An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  “I can go and see my mother.” Wirr said the words without thinking. His mother and sister were currently living at the Tel’Andras estate, where his father’s old study was.

  Kevran nodded, looking vaguely surprised at Wirr’s suggestion. “Good; it’s probably time that happened anyway. I know things have been awkward between you two—they’re awkward between her and myself, too, to be honest—but you’re her son. You’re going to have to speak with her eventually.”

  Wirr didn’t protest, and the king inclined his head. “Then it’s settled. You’ll leave in the morning, stay with your mother and sister for a few days. It’s not unusual, and it should give us a little time to investigate without constantly needing to worry about your safety. I’ll send men ahead of you tonight; with them as well as your family’s regular guards, that estate is all but a fortress. I doubt there’s anywhere safer you could be right now.”

  They spoke for a little longer, but Wirr’s yawns soon grew uncontrollable and he was eventually pushed out the door. Once he reached his room he collapsed onto the bed, too tired even to undress. The tension of the attack had finally worn off, replaced by a sheer, deep exhaustion that he hadn’t felt since after the battle a month ago.

  He lay back, for the briefest of moments wondering if he was taking Scyner’s bait. It was a fleeting thought, though.

  He slept.

  Chapter 8

  Ten days on, and the fires continued to burn.

  Caeden stared out from the upper-floor window over the devastated city of Silence, wondering idly how there could possibly be enough fuel to sustain such furious carnage. From his vantage point, it appeared that still nobody was trying to douse the flames. Still no one dared incur his wrath.

  Eventually he turned away. Pushed down the grief, the guilt, the horror at what he had ordered. This was the last of them. The Darecians had nowhere left to run except to where he wanted them.

  “I see you haven’t changed much.”

  The voice came from the doorway; Caeden spun to see a young man standing at the entrance to the enormous, broken hallway, eyes meeting his without flinching. The stranger moved carefully around several chunks of shattered marble, gesturing at a low pool of fire that blocked his path. Immediately the flames died, and Caeden watched as Essence drifted away from where they had been before dissipating into the ether.

  Caeden closed his eyes, registering the man’s Essence signature.

  “Andrael,” he said softly.

  The man nodded, not pausing as he came closer. “It’s been a long time, ’Kein.”

  Caeden found himself caught between smile and grimace at the familiarity. The name Aarkein Devaed had been chosen for the fear it was meant to strike into the hearts of his enemies. Andrael, of course, had always delighted in turning it into an affectionate moniker.

  “It is good to see you,” said Caeden, voice thick with emotional sincerity. He swallowed, gesturing to a relatively undamaged block of stone, then sitting opposite. “Three hundred years is a long time to bear the hatred of a dear friend,” he added quietly.

  Andrael paused halfway into his sitting motion, obviously moved by the comment. He nodded, then sat carefully. Though his unfamiliar features were youthful, his eyes looked tired beyond measure.

  “Hatred? No, ’Kein.” Andrael gave him a sorrowful smile. “Anger? Disappointment? Perhaps. But El knows it was never once hatred. I will swear that to you right now.”

  Caeden stayed silent, a lump in his throat at the words.

  Andrael gestured at the city beyond the window. “So does Cyr know?”

  “Cyr helped. Said that if his city was to fall, it should be by his hand.” Caeden watched Andrael closely. “He likes it as little as I, but we both accept that it needs to be done.”

  He waited for the remonstration, the protests. To his surprise, they did not come.

  Encouraged, he went on. “You should speak to the others. They know they can trust me now.” He leaned forward, unable to keep the eagerness from his tone. “I know you don’t believe me, but—”

  “I believe you, ’Kein.” Andrael’s quiet voice cut through Caeden’s words. “I know it was not madness. I have believed you for a long time now.”

  “That’s wonderful!” A smile split Caeden’s face, and only something in Andrael’s body language kept him from leaping to his feet in delight. “The others will be so excited, Andrael. So relieved! Tysis is here somewhere, you know. We should find her and let her know the good news!”

