Davian shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“That ring is what binds you to this time,” explained Malshash. “But it’s a tenuous link. Remember what I said, about a shadow of a shadow of yourself being left in your own time? Your body has a specific place in the time stream, and every moment you’re here, you’re fighting against it. Every moment you’re here, the time stream works harder to correct what it perceives as a mistake. Eventually it will find you, try to draw you back.”
Davian scratched his head. “And we don't want that.”
Malshash snorted. “Not if you want to stay alive.” He sighed, softening. “I know I’ve said it before, but this journey through the rift will be just as dangerous as your last, Davian. Perhaps moreso, because you won’t have anyone in your own time lighting a beacon to find your way home, as I did for you here.” He stopped, his expression deadly serious. “These skills, in and of themselves, will not help. But being able to see kan, to manipulate it at will, use it competently – that will be invaluable. It's the only thing that can protect you on the trip back.” He gestured at nothing in particular. “Which is why we train, why I had you read as much theory as you could, and why we are not waiting to master everything. Because any day, at any moment, you could find yourself back in the rift.”
Davian paled as Malshash spoke. He was silent for several seconds. “Why didn’t you say something before?” he asked.
Malshash sighed. “Do you think you would have been able to concentrate on studying those books if you’d known?”
Davian thought about it. “No,” he admitted reluctantly. “I suppose not.”
Malshash nodded in a satisfied manner. “But now we’re training?”
“It will make me work harder, push myself further.”
Malshash grinned. “So there is your answer. It was for your own benefit.”
“It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” muttered Davian.
“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Malshash cheerfully.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
- Chapter 33 -
Caeden stood in the courtyard. Sweating. Nervous.
The nine towers of Ilshan Tereth Kal rose high above him, surrounded him on all sides – improbably tall and impossibly beautiful, evoking calmness and strength in their design, just as the Builders had intended. The crystal walls glimmered and shone in the dawn, streaks of blue energy flowing through them, swirling and dancing, traversing the castle at random. They were the guardians of Tereth Kal, not quite sentient but not without intelligence. They, too, were beautiful to behold, though he had seen what they were capable of when the Velderan had attacked. A sight no man before him had seen. A sight no man was meant to witness, and live to tell of it.
Ordan glided into the courtyard. He had been around the Shalis enough now to recognise their moods, subtle though the signs usually were. Today, Ordan was determined.
The Shalis mage stopped in front of him, his sinuous red skin glistening in the light. He was at least nine feet tall at full extension, though out of politeness he tended to contort his body slightly, allowing him to speak to Caeden face-to-face. Despite the red serpentine body, and the complete lack of legs, there was a human aspect to Ordan that some of his brethren seemed to lack. But then, Ordan was the one who had spoken for him. Who had convinced the Cluster to let him train here, who had vouched for him despite his many struggles to learn what was needed. He was the most human of his kind.
“Is today the day, Tal’kamar?” Ordan asked, the hissing lisp of his voice barely noticeable now.
“May Dreth send it be so,” replied Caeden. The words were formal, but the sentiment was heartfelt.
“Then let us begin,” said the Shalis.
The energy crackled towards him, abruptly and so fast he barely had time to react. He connected to his Reserve and envisaged a shield, a pulsing barrier through which Ordan’s bolt could not pass. He threw up his hands to cast it just in time; it appeared and the bolt dissolved in a sputter of blue electrical fire.
“Good,” said Ordan. “But remember - no gestures, no words. These are the signs of a mind poor in discipline. A mind that needs trickery as a crutch to perform its tasks.”
Caeden grimaced, but bobbed his head in acknowledgement. He’d been here two years now, honing his focus, training himself mentally to do things other Gifted would consider impossible. And he could do them now – do wondrous feats that would make most men gasp in awe. Not the Shalis, though. They still looked at him as a child, or more accurately as an animal they were teaching to talk.
Ordan struck again, and this time Caeden forced his hands to his sides. His barrier still appeared but it was too weak; a small portion of the bolt sizzled through, striking him on the shoulder. He grunted in pain, gritting his teeth as he glanced down at the seared skin, which was already blistering. He knew the Shalis would not heal it for him, nor would they approve if he did it himself. It was only through trials, through pain, that mastery of Essence could be achieved.
He growled, mainly to himself. He was better than this. He circled Ordan warily, watching for the tell-tale glow – so small it was almost invisible – that indicated he was about to strike. When Caeden saw it, instead of raising a shield he dove to his left, going on the attack. He imagined Ordan’s chest bursting into flame, then let the power flow from his Reserve, as much as he could without risking Ordan’s life.
Ordan blocked the attack easily, then sighed. “You still hold back,” he said. To most people the words would have sounded angry – most of the Shalis’ speech sounded that way – but Caeden understood that this was a gentle reprimand, an almost fond rebuke. “When you fight for your life, will you do so then?”
Caeden shook his head. “Of course not. But I have no wish to injure you.”
Ordan just watched him, the sinuous lines of his body swaying gracefully. “You know my people will bring me back. You know you can defeat me. You could leave this place today, Tal’kamar. You could return to Silvithrin and fight the Shadowbreakers. Why do you hesitate?”
