An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  Across from her, back against the smooth cave wall, sat Breshada.

  “Welcome back, Ashalia,” said the Hunter quietly, observing Asha’s waking.

  Asha sat up slowly, scrubbing at her eyes as she looked around. “What … what happened?” She was clothed again, she realized, and her garments were blessedly dry. “Where are we? I remember the bridge, and then …”

  “We are below Deilannis.” Breshada pushed herself to her feet, looking strangely irritated. Uncomfortable, too. “You fell into the Lantarche. I followed.”

  Asha stared at the Hunter bemusedly as she was helped to her feet. “You followed? How? That drop had to be hundreds of feet. How … how did either of us survive?”

  “I used Essence to lessen the impact.” The words were short, sharp, as if Breshada were forcing them between her teeth.

  Asha shook her head. “But that would have taken …” She looked at the other woman, a chill unrelated to the temperature running through her as her eyes went wide. “And you healed me, too. I didn’t imagine that injury to my back, did I?” She swallowed. “How strong are you, Breshada?”

  “I do not wish to speak of it.” Breshada’s discomfort made sense now, and it filtered through to her voice, too. “What is done is done. You are alive. Let us leave it at that, and be on our way.”

  Asha nodded dazedly, not knowing what to say. If the past couple of weeks with Breshada had taught her anything, it was that deliberately using Essence—any amount of it—would have been incredibly difficult for the young woman. Not on a practical level, perhaps, but without doubt on an emotional one.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Evidently Deilannis’s limitations on using Essence did not extend to down here; she wanted to find out more, but Breshada’s expression indicated that that was not an option. Asha glanced toward the stairs. “So this is … a way up to the city?”

  “Presumably.” Breshada shook her head. “I have not yet searched upward.”

  Asha rubbed her forehead. “How did you even find this place?”

  Breshada shrugged. “Werek’s own luck.” She gestured toward the multiple tunnels leading from the cave. “Or perhaps not. As you can see, ours was not the only entrance to this room from the Lantarche. I am uncertain as to why—these passages seem to serve no function, except perhaps to funnel fresh air—but I have scouted along some of them, and they all appear to emerge at intervals along the river.”

  Asha stared at the looming, near-circular mouths of the tunnels, frowning. “I suppose we should start trying to get back, then. Find the others.” If any of them were still alive, of course, though she didn’t say that out loud.

  They started up the stairwell. The stairs were wide but looked strangely weatherworn, despite the enclosed space; the passageway itself was arched, the walls displaying the same scoured smoothness as the stone underfoot. For the first few minutes they climbed in silence, the rumbling of the Lantarche lessening and then finally fading entirely. The way was well lit but drearily uniform, a seemingly endless winding ascent of identical, gently rising steps.

  After a while, Asha leaned against the stone wall. “Time for a rest,” she said, a little breathlessly, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. While her injuries were healed, she was still even more exhausted than usual after what had happened.

  Breshada nodded briefly, to Asha’s annoyance looking as though she had barely expended any energy, and came to a stop.

  “Is it getting warmer?” Asha asked after her breathing had steadied, frowning. She’d initially thought that it was just from the exertion, but the stone under her palm felt heated. Now that she was stationary and paying attention, the air had an unusual dryness to it, too.

  “It is,” agreed Breshada, staring upward absently.

  Asha followed her gaze for a moment, then shrugged to the Hunter and indicated that she was recovered enough to continue. They pushed forward pensively.

  A low, thrumming growl, barely noticeable at first, gradually began to build in Asha’s ears as they climbed farther. She exchanged a look with Breshada, who looked equally mystified; just as Asha was about to comment on the strange sound, the stairs leveled out onto a small platform.

  Both women came to a stuttering, shocked stop.

  The cavern they now overlooked was immense, clearly man-made, and perfectly spherical. Golden, pulsing Essence coated the walls; more energy crashed and flickered through the air, jumping between hundreds of identical diamond-shaped shards of glistening black rock that hovered in midair, rotating slowly around the blindingly bright pillar that cored the center of the enormous sphere.

