This was one of the buildings blackened by fire, though the roof and all the walls were still intact. He propped Nihim up against the nearest wall, facing away from the street and hidden from the view of anything outside. Davian collapsed beside him, trying to slow his breathing, straining for any sound of approaching danger. There was nothing, though. The silence was eerie.
They stayed that way for several seconds. Then the dark mists swirling around them thickened even more and the shriek sounded again, this time so close it seemed to be right on top of them. Davian and Nihim sat motionless, barely daring to breathe.
After a few moments, Davian risked glancing out the door. The mist was getting… darker, eddying and churning until it seemed more like a cloud of black smoke than fog. He shuddered. The swirling darkness spoke of nothing but death and decay.
The air grew colder as Davian watched the darkness coalesce in the middle of the street, distending and contracting until it finally formed itself into the silhouette of a man. It was unlike any man Davian had seen before, though; its skin was completely black and seemed to glisten in the dull grey light. Its hands were curved and elongated, more claw-like than anything else, and its limbs and torso were unnaturally thin.
A horrible snuffling sound erupted from it; it turned and Davian sank back, covering his mouth in horror. Though its face was distorted by the fog, he could see that the creature had no eyes, a mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and a gaping, circular hole where its nose should have been.
It raised its smooth, hairless head. The snuffling sound came again, and Davian realised with mounting terror that it was sniffing out a scent.
Then it opened its mouth wide and keened in triumph, a sound so loud and shrill that Davian and Nihim both had to put their hands over their ears.
It came into the building slowly, deliberately, as if it knew its prey was nearby and didn’t need to rush. It moved for Davian with unhurried, almost lazy steps, a blade coalescing in its hand. In the corner of his mind not consumed by fear, Davian realised that the blade which was about to kill him was the same blade he’d seen the sha’teth use.
Nihim moved before Davian could stop him. He stumbled awkwardly to his feet, throwing himself in between Davian and the creature.
“You cannot have him. He is not supposed to die,” he said, lifting his chin in defiance. “You cannot -”
The blade moved forward in slow motion. Nihim screamed.
The following moments passed in a blur for Davian. Nihim crumpling to the floor, blood spilling from the gaping wound in his stomach. The creature moving forward through the mist as if nothing had happened.
Then it stood in front of him, its hideous, eyeless face studying his. Davian braced himself for the death blow, but the creature stopped, cocking its head and sniffing the air.
“Ilian di,” it said in a low, gravelly voice. It sounded angry, perhaps even disappointed. “Sha di Davian.” Davian's eyes widened when he heard his name, but he did not move.
Suddenly the creature exploded apart, disintegrating back into its wraithlike form, merging once again with the surrounding mists.
The unnatural, awful chill vanished from the air. They were alone once again.
- Chapter 25 -
Stunned, Davian didn’t move until a moan from Nihim spurred him into motion.
He knelt beside the priest, whose eyes were tight with pain. Davian looked at Nihim's wound in despair. He tried to cover it with his hands, but the hot, sticky blood just pumped out between his fingers.
“What can I do?” he asked, knowing he was powerless to help.
Nihim exhaled, his breath bubbling, taking a moment to compose himself. “It knew your name,” he said eventually. His tone would have been conversational had it not been forced out through gritted teeth. “That’s odd.”
“Yes.” Davian rubbed his eyes, still trying to process what had happened.
“You made it leave,” said Nihim, his voice weak. “How? What did it say to you?”
“No! No, I didn’t do anything. It sounded… it sounded like Darecian, but I don’t know what it said.” Davian ran his hands through his hair, mindless of the fact they were still covered in blood. “We need to get you back to the others. Taeris will be able to help you.”
Nihim laughed, though it came out as more of a hacking cough. “You need to get back to the others,” he corrected. “I fear I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not leaving you behind.”
Nihim coughed again. Already he looked paler, seemed weaker. Then he drew a deep breath, putting a hand on Davian’s shoulder. “You’re a brave lad,” he said. “A good boy, and I appreciate the effort. But there’s no point. I’m fated to die here.”
Davian processed the statement in silence. “You mean… this was Seen?”
Nihim nodded, even that small movement causing his face to twist in pain. “By an old Augur friend, more than twenty years ago. I’ve been wondering for a long time when this day would come.” He gave a short laugh, a desperate, almost delirious sound. “It seems it’s finally here.”
Davian shook his head in disbelief, cradling Nihim's head so that the priest would not hurt it against the cold stone floor. “Then why come?”
“To prove a point to Taeris,” wheezed Nihim, a rueful smile on his lips. He held up his hand preemptively as Davian opened his mouth. “No time,” he said in a whisper. “Go.”
Davian half-stood, then gave an angry shake of his head, crouching down again. “Fates take it. I’m not going to leave you here.” He grabbed Nihim and lifted him as gently as possible.
Nihim gave a soft laugh, which turned to a moan as Davian began walking. “Stubborn,” he gasped.
Davian crept out into the street again, barely able to carry the weight of the priest. He began moving in the direction he had last seen Caeden running, trying to ignore the blood still flowing freely from the gash in Nihim's stomach. He didn’t know much about such wounds, but he was certain that Nihim would not survive long without assistance.
