Citadel, they called it here in Ilshan Gathdel Teth. Home to the Venerate. They hadn’t built it; it had been taken in their last great push, their effort to reach Deilannis. The Darecians had known that they were coming, though; their Ironsails had spotted them more than a hundred miles offshore. They had had hundreds of years to prepare for his and the other Venerate’s invasion, and they had used that time well. Spreading fear of him, even if at that point they hadn’t known his true name. Building weapons here in the north, ones that he and the others had been forced to deal with before searching for their objective. Laying traps. Hiding their great accomplishments deep underground.