More importantly, he wore the crimson cloak of one of the Gifted, and his left arm was exposed to display his Shackle. Davian lowered his hands, finally taking the time to glance around. His assailants had vanished.
He took a deep, steadying breath.
“Thank you,” he said, straightening and trying to brush the dust from his clothes.
The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Were you harmed at all?”
“Only my pride,” replied Davian, a flush of shame running to his cheeks.
The man gave him a sympathetic nod. “Something we can all relate to, these days.” He held out his hand. “I am Elder Ilseth Tenvar.”
Davian shook the outstretched hand as firmly as he could manage. “Davian.” The handshake felt off; glancing down, he noticed that the man’s forefinger was missing, only a scarred stump where it had once been.
Ilseth’s expression hardened as he gazed toward the street where the boys had vanished. “Do you know who they were?”
Davian shook his head. “I’ve never seen them before.”
Ilseth’s scowl deepened. “Opportunists, then. Cowards and fools. And here I was thinking that things might be different in the borderlands.” Sighing, he clapped Davian on the shoulder. “Do you have much more to do here in town?”
Davian gave Jeni a reassuring pat on the neck, though the gesture was more for himself than for the implacable mule. “I was just about to head back to the school.”
“Wonderful—I was actually on my way back there myself. Would you terribly mind company?”
Davian glanced at Ilseth sideways, suddenly placing his voice. The man who had been talking with Talean.
He nodded and relaxed a little, secretly relieved that he didn’t have to make the return journey alone. “It would be my pleasure, Elder Tenvar.”
Ilseth smiled. “Please, call me Ilseth. At least until we reach the school.”
They made their way out of Caladel in silence, Davian lost in his own thoughts, still dazed from the attack. He began replaying events over in his mind, a bitter mix of anger and humiliation starting to burn in his stomach. He’d done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve this.
As if reading his thoughts, Ilseth placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re not to blame, you know.”
“I just don’t understand why people are like that.” Frustration lent an edge to Davian’s tone. “Administrators and townsfolk both. Why do they hate us so much? The war ended fifteen years ago; I had nothing to do with it. Those boys—I doubt they were even born back then!” He took a deep breath. “I know, we have to accept the Treaty, live with the Tenets. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
Ilseth paused, considering Davian for a moment. “It’s not,” he said quietly, his tone matter-of-fact. “Not to any of us.” He shrugged. “As to the other… well, they hate us so much because they fear us. And they fear us because they know they can never control us. Not completely. Even though the Tenets make them our masters for now, we’ll always be stronger than them. Better than them. That’s a hard thing for people to accept, and it’s what drives them to push us down at every opportunity. They broke us once, and now they worry that if they don’t keep at it, we will rise up again and exact vengeance.” There was no heat to his words, only resignation.
They walked on for a while, the only sounds the gentle breeze in the trees and the creaking of the cart. Davian absently rubbed at his scar as he thought about what Ilseth had said.
“This wasn’t the first time, was it?”
Davian turned to see Ilseth watching him. “No,” he admitted after a moment.
“What happened?”
Davian hesitated, then gave an awkward shrug. “It was a few years ago. I was just a servant at the school, back then—I’ve lived there all my life. Mistress Alita had sent me into town, and some of the men there must have known I was working for the Gifted. They were drunk… I don’t remember much of it, to be honest.” Only the fragments he dreamed about, in fact. Nothing else between leaving the school and waking up—every nerve on fire, his face slashed open and the Mark emblazoned on his forearm.
He stopped. It had been a long time since he’d had to tell this story to anyone. He took a deep breath of the fresh sea air, continuing, “They attacked me, were going to kill me, but there was another Gifted—an Elder—who was passing by, and he… protected me. When he saw what they were doing to me, he killed them.” He fell silent.
“Ah,” said Ilseth, his expression changing to one of recognition. “You’re him. The boy Taeris Sarr saved.”
