James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Taeris raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m listening."

"I spoke to both Torin and Karaliene earlier, and I mentioned that Representative Alac had fallen in battle. They thought that young Ashalia should stay on, but agreed that she will still need someone with more experience to guide her. When I put forward your name, they both seemed amenable to the idea." He shrugged. "Torin was going to speak to Ashalia once everything had died down, but assuming neither she nor the king have any objections…."

Taeris stared at him in disbelief. "Ah… have you forgotten I’m still a wanted criminal?"

“A matter I believe our young Northwarden is clearing up as we speak,” said Laiman cheerfully. “Nothing is set in stone, yet, but he has the power to reverse his father’s verdict. And despite Administration’s protests it looks like both the king and Karaliene want him to keep his new position, so I don’t foresee any problems on that front, either." He gave Taeris a slight smile. "Welcome back, old friend.”

Taeris was silent for several seconds, stunned. “And… and Athian?”

Laiman chuckled. “I assume that when you are named their Representative, they will have to take you back, like it or not. It might just force them to give what you’ve been saying a little more consideration, too.”

Taeris barked a disbelieving laugh, then leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been busy.” He shook his head incredulously. “I truly don’t know how to thank you.”

Laiman inclined his head, smiling. “No need.” He gestured to the door. "All the same, we should find somewhere out of the way for you to stay tonight. We don’t want some overzealous Administrator recognising you before everything’s sorted out."

Taeris rose, a renewed vigour in the way he bore himself. "Lead the way."

They moved into the passageway and paused just outside the doorway, blocking it. Asha took a hesitant half-step forward, but there was no gap for her to slip through. She clenched a fist in silent frustration. If she couldn’t get out now, she’d have to wait until they were long gone.

Laiman grinned at his friend as they stood in the hallway, unaware of Asha’s dilemma. “So. After all these years you’re finally going to have some resources at your disposal, a bit of freedom to move around again. What’s your first order of business?”

Taeris thought for a few moments, tapping a finger absently against the side of the door. Then he leaned forward, eyes glinting.

“Laiman,” he said quietly, “ I think it’s time we organised a trip back to Deilannis.”

He flicked the door shut, cutting off Laiman’s response.

Asha was alone once again.

Caeden crept forward, parting the darkness ahead with a small sphere of pulsing white Essence.

He was underground again, though his surrounds were markedly different to Res Kartha. This place was silent, dead: just a long, narrow, gritty shaft that seemed intent on going nowhere but deeper into the damp, musty earth. He’d been walking for at least an hour now, and in all that time there had been no side tunnels, no rooms, no change in slope or direction. No sound except the soft pad of his own footsteps, either. Veins of quartz and other metals occasionally sparkled in the wall as he trudged forward, but otherwise he had neither seen nor heard anything of note.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he’d somehow arrived at the wrong place, the tunnel began to level out.

Abruptly he realised that the walls ahead were widening into a small room, an antechamber of sorts, from which there were several exits. He came to a stuttering stop, hesitating. There were four passageways, each looking as menacing as the next. His light did not penetrate far into the tunnels, but he could see from the sloping floors that one led upward, one continued down, and two seemed to keep on level. Which way was correct? Was there a correct choice? He didn’t even know why he was here, so whatever decision he made would inevitably be a guess.

Suddenly there was a stirring in the darkness from the leftmost passageway, just beyond his light – a scratching of movement against stone, slight, but comparatively loud after the heavy silence of the past hour. Flinching towards it, Caeden instinctively drew Essence from his Reserve, extinguishing his sphere and directing a blast of energy at the tunnel. Enough to stun, but not kill.

The afterimage of the flash quickly faded, leaving only complete darkness and a sullen, tense silence. Nerves stretched taut, Caeden stood motionless for a few seconds, listening. There was nothing.

Then an unseen force gripped him like a great hand, raising him a full foot into the air and slamming him back hard against the stone wall. Dazed and not a little disoriented, he drew in Essence again – as much as he could, this time – and threw it wildly at whatever was holding him. To his dismay, the pressure on his chest and arms did not relent even a little.

Suddenly the room was lit; the illumination had no source he could pinpoint, as if darkness had simply been transformed into light. A man was standing in front of him, arms crossed and expression thoughtful as he studied his prisoner. He was older, nearly bald, with a lined face and a small beard of startling white. Still, his blue eyes glittered with a keen, strangely energetic intelligence.

“Tal’kamar. I’d begun to wonder if something had gone wrong,” said the old man. “But I see that all has gone as planned after all.” He indicated the sword hanging from Caeden’s belt.

Caeden struggled in vain against his invisible bonds. “Who are you? Where am I, and why am I here?” he demanded. He tried to reach for Licanius, but it was no use. His arms might as well have been encased in stone, for all he could move them.

His attacker smiled. “Good to see you too, old friend,” he said. “To answer each of your questions: I am Tae’shadon, the Keeper - Asar Shenelac to my friends. These are the Wells of Mor Aruil. And you, Tal’kamar, are here to remember.”

Caeden was silent for a moment as he processed the response, then forced himself to relax his tensed muscles. He appeared to be in no immediate danger. “The last part might be difficult,” he said in a dry tone. “My memories have been erased.”

“Not erased,” chided Asar gently. “Just hidden.”

Caeden scowled. “Then let me down and show them to me!” he snapped.

To his surprise, the pressure on his body vanished. He dropped to the floor awkwardly and stumbled forward, falling to his knees; he scrambled up again, wary, but Asar just watched him with an unperturbed expression.

“You know me?” asked Caeden once he had recovered, irritably trying to dust off his already ragged attire.

“We are acquainted,” said Asar. “You asked me to restore your memories, once you arrived here.”

Caeden stared at Asar for a moment, then just shrugged. He refused to be surprised, or concerned, by his own plans any more. “Very well. No point in wasting time.”

Asar shook his head. “There is more,” he said. “You have asked me to only restore specific memories – the ones that will help you fight in the coming war. No others.” He hesitated. “Against my advice.”

Caeden frowned. “Only some? Why would I want that?”

Asar sighed. “I think… I think you wanted to change who you were.” He leaned forward. “The problem, Tal’kamar, is that if you do not know who you were, you cannot know to change.”

A chill slid down Caeden’s spine. Who had he been, that he was so willing to leave parts of his past erased? “I will have to take your word on that,” he said slowly, “ but there is at least one extra memory I wish to have returned to me.”