James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

It took him almost thirty minutes, by his estimate, to shuffle to the library. As with everything else, the enormous domed building was exactly as he remembered it, every detail identical to how he’d left it nearly a century earlier. Too weak to do anything except marvel at the fact, he stumbled inside, relieved to see the cool blue light of the Adviser glowing in the main chamber.

He collapsed against the short column, placing his hands over the blue light. He could feel it this time, now he knew what to look for. He wasn’t controlling it, but his body was reaching out towards the Essence, sucking it in.

He drew a deep breath as his muscles relaxed, the ache of his head and stomach fading. He straightened, flexing his arms and legs experimentally.

“Not bad,” he muttered to himself.

He turned to go, then hesitated. He was in the Great Library, knew how to use the Adviser. Before, when he’d been there, his mind had been influenced by Malshash. He could see that clearly, now. All the knowledge of the world at his fingertips, and he hadn’t even been curious?

He knew he should leave, but he also knew that the opportunity he had right now might never come again.

He placed his hands over the blue light of the Adviser and closed his eyes. What topics did he need to know about? He’d already read plenty of books on Augur abilities; he probably wouldn’t benefit much from more of those. What he did need was information on the threat that was coming to Andarra. He needed to know more about Aarkein Devaed. He needed to know more about the invaders he’d seen.

He pictured their armour in his mind. That strange symbol, the three wavy lines.

He opened his eyes. A single tendril of blue light was snaking out, beyond the room. Davian hurried after it, eventually discovering where it had come to rest. A thick tome, bound in black leather, sitting beneath a pile of other books on a table in the corner.

Davian picked it up and dusted it off. It had no title on the cover, so he flipped it open.

“A Collection Of Darecian Fables,” he said, reading the title aloud. An odd book to have information on Devaed, but this had been the first the Adviser had chosen. It had never steered him wrong in the past.

He hurried back, ready to collect the next tome. When he came to the main chamber, though, he stopped dead.

No more tendrils of light emanated from the Adviser. The blue glow of the column itself seemed to be dimmer – much dimmer, in fact.

Davian rushed forward, crouching so that he was at eye level with the light.

“No,” he muttered in frustration. “Not yet. Not now.” He stood, placing his hands on the Adviser and concentrating on Augur abilities. He knew there were books on that topic here – plenty of them.

When he opened his eyes, the light in the Adviser had gone dead.

“Two thousand years,” muttered Davian in disgust, “ and you couldn’t hang on for another ten minutes.” He gave the column a light kick, doing more damage to his toes than to the Adviser.

He knew what had happened. Like any Vessel, the Adviser stored a certain amount of Essence - and when it ran low, it drew on the Essence of the Gifted using it. Except Davian had drawn from it instead, draining the remaining Essence from the device, sucking it dry to restore his body to full health. It was a trade he’d had to make, but that knowledge made him no less irritated at the situation. The Adviser could be recharged, of course… but only with another source of Essence. Something not readily available to him at the moment.

Reluctantly slipping the sole book he had managed to find under his arm, he left, making his way out of the Great Library and down past the silent buildings of Deilannis. Orkoth would be around somewhere, but Davian knew he had nothing to fear from the creature, so he walked without concern for being seen.

Despite his lack of success at the Great Library, his heart was lighter than it had been in a while. He was back in his own time. More than that, he was able to wield the power of the Augurs - and Essence as an added bonus.

He paused, the thought reminding him of what had happened after his first trip through the Rift. He pulled up his shirt sleeve. The skin was still smooth beneath; despite being back in his own time, his Mark had not returned. Interesting. Perhaps if he avoided using too much Essence, he could keep free of the Tenets altogether.

Davian imagined Wirr’s face when he revealed his bare forearm, told him what he’d just been through. He smiled to himself. Wirr no doubt assumed he was dead. Though the thought should hardly have been amusing, his friend’s expression simply at seeing him walk into the palace would no doubt be something to remember.

Then, for the first time in weeks, his thoughts drifted to the school.

During his time under Malshash’s influence, his grief - so sharp just before Deilannis - had been… muted. Almost forgotten, so focused had he been on study. Now he was fully himself again, the pain of what had happened at Caladel returned - but it was fainter, an ache rather than an open wound. Sadness, rather than anguish.

For the first time, he felt like he’d moved on. That things were going to get better.

He made his way to the Northern Bridge, walking quickly but not hurrying. In some ways he had grown fond of the city over the past couple of weeks, despite the constant grey, heavy mists that hung over it. There was beauty in its design, when one could observe it without fear. He drank in the sight of the familiar buildings and roads, imprinting them on his memory. He had no intention of ever coming back, of risking any sort of proximity to the rift again.

Then he was crossing the bridge; after a few minutes he broke through the edge of the fog and into warm, bright sunlight. He squinted as pain shot through his eyes, unaccustomed as they were to the direct light of day. Once they had adjusted he stood there for a few moments, face towards the sun, drinking in its warmth. Its life . He could feel it now, he realised, even without concentrating. His body was drawing energy from the light and heat, sustaining itself.

He consciously reached out and drew in a little more, grinning at the sudden flush of energy. He felt good . Perhaps better than he ever had in his entire life.

He kept walking until the bridge, the mists, Deilannis itself had disappeared from view. Headed east.

It was time to go to Ilin Illan.

Caeden allowed himself to be ushered through the tunnels of Tol Athian, trying not to look intimidated.

Taeris had headed straight for the Tol once they’d parted ways with the others; though the scarred man had ducked his head a few times when he’d spotted blue cloaks up ahead, the journey through Ilin Illan’s streets had been uneventful. There had been an empty quality to the city, though - a sense that things were too quiet. Everyone looked on edge, and it all only served to bring home the reality of what was coming.

When they’d arrived at the Tol it had quickly become apparent that they were expected; as soon as Taeris had asked to see Councillor Eilinar, they had been immediately Shackled and escorted inside. From the way Caeden had three men flanking him, it didn’t feel like they were being welcomed, either.

Finally they were shown into a small room, an office of some kind.

"Wait here," said one of their escorts, his tone brusque. The door closed, the clicking of the lock punctuating the command.

Caeden looked at Taeris worriedly. "What’s happening?"

Taeris rubbed his forehead. "The Tol must have had advance word that I was coming," he said, looking grim. "Karaliene, maybe, or…." He cursed.

"What?"

"Dras. The snake." Taeris groaned. "He was angry, at Thrindar, and he knew where we were heading." He shook his head. "I hope I’m wrong, but -"