“You’ve heard about it?” Davian couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone.
Ilseth gave a short laugh, though there was no amusement in it. “I doubt there are many Gifted in Ilin Illan who haven’t. Administration claimed Sarr found a way to break the Tenets in order to kill those men. He denied it, of course, but it made little difference to the Northwarden. Sarr was executed before Tol Athian could even formally protest.”
Davian nodded, a little sadly. He’d never been able to thank the man who had saved him. Sarr’s execution had troubled Davian more than his injuries, in some ways. It had shown him exactly how little saving his life had been worth.
“Did you know him?” Davian asked.
Ilseth shook his head. “Not personally. He was at the Tol when the sieges began, and traveled a lot after, so our paths never really crossed.”
Davian acknowledged the statement with another nod. Originally there had been five Tols—five different strongholds of the Gifted, each teaching different philosophies and skills in their various schools, filling specific roles for the Augur leadership. The sieges had marked the beginning of the war; three of the Tols, along with every school in Andarra, had been wiped out within months. Only Tol Athian, under whose governance his own school fell, and Tol Shen had endured until the end.
He looked up, suddenly registering what Ilseth had said. “So… you weren’t at Tol Athian during the war? You fought?”
Ilseth chuckled. “‘Fought’ would perhaps be overstating things.” He saw Davian’s blank expression and grimaced. “‘Hid’ may be a better term,” he elaborated, arching an eyebrow.
“Oh—of course. Sorry,” said Davian, abashed. Everyone called it “the war,” but everyone equally knew that the bloodshed had been mostly one-sided. He gave Ilseth a curious glance. “I’ve just never met anyone who didn’t spend the war inside a Tol.”
Ilseth grunted. “That’s because there weren’t many of us left, by the end. If you weren’t lucky enough to be behind the walls of Athian or Shen when it all began, your chances of survival were… slim. Believe me.”
“What was it like? If you don’t mind me asking,” Davian added hurriedly, suddenly realizing he was prying.
Ilseth gave a slight shrug, looking distant. “I don’t mind, lad. It was a long time ago.” He scratched his beard. “It was… lonely. Most people will tell you the worst thing was the pressure of being hunted, the constant fear, how you always had to be on your guard. They’re not wrong, exactly—you slept light and felt lucky if you got to the end of the day. But for me, it’s the loneliness I remember the most.”
Davian wiped a bead of sweat from his brow; being mostly uphill, the return walk from Caladel always required a little more exertion, and the sun was now beating down with intensity as well. “You didn’t try and get back to Tol Athian?”
Ilseth smiled wryly, as if at a poor joke. “Only those of us who couldn’t take it any more did that. It was suicide to be anywhere near the capital, let alone try and get to Athian. The same went for Tol Shen down south—and the other three Tols had all been destroyed by that point.”
He shook his head slightly at the memory, continuing, “No—I just went from town to town, trying to stay quiet, always on the lookout for Hunters and Loyalists. And always alone. During those days, if you spotted someone else who was Gifted, you went in the opposite direction. Most of us who survived were like me—smart enoug
h to realize that aside from direct skin contact, the Finders could only detect you while you were using Essence. And if you could sense another Gifted, it was because they were doing exactly that… which usually also meant that the Hunters were on their way.”
Davian stayed silent, trying to imagine it. Loyalists—those who had supported the royal family during the rebellion, under the command of the famed general Vardin Shal—suddenly in every town, equipped with Finders and other weapons against the use of Essence. Three entire Tols wiped out, the other two besieged. Every school in the country overrun, everyone who had lived there butchered. A time when things were worse for the Gifted, when they had leaped at the chance to sign the Treaty, submit themselves to the Tenets.
He watched Ilseth from the corner of his eye. The Elders at the school were always reticent when it came to the Unseen War, but Ilseth seemed perfectly willing to talk about it.
“Did you ever meet the Augurs? Before it all started, I mean?”
