The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1)

by James Islington

  "Not much of a choice," observed Erran, his tone grim.

  Asha nodded. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and looked across at Fessi, who was still on her knees beside Kol. The other girl hadn't reacted to anything that had just been said.

  Erran followed her gaze. He hesitated, then reached over to Fessi, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  "Fess," he said gently, voice catching. "I know this is hard, but we might need you. We will come back for Kol. I promise."

  Fessi didn't respond at first. Then she shook her head, her eyes lingering on Kol’s motionless features.

  "If you need me, I'll be here," she said.

  After a few moments, Erran nodded. He got gingerly to his feet, accepting Asha's arm in support. They paused in the doorway as they left, watching as Fessi stroked the hair back from Kol's face.

  "We need to go, Asha," said Erran quietly.

  Asha nodded, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat.

  She made sure Erran had a firm grip on her arm, and they began slowly limping towards the Great Hall.

  ***

  The doors to the Great Hall were open, much to Asha's surprise.

  One of the guards outside recognised her and after a moment's hesitation, waved her and Erran straight through. Asha frowned uneasily as she entered. The enormous room was near empty, its only occupants a small group of people talking in hushed tones off to one side. The throne up on the dais was, disconcertingly, vacant.

  She exchanged worried glances with Erran, then headed towards the circle of people. The group looked to be mostly made up of men from the Great Houses, but she breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised Laiman in amongst them. The king's advisor spotted her a moment later, smiling and murmuring a quick apology to his companions before walking over.

  "Ashalia!" Laiman had dark circles beneath his eyes, but his demeanour seemed almost cheerful. "What can I do for you?"

  Asha indicated the empty throne. "What's happened? Where's the king?" she asked, unable to keep the anxiety from her tone.

  "Sleeping." Laiman lowered his voice. "Whatever was afflicting him seems to have just... stopped. It was only a few minutes ago. One moment he was ranting about the Gifted again, and the next...." He shook his head. "It was like something just snapped. He almost collapsed, didn't know what was going on. But when I told him about the Blind, he immediately put Karaliene in charge until he was well enough to resume his duties."

  Asha glanced at Erran, who gave a small, nonplussed shrug. She turned back to Laiman. "Do you know what changed?"

  Laiman hesitated, then nodded. "The Tenets," he said softly. "We don't know what the new ones are yet, but Dras felt it happen. It couldn't have been more than a minute later that the king came to himself." He shook his head at her bemused expression. "I don't know the significance of it either, but for now I'm just grateful. Karaliene knows what she's doing, and if the Tenets are different, I'm hoping it means the Gifted can fight."

  Asha shook her head, a little dazed, relieved to hear that Wirr had been successful but unsure how it could possibly have affected events here. "So what happens now?"

  "Now? There's little else left but to get everyone we can to the Shields," said Laiman grimly. He glanced back over towards the gathered lords. "Speaking of which...."

  Asha nodded her understanding. "Thank-you, Master Kardai," she said. "Fates be with you out there."

  "And with you, Ashalia. Erran." Laiman nodded to them both, then hurried back towards the gathered noblemen.

  Asha and Erran left the Great Hall again and began heading back towards Fessi and the Lockroom, silent for a time as they walked.

  "What do you think it means?" asked Asha eventually.

  Erran shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "The Tenets shouldn't affect kan. I'm glad the king is free of whatever was wrong with him, but... it makes no sense."

  Asha just gave a frustrated nod, having reached much the same conclusion.

  They arrived at the Lockroom to find Fessi sitting on the couch, still staring listlessly at Kol's prone form. She didn't look up as they entered.

  Asha gave Erran a hesitant glance, then crouched down in front of Fessi. "Fessi. The king has recovered," she said. "The Blind are still attacking, though. It's time we went to the Shields to see how we can help."

  Fessi looked up, but at Erran rather than Asha. There was a second of silence as the two gazed at each other, and then Fessi gave a small nod.