Caeden paused, searching his heart for the truth. “I fear that in returning to fight them, like this, I may become like them,” he said quietly. It was a hard thing to admit, but the Shalis did not believe in subtlety, false modesty, or lies. They were wise. Perhaps with this admission, Ordan could help him.
But the serpentine man only sighed. “We each have our temptations, Tal’kamar. We each have our own battles that must be fought.” He paused. “But you must fight them, my friend. You cannot hide from them. Otherwise, you will never be more than you are.”
Caeden nodded, though he had hoped for more reassurance. Still, what his friend had said made a lot of sense. He couldn’t hide from what was coming, just as his people could not.
“Again, then,” he said, tone grim, taking the stance.
They circled, and this time he felt oddly at peace, no longer nervous. When Ordan’s attack came he didn’t even break stride; the barrier dissolved the bolt long before it reached him. He dug inside himself, then pictured Ordan bursting into flame. Not just his skin, but his insides, his entire body from head to tail. The Shalis were vulnerable to fire, but he drew more from his Reserve, letting the power build up. More. More.
He released.
Ordan was expecting the blast, but his shield was nothing compared to the power of Caeden’s blow. The shield shattered and Ordan screamed in pain as tongues of fire engulfed him; his scaly skin began to shimmer and then melt as the intense heat devoured all. Caeden made himself watch, though it tore him up inside to do so. His friend would be reborn, as the Shalis always were. He knew it would be painful for Ordan, hated himself for doing this. Yet, it was necessary. Ordan was right. He needed to return home.
Another Shalis – Indral, he thought, though they all looked very similar – came and busied himself next to Ordan’s smoking body. Gently he picked it up, powerful arms having no trouble lifting the corpse. He turn
ed to Caeden.
“He will be proud of you, Tal’kamar,” he said in his unusual, high-pitched voice. The words were blunt but Caeden thought he detected a hint of respect in them. That was something, coming from Indral, who had always been against his being allowed to train here.
Caeden stared at the corpse sadly. “Will I be able to speak to him before I leave?”
“No.” Indral was emphatic. “You have completed your training, and Ordan will not return for months yet. Rebirth in the Forges is a slow process. You will need to be gone before then.” Indral was not being rude, Caeden decided, only practical. The Shalis were like that: blunt, often difficult to read.
He felt a wave of regret as he glanced around. He would never see this place again, of that he was certain.
“Tell him it was an honour,” he said to Indral quietly.
“I will, Tal’kamar. Farewell.” Indral slithered off with Ordan’s body.
Caeden flexed his burnt shoulder, grimacing in pain, then moved off towards his quarters. He needed to pack.
He was going home.
Caeden woke, a light sheen of sweat on his brow.
He rolled onto his side, gazing up at the pre-dawn sky. Another dream. As with the others, this one was already fading; even now he could only grasp the odd detail here and there. The snake-like creature he’d been friends with – so similar to the dar’gaithin. The strange fortress where he’d lived, if only for a time.
He hadn’t told the others about the dreams. Alaris’ warning still echoed in his head, and like tonight, sometimes he saw things… if he told them the truth they’d think he was crazy, or worse, a threat. Taeris removing his Shackle had meant a lot. Caeden didn’t want to force him to put it back on.
Soon enough the others were awake, and they were travelling once again. The roads had been heavy with traffic over the past few days – and many of the travellers had borne ominous news. There was trouble in the north, an invasion of some kind. Details were scarce, but Caeden could see how Taeris was beginning to look more worried with each mention of it.
He rubbed the tattoo on his arm absently. The fact that this invasion was from the north - where the Boundary lay - had not been lost on him. That glowing wolf's head, always in the corner of his vision, was a constant, unsettling reminder that he was likely connected somehow.
They proceeded for a while in companionable silence; at about midday the road forked, and the steady stream of people coming the other way suddenly stopped. For several hours after that, they walked without seeing anyone, and the silence of the group gradually became an anxious one.
Late in the afternoon, Taeris held up his hand, signalling they should halt.
“Do you smell that?” he asked. He turned to the others, seeing the answer to his question in their wrinkled noses, and Dezia holding a kerchief to her face.
There was a stench on the breeze that had just sprung up, the sickening smell of rotting meat. Not just a whiff, though, as would happen if an animal had died nearby. This was strong and constant.
“What is it?” asked Wirr, almost gagging.
Taeris shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said in a worried tone, “ but I think we’re going to find out soon enough.”
They kept moving along the road, which was still deserted. As Caeden crested the next rise, he let out an involuntary gasp, freezing in his tracks as he took in the scene before him. Behind him, he could hear equally horrified sounds from his companions as they saw what he was seeing.
The bodies were everywhere.
They lined the road for hundreds of feet ahead, draped over piles of grey stone rubble. Many of the corpses were sliced open and already rotting under the hot sun; black carrion birds flocked wherever he looked, pecking at eyes and entrails with ecstatic fervour, barely bothered by the arrival of living humans.
To Caeden’s horror, he realised some of the bodies had been carefully arranged in lewd embraces. In some places, men’s heads had been removed and sewn onto the bodies of women. He forced himself to look even closer. Some of the men’s heads were on children’s bodies, too.
