James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

It took him only a moment longer to make other connections. None he could put names to, but many he remembered clearly. All of them men whose form, at one time or another over the last couple of weeks, Malshash had chosen to take.

Malshash just stood for a few more moments, staring at Davian, panting as if he had been running a race.

“Prepare yourself, Davian,” he snarled eventually. “You leave this place today.”

He spun without another word, stalking off down the road and into the mists.

Davian bit at his fingernails.

He sat on the steps at the entrance to the Jha’vett; he assumed this was where Malshash would find him, though the shapeshifter hadn’t said so explicitly. Several times in the last couple of hours he’d considered going to search him out, but each time he thought of it, he remembered the expression on his teacher’s face.

Davian shivered again at the memory of what he’d seen. Not just seen - experienced . Davian had lived Malshash’s grief, lived his rage. The emotions had been more powerful, more raw, than anything he’d ever felt. He knew that what Malshash had done was horribly, horribly wrong. Yet he had been Malshash, felt the irresistible need to mete out justice, to try everything – anything – to bring back his wife.

It made him sick to his stomach every time he thought of it, and yet somehow, he also understood.

He suspected he now knew Malshash’s reason for being in Deilannis, too. The shapeshifter had been trying to do exactly what Davian had done and travel to the past - except Malshash had thought to change his past, and Davian’s arrival had apparently proven that he could not. Though it was hardly his fault, Davian felt a sliver of guilt for denying Malshash that hope.

After a few more minutes a figure emerged from the mists, trudging down the road towards him. Davian stood as Malshash approached. The shapeshifter still wore the same face, but somehow looked as if he had aged terribly. His gait was unsteady, weary, his expression sad rather than angry.

Malshash stopped a little distance away from Davian, unable to meet his gaze, preferring instead to stare at the ground.

“So. Now you know,” he said. “I am sorry you had to see that.”

Davian blinked. He had expected a tongue-lashing at best. “I’m sorry I pried where I had no right,” he said, genuine remorse in his tone.

Malshash barked a short laugh. Then he shook his head, sighing, any trace of amusement vanished. “I should probably say the same thing.” He walked up to Davian, and before Davian could react, Malshash’s hand was on his forehead.

He gasped as a cold sensation washed through him, sharp but brief. When Malshash removed his hand, the world suddenly seemed both clearer and duller.

“What did you do?” Davian demanded.

“I removed my influence from your mind,” said Malshash, sounding tired.

Davian gaped at him. “You’ve been Controlling me?” He took a step forward angrily. “All this time?”

“No.” Malshash looked guilty, but his tone was firm. “Not Controlling. Influencing. Feeding. Focusing .” He gave a small smile. “Your mind is exceptional, Davian, have no doubt about that. But no-one can learn what you have learnt in a couple of weeks. Not without help.”

Davian opened his mouth to protest, but was suddenly struck by just how hard he’d been studying and practicing. He had been sleeping one, maybe two hours a day, and hadn’t questioned it. The oddity of it hit him. He knew that it had before, too – remembered thinking it curious before now – but somehow, he’d never been motivated to follow up on the thought.

“You’ve been keeping me awake. Alert,” he said, some of his initial anger dissipating.

Malshash shrugged. “That, and keeping you focused on the task at hand. A little too focused, apparently.” He shook his head, chagrined. “You have a hundred different questions about the things I know. Some of them I wouldn’t answer, the rest I couldn’t, and none of that was going to be conducive to your studies. With the time we had, Davian, you couldn’t just get no answers. You had to forget there were questions.” He screwed up his face. “I truly am sorry, but you needed to be ready. If I hadn’t done this, you wouldn’t have had a chance of surviving the trip back through the rift.”

Davian clenched his fists. Some of those questions were already coming back to him, and he didn’t know which ones to ask first. “At least tell me one thing.”

Malshash gave him a wary look. “It depends on the question,” he warned.

“You said that you stole your shapeshifting ability from the Ath. That you gave up your ability to See.” He gestured in confusion. “I’ve read nothing like that, anywhere, in the library. I’ve never heard of it even being possible . These abilities are all just applications of kan, aren’t they? If you can do one, why not another?”

Malshash rubbed his chin. “That is too complicated a question to answer properly right now,” he said. “The short version is, it’s just a very complex use of Control. I’m linked to the part of the Ath’s mind that understands shapeshifting – not the theoretical knowledge, but what you would call the talent, her unique mixture of instinct and experience. When I shapeshift, I use both her talent and my own. When she tries to shapeshift, she hits a kind of mental barrier. As long as I hold the link, it’s like at a very deep level, she just can’t grasp how to do it.”

Davian gave a thoughtful nod, accepting the explanation. “And when you gave up Foresight?”

“It was the same," admitted Malshash. "I could try to See right now, but it simply wouldn’t work - any natural sense I have for it is completely blocked.”

“But why? Why give away your ability?” He frowned. “And to whom?”

Malshash sighed. “I gave it away because of what you saw before,” he said quietly. “Seeing can work in both directions, forwards and backwards. Not many people know that. Most people with the talent are naturally focused on what is to come. But I….” He shook his head. “When I See, I go back there. I was reliving it, again and again, every time I closed my eyes. I couldn’t make it stop any other way.” He paused. “Whom I gave it to is not your concern, though.”

Davian opened his mouth, but grunted as another attack punched into him. It felt like his stomach was eating itself from the inside. He doubled over, gasping for breath. He knew it would pass – there had been three since he’d begun waiting for Malshash – but they seemed to be increasing in intensity.

Malshash watched him, looking troubled. “There’s no more time, Davian. We need to do this now.”

Davian nodded, following Malshash into the building and along the long corridor. As they walked, more and more questions filled Davian’s head. He scowled to himself.

“Tell me one last thing before I leave,” he said.

Malshash hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.”

“Why do you wear the faces of the people at the wedding. The ones who….”

“The ones I killed,” finished Malshash. He looked at Davian with an expression of immense sadness. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

“Figured out what?”

Malshash hesitated. “A shapeshifter can only take the form of someone who is dead,” he said eventually.

“Oh.” Davian lapsed into silence. Malshash was watching him expectantly, but Davian didn’t know how he was supposed to react to that news. Idly, he wondered again about the identity of the blond-haired man he had changed into. Whomever it had been was dead? It didn’t bring him any closer to determining who it was. He wondered why Malshash had thought it so important to hide that detail from him.