  Erran coughed, suddenly awkward.

  "We've... decided to leave, Asha," he said in an apologetic tone, looking uncomfortable as he said the words. "You're certainly welcome to come with us, though."

  "What?" Asha looked between the two of them, stunned. They must have been communicating using Erran's ability; Asha felt a stab of anger at being so bluntly excluded. "You can't leave now! And besides, there's no way out."

  "There are still some smaller ships in the harbour - the Houses left them there as a way to retreat, should the Shields fall," explained Erran. "They won't be guarded now, and there are more than enough for us to take one without putting anyone in danger."

  Asha gave him an incredulous stare. "Do either of you even know how to sail?"

  "Elocien did." Erran looked her in the eye. "We can't stay, Asha. Surely you must see that. With Scyner out there, knowing what he knows... he's either going to try and use us, or turn us in. Until we can figure out a way to deal with him, it's not safe for us here. Or you, for that matter." His tone was earnest. "Please. Come with us. "

  Asha hesitated for the briefest of moments, then shook her head.

  "I can't. I suppose I understand, but... I just can't." She paused, then laid a hand on Fessi's shoulder. "I will take care of Kol's burial, though. I promise."

  Fessi looked up at her for the first time since Asha had entered the room.

  "Thank-you," she said softly.

  Erran watched for a moment, his expression sad, then took two quick steps and embraced her. "Fates be with you, Asha."

  "You too, Erran." Asha looked down at Fessi. "And you, Fess. I'll be thinking of you. Be safe."

  Fessi gave her a tight, tearful smile. "We'll see you again, Asha." Her voice shook a little, but there was hardness behind her eyes, too. "We'll be back to deal with Scyner soon enough."

  She stood, reaching over and taking Erran's hand in her own.

  They vanished.

  Asha didn't move for a long moment, twisting the ring on her finger nervously. The Augurs' abrupt departure had suddenly given her pause, made her wonder whether it was really worth her going back to Fedris Idri. Her Reserve was close to drained; she wasn't sure how much more she could do in battle anyway. And it felt wrong to leave Kol like this, alone on the floor....

  But she knew straight away that those were just excuses. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Even if she was only able to summon one final blast with her Vessel, returning to help at the Shields was the right thing to do.

  She took a long last look at Kol's lifeless form, grief still heavy in her chest.

  Then she turned and left, heading for Fedris Idri.

  - Chapter 52 -

  Wirr rolled his shoulders, sensing more than seeing Elder Eilinar's glare.

  There was a stony silence as the group walked deeper into the Tol, broken only by the occasional nervous cough from one member of the Council or another. Wirr scowled to himself. His arrival at the Tol, and his announcement that he was going to change the Tenets, had been met with open arms. His insistence that Davian accompany him to do so had not.

  He glanced across at his friend, who was walking alongside, evidently lost in thought. The Council had been furious at Wirr's obstinance, going so far as to call Davian a threat after what he'd done to Ilseth Tenvar. Eventually, though, Eilinar had relented - if not graciously.

  Wirr could still feel the man's anger emanating from him whenever they locked gazes, but he didn't care. He was here for one purpose only:
to fulfil his father's dying wish. To make sure his sacrifice had not been in vain.

  "I would have understood, you know," murmured Davian suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. "You didn't have to rile them on my account."

  Wirr shrugged. "I needed someone with me for this. Someone I can trust."

  Davian inclined his head. "Still. I'm not sure that I blame Eilinar. I probably wouldn't want me involved in this either, after what happened this morning."

  Wirr gave him a stern sideways glance. "What you did to Tenvar was an accident, Dav," he said. "You were doing what needed to be done - and honestly, it's not like the man didn't deserve it."

  Davian grimaced, but nodded. He watched his friend for a moment. "How are you holding up?"

  Wirr gritted his teeth, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. He'd managed to push what had happened to the back of his mind for now, and he wanted it to stay there, to keep the emotions at bay until this was done. "There will be time for grief later. This is what my father wanted," he said grimly.

