Caeden wiped sweat from his brow, taking a deep breath to ensure he wasn't getting light-headed again. The heat hadn't been a problem at first, but he'd been wandering this network of caves for hours now, following the inexorable flow of lava in search of an exit. Dehydration was beginning to rob him of his balance. Along these narrow walkways, that could easily result in a quick but painful death.
Still, he knew there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Keeping his eyes fixed on the path ahead, he started forward once again.
He rubbed at his wrist absently as he inched his way through the cavern. The wolf tattoo had vanished as soon as he'd touched the bronze box at the Tol, and even now he couldn't help but notice the absence of its familiar glow, which had tugged at the corners of his vision for as long as he could remember. Taeris had once suggested that the link would remain only until it had physically been completed. It appeared he’d been right.
After a few minutes of carefully picking his way across the cavern, he paused, allowing himself some rest. Ahead, the path disappeared into the gaping black maw of yet another tunnel. He squinted towards the exit, heart suddenly leaping. There was something else about the tunnel entrance - something new. A series of markings, etched in a semi-circle into the rocky wall around it.
His need to rest faded as he edged closer, a surge of excitement running through him. He couldn't read the strange symbols, yet they were also somehow familiar.
Then he knew why he recognised them.
Digging into his pocket, he drew out the bronze Vessel that had brought him here, holding it up so that the light from the red river below illuminated it.
He smiled in triumph.
The writing wasn’t identical, but... there could be no doubt. The inscriptions on the box were in the same language as the markings around the tunnel.
Replacing the Vessel in his pocket, he ventured cautiously into the darkness.
He took several deep breaths as he entered; the air here was much cooler, and he straight away felt more clear-headed. He hurried forward, eager now. This passage was longer than the others he'd been through, and he was soon forced to create a small ball of Essence to light the way ahead.
It was a full ten minutes before the tunnel began to lighten again, and Caeden paused uncertainly as he reached the exit.
Instead of yet another cavern, he was at the entrance to a large room, black stone walls smooth and straight. It was the floor that had made him hesitate, though. Fine cracks ran everywhere, along which crimson lava flowed in tiny rivulets, lighting the room a virulent red.
For a moment Caeden thought the ground might be unstable, but then he took a half-step back, squinting. The cracks were too regular, too straight to be natural.
The lava was creating a series of symbols.
They were similar to those he'd seen outside the tunnel, he soon realised - clearly the same language. The design pulsed and glowed, the floor shimmering through the haze of rising heat.
A warning. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain of it.
He tore his gaze from the symbols, studying the rest of the room. It was empty except for a short stone pillar set at the far end, with a single naked sword balanced across its peak.
Caeden stared at the blade curiously. Something about it seemed… alive. It gleamed not with the eerie red of the lava, but rather with a white light, like that of Essence.
There was nothing else in the room, nor any other exits he could see. As if this room had been built specifically to house the sword, nothing more. Almost like a shrine.
He hesitated. He felt as though he'd intruded, stumbled across a place he had no right to be. Yet the box had brought him here, was clearly connected to this place somehow.
And he knew he couldn't go back the way he'd come. He had a couple of hours at best before dehydration got the better of him. He wouldn't survive on those narrow walkways for long.
Cautiously, Caeden placed one foot into the room, testing the stone underfoot. It seemed firm. Taking a deep breath, he put his whole weight onto it, stepping completely inside.
There was a grinding sound behind him and a hidden door slammed shut, neatly dissecting the chamber and the tunnel.
Caeden stared at the blocked exit in horror. He looked around, trying not to panic, but his gaze met only solid stone. There was no other way in or out that he could see.
“You have intruded once again, I see,” came a soft voice from behind him.
Caeden froze, then slowly turned.
A man now stood between him and the sword, though Caeden had no idea where he had come from. He resisted the urge to shrink back against the wall. The stranger's skin glowed a smouldering, writhing red - darker than the light from the molten rock in the floor, but not by much. His hair and clothes seemed made of strands of lava itself, but... his eyes were human. Blue and calm, intelligent.
Watching Caeden closely.
“I... I'm sorry,” stuttered Caeden, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you did.” The luminescent man began to pace, circling Caeden. His body language gave nothing away, but his eyes held an intense curiosity. “You have come for Licanius, as you always do. The question is, how did you get in this time? Did the Traveller bring you? Did the Keeper take pity on you? Or perhaps you finally plucked up the courage to return to the Plains of Decay and use one of the Columns?” He kept moving, never taking his gaze from Caeden’s face. “Another body again, I see. Which poor soul did you take it from this time? Did you really think it would fool us? Fool me? No. No, such a poor deception is beyond you, I think. You have a plan. You always have a plan.”
He stopped, a little closer to Caeden this time, who had been gaping at him in silence. “Well? Am I to be kept waiting, or shall I just expel you now?”
Caeden coughed. "I’m sorry, but truly... I’m not sure why I am here. I don’t even know where here is.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Who are you? Do you know me?”