He turned and retched, vaguely relieved to hear he was not the only one doing so.
His stomach emptied, he forced himself to turn back to the scene. With a chill, Caeden realised that the piles of stones he could see were all that remained of a large township.
“Gahille,” said Taeris, dismay in his voice. “I’ve been here before. This was a big town. It had its own wall, and a garrison to protect it.”
The wall was gone, now, only a few stones jutting up from the grass a reminder of it. There were no buildings left standing. Just a flat expanse that stretched out ahead, broken by the small hills of stone that indicated something had once stood there.
“Who could have done this?” whispered Caeden. He felt another wave of nausea.
“The sha’teth?” asked Aelric. He was doing better than the others. Still, he looked a little unsteady as he surveyed the carnage.
Taeris took a deep breath, trying not to breathe through his nose. “No,” he said after a moment. “The sha’teth would not bother to do this. They haven’t changed that much. Whoever, or whatever, was here revelled in what they were doing.”
“We should see if there are any survivors,” said Wirr.
Taeris shook his head. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. It could still be dangerous.”
“I’ll not feel right if we leave without at least looking,” pressed Wirr.
Aelric stepped forward, nodding. “I agree. We need to look.”
Taeris sighed. “As you wish,” he said, though his tone was heavy with reluctance.
They walked forward slowly, checking for any sign of life, each of them now breathing through kerchiefs to lessen the chance of sickness. Some of the corpses were entirely rotten, while others looked almost fresh; the stench of death was overpowering at times, making Caeden’s eyes water.
Ahead of him, Taeris sent out a thin stream of Essence - nothing strong enough to be detected by any nearby Finders, presumably, but sufficient to clear most of the smell. It wasn’t enough to make the air entirely breathable, but it was an improvement.
From the line of trees up ahead, there was suddenly movement. Taeris held up a warning hand to the others.
Two people hurried towards them; they stopped in the middle of what would have been the town square, clearly unwilling to run the gauntlet of the dead. Taeris urged his companions towards them.
Thanks to a stiff breeze, the air was much clearer in the middle of the town, enough so that Caeden felt comfortable lowering his kerchief. As he drew closer to the newcomers – a woman and a young boy, perhaps fifteen - he could see their red eyes, their ragged clothing and the cuts and bruises on their hands. They had been running, then. Possibly for days.
“Who are you?” called the boy as they approached. “What are you doing here?”
Caeden and the others stopped just short of the two. “We are travellers,” said Taeris, tone gentle, seeing the fear and suspicion on the strangers’ faces. “On our way to Ilin Illan. What has happened here?”
Something seemed to break in the woman, and she rushed forward, embracing Taeris and beginning to sob. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments, unsure what to do.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said eventually, stepping back in embarrassment and wiping her eyes with a dirty sleeve. “We’ve not seen another living soul for three days. Not since it….” She broke down again, and the young boy hurried forward to comfort her.
“We were attacked,” said the boy. His tone was devoid of hope, and his eyes looked dead to Caeden. “Soldiers in armour black as night, men with no eyes. Our Watch tried to fight them, but they were so fast.” He shivered at the memory. “It wasn’t really a battle. None of the invaders died at all.”
Caeden took a step back, a chill running through his veins. He'd been worried about his potential involvement in whatever was going on, but this... this was worse than anyt
hing he'd feared.
Taeris, too, looked at the boy in dismay. “This was the invaders' doing?”
The boy nodded, still comforting the weeping woman, whom Caeden assumed was probably his mother. “Word came only a few hours before they got here.”
“Who are they?” Taeris asked, clearly unsettled. “Where did they come from?”
“The riders who came to warn us said they were from the North. From beyond the Boundary.” The boy rubbed his hands together nervously, glancing around as if he expected the enemy soldiers to reappear at any moment. “Don’t know about that, but they weren’t natural, I promise you that. Stronger and faster than normal men, and like I said, their helmets had no holes for them to see out of. It was something twisted, no doubt about that.” He spat to the side. “The Bleeders are rising up again, maybe.”
Taeris winced, and Caeden saw Wirr scowling from the corner of his eye. “The Gifted are still bound by the Tenets, lad,” said Taeris. “But I believe what you say.” He gestured to some of the larger stones left from the destroyed houses. “Please, sit. Tell me what happened. As much detail as you can.”
The boy shook his head. “I wish I could, but me and my mother ran once we saw what they were doing. Ran into the forest and just kept going for the entire night, until we were too tired to go any further.” He rubbed at the cuts on his arms. “They weren’t like our soldiers would have been. People were screaming for mercy, but they wouldn’t listen. They killed the men, and then what they did to the women….” He trailed off.
Taeris patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, lad. You’ve been a great help already.” He guided both the boy and his mother over to a stone on which they could sit. “What are your names?”
“I’m Jashel. My mother’s name is Llys,” the boy said, still scratching at his arms.
“I’m Taeris,” said the scarred man. He glanced towards the trees from which the two had emerged. “How long have you been hiding in the forest, Jashel?”
The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1) Page 41