“I need to rest,” groaned Nihim after a couple of minutes. “Just for a moment. I swear.”
Davian considered protesting, but in truth his arms were ready to give out anyway. He came to a shaky stop, seating the priest on a nearby piece of rubble and turning to face him, careful not to let his emotions show. Nihim was dying, and there was nothing, nothing he could do about it.
Nihim looked up at him. “Listen, lad, there are some things you should know. Taeris hasn’t told you everything.”
“You should save your strength.”
Nihim shook his head. “He’s been waiting for you, Davian. He knew you would come,” he said weakly. “There’s a text from the Old Religion, written by a man called Alchesh, an Augur from two thousand years ago. It talks of the man who will one day stop Aarkein Devaed from destroying the world. Taeris believes that man is you. He thinks that….” He trailed off into a coughing fit, blood seeping from his mouth.
Davian frowned; delirium was clearly setting in. “We can talk about this when we see Taeris,” he said gently.
Nihim shifted, groaning at the motion. “Don’t condescend to me, boy. Listen. The Augur who told me about today… he told me I’d be with someone very important. At the end.” He coughed again, weaker this time. “Someone whom the Augurs had seen on so many occasions in their visions, over the years, that they considered him to be the centrepoint of this time - the fulcrum on which things in this era turn.”
Davian stared at Nihim with determination. “This clearly isn’t the end, then.”
Nihim gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly died out. “An optimist. I like that.” He paused for a second. “There’s something else, Davian. Taeris has a link to you. It’s dangerous for him. You need to break it, else he will die.” His breath was coming shorter and shorter now. “When you….”
Nihim trailed off. His eyes had gone wide, and he was staring over Davian’s shoulder with an expression of disbelief. He
opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and for a moment Davian thought he had passed away.
Too late, he realised that something was coming.
He turned, but the blast caught him in the side. Suddenly he was spinning wildly, tumbling through space. There was agony, like a hand had reached into his skull and begun squeezing. A scream ripped from his throat, though whether it was from the pain, the terror or simply the shock he wasn’t sure.
It was like nothing he had ever felt before, ever imagined before. It was as if he had been cast into a raging river of grey smoke, a river of emptiness, of nothing – and the currents were trying to crush his mind, tear it apart, do whatever they could to utterly destroy him. He felt pulled in a thousand different directions at once, but unable to go anywhere. The buildings, the road, Nihim – they had all vanished, dissolved into the endless torrent of twisted void.
He struggled to breathe. It was impossible to say how long he had been in this state – seconds, minutes or hours – but Davian was filled with a sudden certainty that if he did not escape, he would cease to exist.
Acting on pure instinct he found himself trying to calm his mind, employing every technique he’d ever learned while trying to use Essence. For a terrible moment, he understood that Essence did not – could not – exist here.
Suddenly there was something else. Cold and dark. Flowing though him.
He immediately felt an easing of the pressure on his mind. The sensation was still terribly unpleasant, but what had been a raging torrent around him now moved slower, flowing almost calmly past in comparison. He floated in the void, composing himself, the chill substance coursing through him like blood. Looking too closely at the grey smoke streaming past hurt his head, but he tried anyway.
Soon enough, he noticed something. A gap, an area lighter than the space around it. He gazed at it, trying to focus in on it, ignoring everything else. It was a beacon in this surreal place – but how to reach it? He knew without looking that he had no physical body here, no legs to carry him.
Instinctively he fixed the light in his mind, then willed himself towards it…
…and the light was directly in front of him. Whether he had gone to it, or it had come to him, he did not know.
He studied the gentle glow. It seemed… familiar. Inviting. He stared into it for what seemed like only a moment…
… and groaned.
Davian’s head felt as though someone had taken to it with a hammer. He lay still, eyes closed for several seconds as he tried to assess the situation.
What had happened? He had been in Deilannis, and then... the void. That torrent of grey emptiness. He shifted, feeling cold, chiselled stone beneath him. So he was no longer in that place, at least. He had his body back. That was something.
Slowly, he forced his eyes open. A high stone roof greeted his gaze, sturdily made but otherwise unremarkable. It was dim in here, though the light was still bright enough to hurt his eyes until they adjusted. How long had he lain there? Had he been returned to Deilannis, or was he somewhere else? A jolt of adrenaline ran through him as the memories started to come back. Nihim. With an effort, he raised his head and looked around.
He was lying atop the altar of what appeared to be a vast temple. Columns stretched away into the darkness in all directions; Davian could not see any walls, any edges at all to whatever this room was. The light was coming from a skylight in the roof, but it must have been the only one in the room, for outside of a small pool of light – in the centre of which Davian now lay – nothing was visible. Everything in the room had a cold greyness to it; though there were no mists, Davian had the immediate sense that he was still somewhere in Deilannis.
“Welcome, Davian. Be at ease. No harm will come to you.”
Davian scrambled to his feet, looking around apprehensively for the source of the words. “Who’s there? How do you know my name?”