  Asha shielded her eyes from the light, squinting in disbelief as torrents of yellow-white energy streaked everywhere across the open space, dizzying and mesmerizing and terrifying all at once.

  She blinked, forcing her gaze downward slightly. The platform on which they were standing was inscribed with hundreds of strange symbols, all glowing blue. A little distance to the left, much to Asha’s relief, she saw that the stairs continued upward.

  A sliver of light suddenly split from the pillar in the center of the sphere and crackled directly toward Asha and Breshada; they both flinched but rather than hitting them, the energy struck an invisible barrier in front of the platform, dispersing into a rippling wave and merging again with the walls.

  They both gaped in silence for several seconds at the surreal sight, until eventually Asha shook her head.

  “What is it?” she murmured. It reminded her a little of the Conduit in the Sanctuary—but this was bigger. Much bigger.

  Breshada shifted uneasily. “I do not know, but we should not linger.” The low thrum in the air was more intense here than it had been in the stairwell, but still quiet enough to hear over.

  Asha nodded absently, wide-eyed as she continued to watch the chaotic dance of light. “Agreed.”

  They slowly, almost reluctantly tore themselves away from the sight, and started up the second flight of stairs.

  Several minutes passed as they ascended, and Asha was just about to suggest another break when the stairwell abruptly ended, transforming into a long corridor. The lines of Essence did not extend past the stairwell, leaving the passage ahead completely dark.

  Asha swallowed her trepidation—there was nowhere else to go—and followed Breshada into the murk, trailing a hand along the wall to keep her balance.

  The passage twisted a few times, and then they were walking into a massive hall.

  It was dark where they had emerged, the only illumination a small pool of light some distance away that highlighted what looked like a solid stone altar. Otherwise, thick gray columns were the only objects that broke up the cold, cavernously empty space.

  Asha pulled up short at a flicker of movement up ahead, within the light. She motioned silently to Breshada, ducking behind one of the stone pillars and peering around it cautiously.

  A lone figure was pacing around the altar, staring at it and muttering something that was inaudible from this distance. Asha felt her shoulders relax a little as she recognized the man, even if some of the tension remained.

  “Laiman?” she called grimly, stepping out from behind the column and moving forward.

  The king’s adviser started, looking around with nervous eyes until he spotted Asha walking into the pool of illumination.

  “Ashalia?” He gaped at her in disbelief. “And … Breshada as well?” he added dazedly as the Hunter joined Asha in the light. He stared at them, then gave a short, incredulous laugh. It was a sound full of relief. “How …?”

  “Breshada saved me,” said Asha, locking gazes with him coldly. She hadn’t forgotten what had happened on the bridge. Laiman had tried to help her … but not before hesitating.

  He’d considered letting her fall.

  Laiman saw her expression and flushed, glancing away. “That is wonderful news,” he said, with what sounded like genuine emotion in his voice. He swallowed and looked up again, his gaze earnest as he met Asha�
�s once more. “I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am.”

  Then he shook his head in vague bemusement as what Asha had said finally registered. “But … I still don’t understand … how is this possible? After you fell …” He turned to Breshada. “The others were all dead. I assumed that you had somehow been thrown from the bridge when you killed that last dar’gaithin, too. But are you saying that you went after Ashalia? How did you survive the fall? How did you even get back up here?”

  Breshada shrugged. “I did what I thought necessary. It worked. We found stairs.”

  “There’s a massive space underneath the city,” supplied Asha, with a wry look at Breshada. “A sphere, some sort of … enormous Vessel, I think. Absolutely filled with Essence. The stairs we found go right past it, all the way down to the level of the river.”

  Laiman rubbed his chin. “I see,” was all he said, though his expression had become thoughtful.

  Breshada glanced around, looking impatient. “What is this place? Why are you here?”