The man's eyes flickered with puzzlement. “We have danced this dance for near five hundred years,” he said. “I am Garadis ru Dagen, and I know you, Tal’kamar, no matter what you do to your face. Of all of them, you are the only one who ever gets this close. And yet none of you can take her. That law is immutable.”
Caeden swallowed, not sure whether to be excited or nervous.
Then what Garadis had said struck home.
“Five hundred years?” Caeden laughed. “So you’re saying I’m a little older than I look.”
Garadis gazed at him impassively, silent, and Caeden’s laughter died under the stare.
Suddenly the burning man's eyes widened in understanding. He moved forward at a blinding speed, grasping Caeden's head in his hands before it was possible to react.
Caeden gasped; Garadis’ hands were warm, but not searing hot as he’d expected them to be. He could feel something inside his mind for the briefest of moments, a fraction of a second. Then Garadis was stepping back again, this time his expression thoughtful.
“You should not have come back here,” he murmured.
Caeden gave him an uneasy look. “But I don’t remember being here. I have no memories past a few months ago,” he protested.
“That is because you had them removed,” said Garadis quietly. “You had them removed so that you could come here, now, to try once again. Andrael’s Law is clear. He who comes to take Licanius shall be refused her. But you are not here to take Licanius. You are here to find out who you are, and how you might help your friends.” He stared at Caeden in what seemed to be fascination.
Caeden glanced behind Garadis, at the sword on the pillar. "That's Licanius, isn't it," he said.
"Yes."
“Will my having it make a difference? Will I be able to help my friends?”
"Of course," said Garadis softly. The glowing man stared into Caeden's eyes, then stepped to one side, allowing him a straight path to the sword. "For the first time in five hundred years, you ha
ve passed the Tests. As Guardian, I have read your mind and find no thoughts or memories that should cause me to deny you Licanius. She is yours.”
Caeden looked hesitantly at the sword, then back at Garadis. “Can you restore my memories?”
“No,” replied Garadis. “Though I am sure one who can will find you soon enough.”
“Then can you at least tell me who I am?”
Garadis stared at him, expressionless. “Where to begin? You are Tal’kamar, though precious few know you as such. You destroyed Saran’geth. You butchered the Arathi. You created the Plains of Decay.” He paused. “You saved Jala Terr. You hid Wereth when the Shadows would have killed him. You risked your soul to stop the extinction of the Utthal. You have lived for over three thousand years, and done so much evil and so much good. You are a legend, even here amongst the Lyth. You are Tal’kamar,” he finished softly.
Caeden felt a chill run down his spine. He had lived for over three thousand years? It was inconceivable, yet something in Garadis’ voice told him it was true.
Numbly, he nodded. “Thank-you.”
“Now,” said Garadis. “Take the sword.”
Caeden took a deep breath, then picked his way across the lava-lined floor until he stood in front of the pillar. He frowned at the inscription on it.
“What do these symbols say?”
“Nothing important,” replied Garadis.
Caeden paused, glancing back at the towering, pulsating being. Garadis' stance and expression were still blank, but now his eyes seemed… eager.
A flash of suspicion ran through Caeden.
“What does Licanius do?” he asked slowly. “Can I safely assume that this is no ordinary sword?”
“You can,” replied Garadis. “But Andrael’s Law forbids me to speak of her specific properties. To anyone.”
Caeden frowned, unconvinced. “Is taking it going to hurt me, somehow?”
Garadis stared at him impassively. “If you are asking whether Licanius has wards to prevent her from being taken - then no, she does not.”
Caeden gazed at the blade. Up close, even the glow he'd noticed earlier was muted. It seemed like a well-made sword... but that was all.
He leaned down, peering closer. Etched into the steel in tiny lettering were more symbols - these ones familiar.
“For those who need me most. What does that mean?”
“Another question I cannot answer.” Garadis sounded irritated, but Caeden was still hesitant to touch the sword. Something was holding him back.
“What does Licanius mean? It sounds Darecian. You could at least tell me that much.”
There was silence from Garadis. “Fate,” he said eventually. “The translation is more specific, but in your language, it means ‘fate’.”
Caeden nodded. Taking a deep breath, he reached down and grasped the hilt, lifting the sword from its stone cradle.
He screamed.
Pain wracked his entire body; he wanted to let the sword drop but his muscles had convulsed, making his grip on it vice-like. Tears trickled down his cheeks as wave after wave of agony washed through him.
Then, just as he thought he could stand no more, it was over.
He was lying on the stone floor – blessedly not touching any of the lava rivulets – and still holding the sword. With a gasp he dropped it, letting it clatter against the warm stone. On his left forearm glowed a symbol, something he didn't recognise, which faded away even as he saw it. Not a wolf, but a different animal – a bear, perhaps?
Garadis was still standing in the corner, a satisfied look in his eyes.
Caeden spun and glared at him. “What have you done?” he growled. “You said there would be no traps.”
“I said there were no wards that would harm you,” corrected Garadis.
“Then what in fates was that?” Caeden demanded.