  Davian gave him another nod, accepting the statement in silence.

  After a while they came to a halt in front of a large, solid-looking steel door; Eilinar pressed his hand against its surface, releasing the wards that protected it. Once he was done, he produced a set of keys and opened it, holding it ajar so that everyone could pass through.

  Wirr stared around the chamber within as he entered. It was entirely empty of furnishings except for a thick, squat table in the centre, which itself looked carved from the same black rock as the rest of the room. In all, it seemed unremarkable.

  Nashrel waited until all the Elders were inside and then walked over to the table, placing a hand on it with something approaching reverence as he closed his eyes. He murmured a few words under his breath, and Essence began flowing from him into the stone.

  Wirr watched, wide-eyed. The table turned a deeper shade of black; suddenly the torches on the walls were reflected on its now glistening dark surface. Then there was a rippling, a shimmering in its centre; it began to stretch and morph as something new rose out of the stone.

  Wirr stared. It appeared to be an ornate shield – but too large, taller and wider than even the largest of men, impossible to wield.

  “This is the Vessel through which you will need to rebind the Tenets, Your Grace,” Nashrel explained to Wirr, eyes not leaving the shield. “You must place your hand on it, keeping a steady stream of Essence flowing into it, and speak the vows that you want all the Gifted to be bound by.”

  Wirr frowned at the shield. “That’s it?”

  Nashrel nodded. “Your new vows should take the place of the old ones. Beyond that….” He shrugged. “The Tenets have never been successfully changed, and this Vessel was not made by us, so I cannot speak as to any other consequences.”

  Davian and Wirr both stared at the shield. Its steel was almost as black as the table beneath, and as Wirr took a closer look, he saw that it was covered by hundreds of finely inscribed symbols.

  “Who did make it?” Wirr asked abruptly. “Where did it come from?”

  "Only the Loyalists know the answer to that question," said Nashrel. His glance flicked to Wirr, then away again.

  “Why doesn’t someone just destroy it?” asked Davian.

  Nashrel shook his head. “That is why it is left in Athian's care, hidden, and not at the palace. If it were destroyed, we suspect that the Tenets could not be undone. Its terms would last forever.”

  “Then perhaps that is what we must do,” came a deep voice from the entrance.

  Wirr spun, heart sinking as soon as he saw the blue cloak. All the Administrators were supposed to have left, called to fight at Fedris Idri.

  Then he grimaced as the man stepped forward into the light.

  “Ionis. I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be,” Wirr said quietly. “We need the Gifted to be able to fight, else the city will fall, and we’ll all die.”

  “Then we will all die, Your Grace,” replied Ionis, his tone calm. “An unpleasant fate, and yet preferable to having the Bleeders running things again. I lived through those times, Prince Torin. I’ll not return to them.”

  Wirr turned back to the shield, away from the Administrator. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “Actually, I do. Prince Torin, I command you by the Fourth Tenet. Do not use Essence unless I tell you to.”

  Wirr gasped as his hand froze, only inches above the shield. He scowled, concentrating, willing his hand downward. Instead he found himself pulling back, away from the metallic surface.

  He took a couple of steps away from the table, until it was well out of reach. Then, able to move freely again, he rounded on Ionis.

  “Administrator, you must do as I tell you. Fates, man, I’m the prince; I’m the Northwarden now! Release me to do as I wish, or I’ll have you strung up for treason!”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I won’t be doing that.” Ionis looked… composed. Almost unconcerned. With good reason, too, Wirr realised dully. So long as the original Tenets remained in place, Ionis was safe. “And I suspect that of the two of us, once King Andras finds out what has happened here today, it might rather be you looking at the hangman's noose,” the Administrator added.

  Wirr grimaced, remembering his last conversation with his uncle. “What do you want?”

  Ionis leaned forward, and Wirr shuddered as he caught the look in his eye. There was a hint of mania there, an unmistakably zealous fire. “I want you to create a new, single Tenet. That any man, woman or child who is Gifted must take their own life.”