  Andrael waited for Caeden to finish, his expression unmoving. When there was silence again, he sighed.

  “I am not back, ’Kein,” he said gently. “Your actions may have shattered the Venerate, but they were merely the final blow. We were weakening for centuries before that. There is no force in this world that can now mend what has been broken, my friend.” He swallowed, looking sad at that last part. “The others … they are well? Where are they now?”

  Caeden sank back onto his makeshift seat, heart wrenching at the words.

  “Cyr and Gassandrid are in Loec. Alaris is off searching for suitable commanders for Telesthaesia. Isiliar and Wereth are organizing the Ironsails down at Mosharis.” He shrugged. “The others … you probably have a better idea than I. Of everyone who left, you are the first I’ve seen again.”

  He paused, then exhaled heavily. “I am sad to hear you are not back to stay, but … that does not mean we shouldn’t celebrate the reunion. Come. Let’s at least find Tysis, and she can find out all that has been happening as well. She misses you, too, you know.” He crooked a sly smile. “I think she may still hold a torch, actually.” He got to his feet, gesturing for Andrael to follow.

  The other man shook his head slowly, the long brown strands falling over his eyes unable to hide his look of regret.

  “Tysis is dead.” He whispered the words, barely loud enough for Caeden to hear.

  “What?” Caeden frowned at the other man. “How? Her weakness is Deprivation. It would take …”

  He trailed off, sighing as he understood what Andrael was saying. “You did it? El take it, Andrael. She’s not going to be happy when she gets back.”

  “She’s not coming back, ’Kein.”

  Caeden snorted. “We both know how she reacts to dying. I’ll take any wager you’re willing to make that she’ll be back within the year.”

  Andrael turned to face Caeden fully. “No,” he said softly. “I mean she’s not coming back. At all. She will not wake up in another body.”

  Caeden opened his mouth, then blinked as Andrael’s words finally struck home. “What do you mean, she won’t wake up in another body?” he asked slowly.

  “I mean she won’t go through the Chamber. She is gone, my friend. Ended. Forever. She. Is. Dead.” Andrael said the words gently, as he would if explaining a frightening concept—a frightening truth—to a child.

  Caeden gave a short, confused laugh. Then he looked into Andrael’s eyes, saw the rock-solid belief there.

  “That’s not possible,” he whispered, blood suddenly cold.

  Andrael reached down to the sword at his hip, drawing it slowly and holding its tip away from Caeden to indicate it was not meant as a threat.

  “When I left, I was … broken,” said Andrael quietly. “I didn’t know what to believe. I thought you were a liar. I thought you were mad, and the rest of them were mad for following you. But I wanted to know for sure. So I traveled, back to places we had not been in centuries. I saw the Shattered Lands, found out about the past Alaris refuses to talk about. I even visited your homeland for a time.”

  Caeden stiffened at that, but said nothing.

  “I made five Vessels. Swords, because … well, because I anticipated that you would not let me use those Vessels willingly.” He scratched his head. “The first, I made so that I could Read you … but as I researched, I came to understand that that was not necessary. There were only hints to begin with,” continued Andrael softly. “Rumors. Stories passed dow
n. That’s all that was left, sometimes, after we departed. Do you know how many libraries we destroyed, over the years? How much knowledge we took?” He waved away Caeden’s anticipated protest. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I went looking for a way to prove you were lying. And instead came away convinced that you were telling the truth.”

  Caeden frowned. “And this is the blade you forged?” he asked pensively, indicating Andrael’s weapon.

  “No. That sword is with another.” Andrael sighed. “This blade … this is the culmination of three hundred years’ worth of toil. After the first, I made three others, but none of them worked quite as I needed them to. This one does.” He said the words sadly rather than with any sense of triumph.

  “What does it do, Andrael?” asked Caeden softly, already knowing the answer.