“A binding,” replied Garadis. “The trade between the Lyth and Andrael. We guard Licanius until one who passes the Tests wields her. In exchange, the one who takes her up must free the Lyth. It is the pact that you have been trying so very hard to avoid these past centuries.” He sighed, a contented sound. “You must have been desperate.”
Caeden stared at his now-bare forearm worriedly. “Free you from what?”
Garadis leaned forward. “From here, Tal’kamar. From this. We cannot survive without the raw Essence Res Kartha produces. You need to find a way for us to leave, and not perish.”
Caeden gave him a blank look. “But... I know nothing about any of that. It's impossible.”
“And yet, you have agreed to it.” Garadis’ blue eyes looked at Caeden greedily. “You have a year and a day. Should the pact be broken, the binding will compel you to return to us. Licanius will become the property of the Lyth, to do with as we see fit. And once she is truly at our command, we will see fit to use her for that which she was designed.”
Caeden paled; the last sounded distinctly like a threat. “A year?”
“And a day,” said Garadis. “She is yours until then, to do with as you wish. But if we cannot leave Res Kartha after that, she will be yours no longer. So choose your priorities wisely.”
Caeden nodded, still stunned. He took a deep breath, then thought for a few moments.
“If you want my help, you’ll also want me to survive the next few days,” he observed. “I am going to return to Ilin Illan, to fight alongside my friends. If there is any way you can help me….”
Garadis laughed. “You always were a canny negotiator."
He stepped forward, laying his hand against Caeden’s forehead again.
A flood of warmth passed through Caeden’s mind, sudden but not unpleasant, causing his knees to buckle. The sensation passed quickly, though.
“You are already equipped to fight,” said Garadis. “This knowledge will let you use Licanius for your purpose - but know this too, Tal’kamar. What you are about to face is only the first strike, the first few drops of a torrent. A storm." He bent down slightly, so that his face was level with Caeden's. "The ilshara - what you call the Boundary - is waning, and when it fails entirely, your friends will lose. You cannot protect them forever.”
Then he straightened, gesturing behind Caeden. The tunnel door ground open again. “Now, it is time for you to go.”
Caeden hesitated. “How do I go back?”
Garadis sighed. “To return to a question I asked before. How did you get here?”
Caeden dug around in his pocket and produced the small bronze box, handing it to Garadis.
Garadis just stared at it for a long moment, stunned.
“You have audacity, Tal’kamar,” he said softly. “I will grant you that.”
“You know how it works?”
Garadis gave a slow nod. “Considering you stole it from me? Yes, I know how it works,” he said, smouldering lip curling slightly. “To think, I didn’t even know it was gone.”
Caeden found himself reddening. “I don’t know how it works,” he admitted in an embarrassed tone. “I... just touched it, and it took me here.”
“That explains much,” said Garadis, his tone dry. He sighed. “It is a Portal Box. The Portal Box. It will take you to any destination you impart to it.” He turned it over in his hands. “Each face has a destination; you need only direct Essence into this character” – he pointed to a small symbol, which Caeden had previously noted as appearing on every side - “ and depending on which face you activate, you will be transported to its destination. It seems all six are already set; your touching it triggered only one.”
Caeden’s heart sank. “Can it get me back to Ilin Illan?”
“No,” said Garadis. He gave Caeden a thoughtful look, then handed the Portal Box back with obvious reluctance. “But it is of no advantage to me if I delay you.”
He made a sweeping motion with his hands, and suddenly everything... twisted.
Caeden gaped as a darkened city street appeared through a hole in the air. It was just like the stones Taeris had use
d - except Garadis had done it unaided, as easily as breathing.
“Go,” said Garadis. “Do what you must. But return within a year and a day with your solution, else you will lose Licanius forever.”
Caeden nodded. “I will.”
Without hesitation, he stepped through the shimmering portal and back onto the streets of Ilin Illan.
- Chapter 54 -
Ilin Illan burned.
The night was at its deepest now, and the city below was lit only by naked, furious flames. Davian stared despairingly at the scene from where he'd collapsed in exhaustion, a little way behind the now dangerously thin front line of Andarran soldiers. Every street, every building visible from his vantage point at the palace gates either glowed a hot, angry red, or sat in equally ominous darkness.
He gasped for air and shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to get his bearings. He, Wirr and Taeris had made it back to the Shields from the Tol, but their time there had been painfully short. Most of the city had been lost in that first, disastrous hour after the Blind had found their way inside through Tol Athian; by the time someone had figured out exactly where the breach was, the Lower and Middle Districts were already ablaze.
After the Shields... a desperate retreat, their only option to avoid being trapped in Fedris Idri. Chaos as the Blind hit them from in front and behind, cutting through their lines, the invaders' unnaturally fast blades slashing everywhere. Struggling onward to the palace, the only defensible position left in the city, through a maelstrom of panic and screaming and running and blood.
And then this current, ominous, near-unbearable silence that hung over the city like a shroud as the Blind prepared their next assault. Probably their final one, Davian realised dully. The Andarrans who had made it back to the palace had managed to regroup, to form a defensible line, but the damage had been done.
The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1) Page 68