Ilseth shook his head. “I worked at the palace, so they were around, but I never met any personally. I wasn’t much past a student myself, back then.”
“But you saw them use their powers?” Davian tried to keep his tone casual.
Ilseth raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “The Augurs? I suppose I did—a few times, whenever I went to watch them Read petitioners. Though honestly, there was nothing to actually see. Someone would come in with a claim. The Augurs on duty that day would stare at them for a few seconds, discuss, and then pass judgment. It was about as exciting as watching the king and the Assembly do it now, I imagine.”
Davian frowned. “So… they didn’t use Essence to Read people?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You’re sure?” Davian held his breath. He’d long suspected this, but had never been able to get a straight answer from either the Elders or any of the school’s few Administration-approved texts.
Ilseth snorted. “Lad, what have they been teaching you at that school? Think about it. Essence can only affect things physically—pick things up or break them apart. Pull, push. Harm or heal. How could it possibly be used to read someone’s mind?”
Davian nodded, too fascinated to feel embarrassed. “But the Augurs could use Essence, too? Like the Gifted?”
Ilseth adjusted his glasses. “Well… yes. I remember one man who tried to lie to them—there were a few who thought it was possible, believe it or not—ran when he realized he’d been caught. The Augurs had him wrapped up in Essence before the guards could even move.”
Davian digested this information in silence, a flicker of relief in his chest. His other ability wasn’t the problem, then. It didn’t solve anything, but it was one less factor he had to worry about.
“So they could Read people, and See the future. What else?” he asked eventually.
Ilseth shook his head, smiling. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”
Davian flushed. “Sorry. I’ve always wondered about what it was like before the Unseen War, but the Elders won’t talk about it.”
Ilseth scowled, and for a moment Davian thought he was angry at him. “They’re fools, then,” said the older man, and Davian realized he was talking about the Elders. “I don’t care what the Treaty says. The Loyalists burned half our knowledge when they destroyed Tol Thane. We can’t let the other half just evaporate through cowardice.”
There was silence for a few seconds, then Ilseth sighed, calming. “In answer to your question—nobody really knew what the Augurs could do, except the Augurs. They were nothing if not secretive, and there were only maybe a dozen of them at any one time. The only abilities we know they had for certain are the ones mentioned in the Treaty.”
“So Reading and Seeing.” Davian knew that part of the Treaty all too well.
Ilseth nodded. “Beyond those, lad, you’re into the realm of rumor and speculation. And we have enough of that going around from Administration without me adding to it.”
Davian nodded, trying to conceal his disappointment. He kicked a stone along the road idly. “Do you hate them?”
Ilseth frowned, puzzled. “The Augurs? Why would you ask that?”
“The Elders won’t talk about it, but I can tell that they blame them for the way things are.” Davian shrugged, trying to hide his discomfort. “Administration says the Augurs were tyrants, and I’ve never really heard anyone claim otherwise.”
Ilseth considered for a moment. “Administration will also tell you that we were their willing accomplices—that back then, every single one of us used the Gift to take advantage of those less fortunate,” he pointed out. “For the most part it’s just rhetoric, taking the exception and presenting it as the rule. The Augurs were far from loved—feared, mostly, to be honest—and sometimes they did things that were unpopular. But until just before the war, people accepted them. Understood the value of having them in charge.”
Davian frowned. “So they didn’t oppress anyone?”
Ilseth hesitated. “I don’t think they ever meant to… but at the end, when they realized their visions were no longer accurate, they panicked. Didn’t tell anyone what was happening at first, not even the Gifted. Covered up the worst of their mistakes. Refused to cede any authority once people found out, and instead tried to create stricter laws and harsher penalties for any who opposed them—which they then tasked the Gifted with enforcing.” He shrugged. “They were just trying to buy time to find out what had gone wrong with their visions, I think, but… things got messy after that. Fast.”
He sighed. “So yes—with the way they acted just before the Unseen War, they are at fault. Undoubtedly. But do I hate them? No. I suppose I understand why others might, but I don’t.”
