James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

He frowned in confusion. Why was he running? Where was he? He glanced down, horrified to see blood all over his hands. He quickly checked himself, but aside from minor cuts, he did not seem to be wounded.

He took a deep breath, tried to concentrate. Why was he here? Panic began to set in. Where was he from? What was his name ? He stood for a long few minutes, heart pounding, trying to recall something. Anything . But it was of no use.

He started forward. Evening was coming, and whatever had happened to him, he needed help.

Caeden gasped as he came awake again.

He was on his knees, he realised numbly. Vomit spattered on the cold stone before him; his hands shook, and his entire body spasmed with heaving sobs.

“It’s not true,” he choked, staring up at Asar, who was watching him impassively.

“It is,” he replied.

“But it can’t be!” Caeden shook his head desperately, tears streaming down his face. The images of the people he’d killed flashed in a grisly parade before him. “No. I can’t be him. I can’t be Aarkein Devaed. No . I’m supposed to fight Devaed, to help save Andarra.” His voice broke. “I can’t be him.”

Asar just stared at him. For a moment, his expression was… pitying.

“You are who you are, Tal’kamar,” he said softly. “When you’re ready to know more, come and find me.”

Without another word he turned and vanished back into the darkened passageway, leaving Caeden – Tal’kamar – alone to his grief.

James Islington was born and raised in southern Victoria, Australia. His influences growing up were the stories of Raymond E. Feist and Robert Jordan, but it wasn’t until later, when he read Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn series - followed soon after by Patrick Rothfuss' Name of the Wind - that he was finally inspired to sit down and write something of his own. He now lives with his wife, Sonja, on the Mornington Peninsula in Victoria.