  Andrael stared at the blade for several seconds. “It ends us, ’Kein. Permanently. This will pierce Alaris’s skin, drain Gassandrid’s source, cause your mind to cease before it can heal you. But as it does those things, it also prevents us from coming back.”

  Caeden shivered, feeling like nothing but scrambling farther from the other man, despite there being at least a twenty-foot gap between them. “But why?” he whispered. “What could lead you to make such an abomination, Andrael? We are the only hope for this world. If you believe me, you must surely believe that.”

  Andrael laughed, and the hairs on the back of Caeden’s neck raised at the sound. It was tinged with mania.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, ’Kein,” he said eventually. “The only hope for this world is to remove kan from it completely. To stop it from being drawn through the rift, so that the rift may then be sealed.”

  He sheathed the blade.

  “The only hope for this world is for all of us to die.”

  Caeden groaned as the yellow light of dawn pried open his eyes.

  He lay there for a few moments, taking some deep breaths and getting his bearings. Another memory. Details continued to trickle through his mind, incidental and yet nothing he’d specifically seen. He knew he’d found Tysis afterward, a single wound to her chest, arranged in dignified fashion on her bed. He knew Andrael had left again before Caeden could decide what to do with him. He knew now that the Ironsails were ships powered by Essence, great metallic instruments of war that the Darecians had created long ago.

  He knew, too, that this memory was one of his most recent ones thus far. Still from before he’d come to Andarra, so at least two thousand years old—but after he’d met Gassandrid. After the breaking of the Venerate, in fact.

  Caeden went cold as he sat up, suddenly registering what the memory meant. This was why Asar hadn’t healed. And … was this why Asar had been so reluctant to tell him everything? That they had gone to all this effort to get Licanius, in order to eliminate anyone who could use kan … the Venerate, the Augurs? Themselves?

  Garadis had said that the Lyth would use Licanius for its original purpose, and it had clearly been meant as a threat. Plus, Asar himself had said that the plan was to close the rift completely. If Andrael had been telling the truth …

  It all fit. There were still plenty of unanswered questions, and the thought made his stomach turn … but it all fit.

  He shivered as he cautiously touched the blade at his side, suddenly more wary of it than he had been a moment ago. Death didn’t terrify him, but the realization that Licanius was the only thing that could give it to him was deeply unsettling.

  He thought for a moment, and then pushed the troubling concept aside. Whatever his plans for Licanius, they would have to come after he had dealt with the Lyth. He had no intention of killing himself—or Davian, or anyone else for that matter. If his plan had involved anything like that, it was a concern for another time.

  Eventually he sighed, then climbed slowly to his feet and surveyed the way forward.

  His decision to stop last night had been a wise one; he’d been aware of the steep drop ahead but dusk had hidden the scattered shale and loose rocks that littered the path downward. Now, in contrast, dawn had brought enough light to see for miles.

  Everything below was much the same as the hillside in front of him—just rock, dirt, and dust—and yet somehow, the farther he looked, the more unsettling the sight became. Where the light approached the barren ground in the valley it was as if it just … faded. Not completely, but the longer he stared, the more certain he was that the plain was somehow absorbing far more light than it should.

  He squinted grimly at the expanse of lifeless earth for a few moments, then turned his frown to the thick, lush, tangled forest to his right. As it had for all of yesterday as he’d followed the tree line, the dense foliage looked all but impenetrable.

  And just as he had yesterday evening when he’d reached the crest of this hill, Caeden couldn’t help but notice how that profuse, vibrant green just … ended.

  It was as if the forest had been cut cleanly in half, the east-facing edge stretching away in an unnaturally straight line for as far as he could see. Past that border—down into the plain—there was no hint of life. No trees, no plants, not a blade of grass. An invisible boundary beyond which nothing appeared able to survive.