Davian nodded in fascination. “So what do you think happened to their visions?” Another matter on which the Elders were always tight-lipped.
Ilseth raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I can tell you the location of Sandin’s Emerald? Give you the names of the five Traitors of Kereth? Let you know who the Builders were, how they constructed their wonders, and then explain where they disappeared to while I’m at it?” He laughed. “It’s the greatest mystery of my generation, lad. I don’t know. Nobody does. There are a lot of theories, but none with enough evidence to give them any merit. They just… stopped getting things right.” He sighed. “I was there that night, you know. I was in the palace the night that Vardin Shal and his men attacked. The night the Augurs died.”
Davian felt his eyes widen. “What was it like?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Chaotic,” replied Ilseth grimly, apparently not offended by the question. “People running everywhere screaming. The Gifted not knowing that Traps even existed, not knowing that their Essence could be suppressed and dying where they stood as a result. It wasn’t the glorious battle the Loyalists would have it be, that’s for certain.” He shook his head. “I’d been studying late that night, and it saved my life. Those asleep in the Gifted quarters had their throats slit where they lay. Even the children.”
Davian blanched. He’d never heard details like that before. “That’s awful.”
Ilseth shook his head. “That was tragic, despicable even. Walking into the meeting chambers and seeing every Augur in Andarra dead—that was awful.” His face twisted at the memory. “It’s difficult for your generation to understand, but they were more than just our leaders. Their passing meant the end of a way of life.” He fell silent, remembering.
Davian burned with other questions—the Elders he’d met were never this open about the Unseen War, and certainly not about the Augurs—but he bit his tongue. He’d learned more in the last few minutes than he had in a year of quietly searching, and he was a little concerned that Ilseth would become suspicious if he continued to press right now. Visiting Elders rarely stayed at the school for less than a week, anyway. There would be time for some more carefully worded questions later.
They walked on. Ilseth looked lost in thought, and the distraction of conversati
on had already done much to calm Davian after what had happened in Caladel, so he remained quiet.
Eventually Ilseth stirred again. “Speaking of changes,” he said with what felt like forced cheerfulness, “are you prepared for tomorrow?”
Davian frowned. “Tomorrow?”
“The Trials,” said Ilseth, raising an eyebrow.
Davian barked a nervous laugh. “The Trials are not for three weeks—at the Festival of Ravens,” he assured Ilseth.
Ilseth winced, saying nothing for a few seconds. “Ah. They haven’t told you yet.” He laid a sympathetic hand on Davian’s shoulder. “Sorry, lad. For various reasons, we had to move the Trials up this year. That’s why I’m here—I’ve been sent by Tol Athian to oversee them.” He bit his lip as he watched Davian’s reaction. “I’m truly sorry, Davian. I thought you already knew.”
Davian felt the blood drain from his face as he processed the information, and for a moment he thought his knees might buckle. “Tomorrow?” he repeated dazedly.
Ilseth nodded. “At first light.”
Davian was too light-headed to respond.
He walked on toward the gates of the school in stunned, disbelieving silence.
Chapter 4
Davian was numb as he tethered Jeni.
Ilseth had already departed in the direction of the Elders’ quarters, murmuring something about finding his traveling companions. Davian finished his task and trudged toward Talean’s office, still light-headed, scar throbbing as it always did when stress got the better of him. The tiny hope he’d been clinging to for the last few months had finally faded. Disappeared.
The Administrator stood as Davian entered, grimacing as he saw the expression on the boy’s face. “You’ve heard.”
Davian nodded, his chest tight. “I met one of the Elders in Caladel.” He recounted the incident in town.
Talean shook his head, looking dismayed. “I am sorry, Davian.” He scowled to himself. “And embarrassed. I will speak to Administration in Caladel first thing tomorrow, you have my word.”
The Shadow of What Was Lost Page 4