  Laiman sighed, and his face fell at the question. “This building was supposed to house a weapon,” he said, a little despondently. “Something that could defeat Aarkein Devaed himself. But all I could find was … this.” He gestured at the altar. “My High Darecian is not particularly good, and it seems like it could be related, but … I am unsure.”

  “Perhaps something in the Great Library will tell you more,” observed Breshada. She shrugged at Laiman’s look. “I believe that Ashalia needs to go there also. It seems our next logical destination.”

  Asha inclined her head. “That’s true.” She glanced at Laiman. “Do you know the way?”

  The king’s adviser gave the altar one last, rueful glance and nodded slowly.

  “Follow me,” he said heavily.

  Despite what Davian had told her, Asha couldn’t help but be astounded by the size of the Great Library.

  She gaped up at the vast array of books, more than a little relieved that they were finally inside and unscathed. The city had felt dead as they’d walked its silent, eerily clean streets. The fog had absorbed the sound of even their footsteps, and the longer they’d been in it, the more sinister it had seemed. Her skin still crawled with the feeling that they had eyes on them.

  How Davian had ever felt comfortable here was beyond her.

  Still, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the library. Not the size of the building, necessarily—from the outside it looked barely bigger than some of the surrounding structures. But once inside, the sheer number of books was overwhelming.

  Breshada clearly thought so, too. She stared around in consternation. “How?” she asked in horror. “How do you expect to find answers amongst so many? It will take months. Years.”

  Laiman said nothing, but Asha followed his gaze, spotting the squat stone pillar in the middle of the room. It was unassuming enough, placed in among a smattering of desks, but Davian had told her its true purpose. Laiman, seemingly, knew it as well.

  She strode over, leaning down to examine the Adviser. Davian had said he’d drained it of Essence, used it to keep himself alive. She ran her hands over its surface.

  If it was a Vessel, then she should be able to use it. She should be able to infuse it with Essence again.

  She closed her eyes, letting the Vessel tap into her Reserve. For a moment, there was nothing.

  Then she felt the Essence begin to trickle out of her, flowing into the Adviser. Not much, but as she stayed that way, she felt the energy begin to grow within the device.

  When she finally opened her eyes again, there was a blue glow atop the pillar.

  “Let’s see if this is as easy as Davian said it was,” she murmured to herself, taking a deep breath.

  She focused. Began to think of the Shadows.

  When she opened her eyes, a single blue tendril was drifting away from the pillar, slowly stretching outward.

  She hurried after it, slipping through the nearest doorway and eagerly grasping the book upon which it came to rest. It was a thick tome, unwieldy.

  She flipped it open. It appeared to be a collection of historical documents, copied from the originals, some of them notated.

  It didn’t take her long to find the entry that she was after.

  An Account of the Shadow War

  The following is a translation of a Silvithrian text, one of the few remaining after the Culling and subsequent burning of that great city. It is suggested that the Culling indirectly originated from the events described within, though that is pure speculation.

  —MARSEIS DU VIREN TEL, THIRD ORDER OF AELINITH

  After the Decree today; and being of sound mind despite the touch of the Taint; I am committing these events to the great Book in order that others who might follow may learn of these terrible events and understand the measures that we had to take. The Shadowbreakers have afforded me this opportunity out of respect, and I pray that those who come after may see why they chose the course that they did.

  It has been near two years since Lord Serrin, once little more than a lowly stablehand and yet now Ruler of Silvithrin and its surrounds, first inflicted the Taint upon these lands. At the time we knew not of its origins, of course; though even then I can say with little doubt that we could not have stopped what was to come. I nonetheless think upon this time with an unhappy heart, knowing as I do the lives which could have been spared had my instincts been sharper, had I but paid just a little more attention.