  Shaking his head, Caeden let his gaze wander down the hill and into the enormous valley it overlooked. There was something else out there, barely distinguishable. A distant, dark shape rising from the ground.

  Tentatively, he moved forward. He could turn south, continue to follow the edge of the forest—but he didn’t think that was where he was meant to go.

  Muscles tensed, he stepped off the soft grass and onto the desolate earth, ready to leap back at the first sign of danger.

  He felt … something. Not pain, exactly, but a downward tugging at his body, as if his weight had suddenly increased. His squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the sensation.

  He shivered as he realized what was happening.

  Essence had begun trickling out of him, wisps of energy sucked from his body and draining away into the barren ground.

  He quickly checked his Reserve. It seemed untouched—still an immense ocean of light, not noticeably dented by the sapping. The whole thing made him more than a little uneasy, but it didn’t appear to be an immediate cause for alarm.

  He took another step, then another, cautiously moving farther away from the greenery behind him. Nothing more happened.

  He glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, then steeled himself and began picking his way down the hill.

  The dark mass Caeden had spotted was taller than he’d thought; it took at least an hour of brisk walking before he got a sense of the structure, and another hour before he neared its base. He paused when he finally got close enough, staring apprehensively.

  The five enormous pillars of polished black stone ahead, set in a circle, stretched hundreds of feet into the sky. They were perfectly straight and square—perfectly smooth, too, from what Caeden could tell at this distance. No joints, no indication stones had been fitted together. Just sheer, reflective black columns of pure hewn rock.

  There was something about the pillars that unsettled him, more than just their incongruity in this place. They had a sheen, untouched by the layer of dust that coated everything else. And there was a … hum as he approached. Not loud, but just at the edge of his hearing. A vibration on the air that disoriented him a little, made him nauseous.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, both to steady himself and to once again monitor the drain on his Essence.

  He froze.

  He’d been checking his Reserve at regular intervals, but five minutes ago it had been well over half full. More than enough for the journey back.

  Now … now what had been an ocean of light was little more than a lake. For the first time that he could remember, he could see the edges of his power. See the limits of his Essence.

  A sudden wave of tiredness washed over him and he dropped to his knees, light-headed. Panic threaded through the haze. What was happening? The light i
n the west was beginning to fade. But that was wrong. Sunset shouldn’t be for hours.

  He gritted his teeth, forcing his gaze upward to the ring of columns. There were no specific memories, but something told him that the area within was safe—that if he could simply reach that circle, the drain on his Essence would stop.

  If he couldn’t …

  Fear drove him back to his feet and he stumbled onward for what seemed like an age. Just when it felt as though his legs would no longer hold him, the dusty ground turned to shallow, black stone steps; he dragged himself forward, up the mild incline, and between two of the enormous black columns.

  Immediately it felt easier to breathe, as if an enormous pressure had been released from his chest. He slumped to the ground, gasping, quickly checking his Reserve. Still drained—frighteningly near empty, in fact—and yet, the leakage had stopped.

  Even with the respite, he knew that he was far from safe. His tenuous grasp on consciousness threatened to slip away; he fought the exhaustion, wary of what might happen if he fell asleep here.

  He took a few deep, steadying breaths and raised his head, taking in his surroundings. It was dusk and the last of the light across the plain was dying, though where the day had gone he couldn’t fathom. He straightened, frowning. The circular stone plateau set amid the columns—slate gray rather than black, perhaps a hundred feet in diameter—was not as empty as he’d initially assumed.

  Set to one side, up against the inside of one of the pillars, was a hulking mass of jagged steel and stone. Twice Caeden’s height and three times as wide, it was incongruous, clearly not part of the design of this place, despite the gleaming black segments that looked made from the same obsidianlike material.

  Caeden studied the strange, serrated object curiously. At first the twisted protrusions from its core looked haphazard, as if thin slivers of metal and rock had been forced together at random. But as he stared, he began to see something more. An order to the mass, a logic.