James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

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 have 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.”