  Wirr felt himself pale, and there were gasps of horror from around the room, which had been utterly silent up until now. "You can't," he said suddenly. "You're an Administrator; you took the Oath. The Third Tenet binds you just as much as us - you cannot cause harm, physical or otherwise, to any of the Gifted."

  Ionis inclined his head, looking unperturbed. "And perhaps if our positions were reversed, that would stop you. You may not realise it, but for some Administrators, their interpretation of 'harm' means that they cannot act to even upset one of the Gifted deliberately." He took a step forward, eyes glittering in the torchlight. "But not me. This power, the 'Gift' as you call it - it is a disease. I believe that, more deeply than I have ever believed anything. So you see, Prince Torin, doing this to the Gifted... it is not causing them harm. Far from it. It is putting them out of their misery. It is helping them. "

  Wirr shivered under Ionis' gaze. He didn't want to believe the man, and yet there was something in his eyes, a fearsome certainty that what he was doing was right. In that moment, Wirr knew that the Administrator truly thought that he was doing the Gifted a kind of twisted favour.

  “You're insane,” he said softly. "We could help, Ionis. We could fight the Blind."

  "The long-term is the only thing that matters, Your Highness," said Ionis.

  Wirr just stared at the blue-cloaked man, aghast. He tried to make his body move towards Ionis but it wouldn’t budge; subjective or not, the Third Tenet prevented him from taking any action with the intent to hurt an Administrator.

  His jaw clenched in helpless frustration. He’d known this was a weakness; it had been one of the most pressing reasons to keep his abilities a secret in the first place. His father had always been concerned that an Administrator would find the temptation of having a prince under their control too hard to resist.

  And apparently, Ionis was no exception. All that remained now was for him to give the order.

  The Administrator leaned forward. “Prince Torin, by the Fourth Tenet I order you to -”

  Suddenly Ionis’ smug expression faltered, and he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened, and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. He spun, looking directly at Davian as his body began to spasm.

  “What are you doing?” he groaned, collapsing to the floor.

  Wirr turned to Davian. His friend was making no outward appearance of effort, simply staring at the Administrator with a grim
expression. There could be no doubt, though. Thin tendrils of light streamed from Ionis’ violently shaking form into Davian, vanishing as soon as they touched the boy’s skin.

  Suddenly the stream halted.

  "Release him," said Davian quietly. "Please. I have no wish to do this. Release him to change the Tenets, and I will let you live."

  Ionis gave a wracking cough, looking twice the age he had a few moments ago. He stared at Davian in utter fear, and for an instant Wirr thought he was going to comply.

  Then he twisted away with an effort of will, shouting the words.

  "Prince Torin, by the Fourth Tenet I -"

  He cut off in a desperate, rage-filled shriek.

  Ionis’ body began to age, wrinkles appearing on his face, his skin sagging and creasing, his features becoming gaunt. Then his skin and muscles began to wither and decay, slowly at first but with increasing speed, until the white of the bone underneath began to show through.

  As the last wisps of light were sucked from the corpse, even the skeleton itself collapsed in a slight puff of powdery-white dust.

  Wirr stared at the small pile of grime on the floor, a chill running down his spine.

  "I had to," said Davian softly. He shook his head, his hands and arms glowing with the light of the Essence he had drained from Ionis. "I had to be sure he didn't say it."

  Wirr looked up at his friend, for the first time really seeing how much Davian had changed since Deilannis. He was… harder, now. As if whatever he’d gone through over the last couple of months had sucked the innocence out of him. The changes were subtle, but they were there. It was still his old friend, but a bleaker version. A more world-weary version.

  A moment later, the full consequences of what had just happened hit home, and the pain of how close he’d come became sharp in his chest.

  “I can’t change the Tenets, now,” he realised, shaking his head in steadily growing dismay. “Ionis is dead; he can’t rescind the order. I can't use Essence."