  I remember him even now as the young man who so willingly and astutely tended to my mounts, always ready with a quick smile, always seemingly happy and satisfied at a job well done. Was that all an act? Ostella and Mirius both postulate an external force at work, some evil that infiltrated and worked on the boy until he became what he is today. Of that, I suppose it is possible, but I cannot say for certain. Oft enough is darkness hidden beneath a bright exterior.

  When young Serrin first began to show signs of the Gift, that marvellous ability that so few of our people have managed to cultivate since the coming of the Shalis, there was a great celebration within our halls. The boy himself seemed more bemused than excited, but nonetheless we set him to task with the best of our mages, knowing that such a talent could not be allowed to go to waste.

  Nor was it! I myself was able to marvel at some of the feats the boy accomplished early on. I saw him near single-handedly turn the tide of the Battle of Gethrenius, a moment which set back Lither and his minions years of planning. Then, even I must concede that I loved him.

  When the Taint first appeared, in the poorer sections of Silvithrin and in many ways little more than a rumor to those such as I, there was no suggestion of foul play, no way to divine a connection between it and the young man whose power and fame grew so rapidly within these walls. Black marks on the faces of a few minor mages, holes in their memories from when they had first contracted the strange malaise. Murmurs of the deformity made their way to me, of course, but the fool I was in those days did not enough to investigate.

  Oh, I looked into the claims, of course. I investigated this strange sickness, visited those who were ill. It was not contagious, I was assured by our best physicians; and even if it were, it would be restricted to mages only, of which of course I am not. The dark veins on the face were disturbing, true, yet the men and women affected—there were only a few—seemed otherwise none the worse. They could not perform their acts of magic, of course, which was a blow to the kingdom in ways which were both upsetting and frustrating. But they did not appear to be in any danger, or even particular discomfort.

  And so when Serrin continued to grow, both in power and in popularity, it was a subject for rejoicing. Where others were no longer able to perform, he stepped in. The more who were Tainted, the more he began to fulfill their roles. In the space of less than six months, he became the most important mage in all Silvithrin, bearing the burden of many of his fellow mages who had fallen.

  Mishaeil was the first to come to me—the first, pr
esumably, to notice that something was wrong. She was a fine adviser, one of my best, and I have regretted a thousand times not taking her claims more seriously. Perhaps if I had, she would yet live.

  She warned me of a pattern to the way that the Taint was taking mages. She said that she believed it was spreading through deliberate means—perhaps an attack on Silvithrin by Lither. She even hinted at Serrin’s growing power, both literally and figuratively, as a motive. And she noted the dangers if he should turn on us. The instantaneous damage to our infrastructure.

  I did not believe that it was possible. My faith in Serrin, like so many others’, was absolute.

  I still remember the day that all of that changed. I awoke to the screams—the terrible, heartrending screams of men and women who knew that they were about to die. Even as I leaped from my bed, Thorvis arrived to tell me the news: that the Taint had taken every mage but Serrin, and that Serrin was claiming rule.

  You know much of what follows, I have no doubt. At first I wondered at Serrin’s decision not to execute me. Why risk an uprising? I may not have been universally loved, but the Silvithrians are a fiercely protective people, loyal to the patriarchy, and usurpers are rarely seen in a positive light. It wasn’t until Serrin came to visit me that I understood.

  “Why have you done this, Serrin?” I asked him as he entered. “You had everything a man could want. Wealth. Power. Privilege.”

  Serrin smiled at that. He was relaxed, but far from the madman I had expected, given the horrors that I knew he had inflicted upon some of the others to ensure that his will was done. No killings, from what I understood. But maimings. Removal of limbs, in many cases, so that his victims could not walk.

  “Every man alive has had these things,” he said quietly. “The beggar who has been given a piece of silver has had wealth. The slave who has been asked to complete a task has had power. The prisoner who has not been executed has had privilege.” His eyes shone as he sat opposite me. “I desire not the things of this world that are a matter of perspective, Javahan. I desire not the things which will only increase my desire. I desire not the petty things of men.”