The disembodied voice chuckled, though it was a joyless sound. “That is a story.”
Davian slowly stepped back, until he was pressed against the stone altar. “Show yourself.”
There was movement from the shadows, and a man stepped forward into the light. His appearance was unremarkable – mousy-brown hair cropped short, a plain, slightly lumpy face, neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. Yet he carried himself with an air of authority.
There was something else, too, something almost unnoticeable but definitely there. Though there were no physical signs of it, the man’s eyes were old. Weary beyond reckoning.
The stranger slipped something into his pocket, frowning at Davian. Davian tried to shift, to place the altar between himself and the other man, but suddenly found he could not move.
“Do not try using your powers. They will have no effect on me,” said the man absently as he walked closer, squinting as he stared into Davian’s face. He wore a puzzled expression. As he drew near he stopped, a sharp intake of breath making a hissing sound as it passed through his teeth.
“You have only one scar,” said the man in disbelief. He looked shaken.
“Yes. One scar. Now tell me who you are and what I’m doing here!” Davian tried not to let panic seep into his tone.
The plain-looking man appeared not to hear him. “Impossible,” he muttered, now standing only a few feet from Davian, who was still powerless to move. The stranger began circling him, staring at him with morose fascination. “I was so sure. So sure. Perhaps the old fool was right after all.” The energy seemed to go out of him.
“Are… are you going to kill me?” Davian asked, unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. The man seemed completely mad.
The stranger stopped at the question. He gazed long and hard into Davian’s eyes, then let out a loud laugh, a raucous sound that echoed off into the shadows. “I’m hoping we can avoid that,” he said with a wry shake of his head.
Davian swallowed, not entirely comforted. “Then what do you want of me?”
The man did not reply, continuing to study Davian with an intent expression. Finally he sighed. “I will release you, but only if you swear not to run.”
Davian nodded. “I can do that.”
The man moved to stand directly in front of him, placing a hand against Davian’s forehead. He closed his eyes. “Now repeat after me: I swear I will listen to what you have to say, and judge it fairly. I swear I will not harm you or try to escape from you.”
Davian felt his brow furrow in confusion, but seeing little alternative, repeated the words. A jolt of energy flashed through him, and there was a brief burning sensation on his left forearm. He jerked, glancing down.
For the first time he realised that his Shackle had somehow fallen off and was lying on the altar next to him; where the Gifted mark had once been on his arm, there was now a simple circle of light. As he watched, the circle faded, dissolving into his skin and vanishing.
“What was that?” he demanded. “And where is my Mark?”
The man frowned. “That was a binding,” he said. “It enforces your vow to me. As to the other… I don’t know to what you are referring.”
Davian paused for a moment, taken aback. “My Mark. From being Gifted.” When the man still stared at him blankly, Davian shook his head in disbelief. “You haven’t heard of the Tenets? They bind the Gifted and the Administrators to one another, stop us from using our powers in certain ways.”
The stranger cocked his head to the side. “Interesting,” he said. “A binding applied to every Gifted. Impressive. I wonder which one of them did that.” He looked at Davian thoughtfully. “What symbol did it leave?”
“It was the outline of three people within a circle. A man, woman and child.” Davian stared at his arm. He’d lived with that brand for so long now, had known with such certainty that it was permanent. It was unsettling to see clean skin there again.
“Of course it was,” muttered the man, mostly to himself.
Davian frowned at him. “So where did it go?” he asked again.
�
��These Tenets, as you call them, don’t exist yet. Thus, you’re not bound by them.”
Davian screwed up his face. “I don’t understand.”
The man gestured, and Davian found he could move again. “All in good time, Davian. Now follow me.”
Davian hesitantly trailed after the stranger into the shadows.
Once the darkness had closed around him and his eyes had adjusted to it, Davian could see that they were in a very, very large room – a hall of some kind, he assumed. Its size was the only thing spectacular about it, though; there were rows of stark grey columns, a smooth stone floor, an arched roof high above – and nothing else.
They walked for around thirty seconds before they came to a doorway, which opened into a narrow corridor. After the cavernous hall, the passage made Davian feel almost claustrophobic.
“Who are you?” asked Davian as they walked.
The man did not turn around. “My name is Malshash.”
“Well, Malshash,” said Davian, encouraged by the response, “ can you tell me where I am?”
They were at the end of the passageway; Malshash grabbed one of the double doors in front of them and swung it wide.
Davian sighed. The mists were not as thick as they had been when the creature had attacked, but they were there.
”I’m still in Deilannis,” observed Davian, his tone flat.
“Yes.”
Davian walked outside, turning to examine the building he had just exited. To his surprise, he recognised it. It was the same building Taeris had been so interested in - the one he had nearly stayed behind to enter, despite the danger. The memory reminded Davian of the threat, and he looked around with apprehension.
“The creature,” he said to Malshash in a low, urgent tone.
“We’re safe,” Malshash assured Davian. He started off down the road, in the opposite direction to which Taeris and the others had gone. Davian tried to stand his ground, but discovered that his feet were moving to follow Malshash.
The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1) Page 32
