James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Davian thought for a moment. He wanted to say it still wouldn’t be enough, but as he followed the argument through to its conclusion in his head, he knew he had no case. “I suppose that would be fine,” he said reluctantly.

Wirr nodded in satisfaction. “The Second Tenet: no use of the Gift to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted. Problem?”

“We can’t steal things.”

Wirr rolled his eyes. “Seriously.”

Davian sighed, thinking for a moment. “It’s the same as the first,” he said. “It’s too general. I can’t use the Gift to hide myself as a thief, and that’s fine. But I’d like the ability to hide myself if there are people chasing after me, trying to kill me, just because I’m Gifted.”

Wirr nodded in approval. “A problem that would mostly be solved by the exception to the First Tenet.”

Davian smiled. “Thought about this a lot, have we?”

Wirr shrugged. “The joys of studying politics.”

Davian gazed up at the starlit sky as they walked. “So let’s say the Third Tenet stays, for our own protection if nothing else – that Administrators and Gifted can do no harm to one another, physical or otherwise. What would you change about the Fourth Tenet?”

“I think the Fourth could probably be removed,” admitted Wirr. “As long as the other three are in place, I see no reason why we should be forced to do what the Administrators tell us all the time. We don’t need keepers.”

Davian nodded, relieved that his friend mimicked his thoughts on at least that much. “And the Treaty itself? The changes to all the Andarran laws?”

Wirr shrugged. “Some of those would have to be revised too, of course. But there are some reasonable checks and balances in there.”

“You don’t think we should rule again?”

Wirr looked at Davian levelly. “I’m stronger and faster than a regular person. I can do the work of several men each day, then tap my Reserve at night to do other things rather than sleeping. All being well, I’ll live twenty years longer than most people, maybe more.” He paused. “But does that make me wiser? Fairer? Do those qualities automatically make me a good ruler, or even just a better one than someone who doesn’t have the Gift?”

Davian remained silent. He knew Wirr had a point but it irked him nonetheless; for some reason he’d never really thought it through before. It had always simply been accepted within the school that the Treaty was wrong, that the Gifted had been usurped from their rightful place.

Eventually he sighed. “You’re right. The thought of you in charge of anything is terrifying.” He exchanged a brief grin with Wirr, then shrugged. “It’s not like it matters, anyway. From what I understand, the Vessel that created the Tenets can only be used to change them if King Andras and one of the Gifted work together. And everyone knows that King Andras won’t trust any of the Gifted enough to do that.”

Wirr nodded. “True. Still an interesting exercise, though.”

Davian inclined his head, suddenly realising that the conversation had – finally – taken his thoughts away from earlier events.

“That box of yours still glowing?” asked Wirr, changing the subject.

Davian had almost forgotten about the Vessel after the events of the evening. He took it out of his pocket, half-blinded by the sudden light in the darkness. He’d seen the iridescent symbol several times over the past few days, but its appearance had always been inconsistent, often fading even as he examined it. It had only been this morning that the glowing lines had become stronger, more constant, though still emanating from just a single face of the cube.

He turned the box slowly. A different face lit up with the wolf’s image. He turned it again, this time back to how he was originally holding it. The first side lit up once more.

“You still can’t see it?” he asked Wirr.

“No,” said Wirr, sounding worried. Davian couldn’t blame him. The symbol was undoubtedly being generated by Essence; for it to be visible only to Davian should have been impossible.

Davian twisted the box vertically; again the face that had been lit faded, and a new face became illuminated. He ran his fingers over the engravings. Was it a puzzle? An indication of how to open the box, or something else? He shook it gently, but as with every time before, nothing shifted. It was either empty, completely solid, or whatever was inside was securely packed in.

He tapped the side with the symbol. It was warm to the touch; when his finger made contact with the metal, the tip seemed to disappear into a nimbus of white light. Aside from the heat, though, there were no other sensations. Certainly nothing to help him figure out its purpose.

Frustrated, he tossed the box in the air, spinning it as he did so that the edges blurred together.

He frowned as he caught it. Had he just seen?…

He tossed it again, this time higher, spinning the box so viciously that it seemed almost more of a cylinder than a cube. He snatched it out of the air with an excited grin, then repeated the action. A thought began to form, small at first but quickly growing until he became certain.

He tossed the cube upward one last time, laughing.

Wirr squinted, watching him with a worried expression. “Are you… okay, Dav?”

Davian came to a stop, then held up the cube in front of Wirr’s confused face.

“I’m better than okay,” he said triumphantly. “I know where we’re supposed to be going.”

“You’re sure about this?” asked Wirr, trying unsuccessfully to keep the doubt from his voice.

“I am.” Davian did his best to sound confident, though inwardly the certainty of last night had faded a little. They had walked all morning before reaching the crossroads at which they now stood. If they continued along the road to the north, they would keep heading towards Thrindar. If they accepted Davian’s theory, though, they would turn east, heading into the Malacar forest and away from civilization.

The bronze box was actually a Wayfinder. It had to be. Davian had read about them once, years ago – one object attuned to another, a Vessel that acted as a sort of compass, always pointing to its counterpart.

He rolled the cube in his hands. Currently, no matter which way it was turned, it was the side facing east that lit up with the wolf symbol. It made sense. Ilseth had said that it would guide him to the sig’nari when the time came. It had to be the right explanation.

The only problem was, as Wirr had dubiously pointed out, that the art to making Wayfinders had been lost centuries ago. That – combined with Wirr’s continuing inability to see the glow at all – left Davian with more uncertainty than he was entirely comfortable with.

There was a long pause as the two boys contemplated the different roads. Then Wirr gave the slightest of shrugs.

“I trust you,” he said. There was no mocking or query in his voice.

Davian shot him a grateful look, and they set off eastward without another word.

The road leading to the Malacar forest was much quieter than the one they had been travelling for the past few days, and as a result the tension that had been sitting constantly between Davian’s shoulders began to loosen. The weather was fine but not too warm, and he and Wirr made good time as they travelled in comfortable, companionable silence.

Idly, he wondered again how Asha had reacted to their leaving. It was something that had been on his mind a lot over the past few weeks; every time he tried to put himself in her shoes he felt a stab of guilt, knowing that if their positions were reversed he would feel concern, confusion, maybe even betrayal. He wondered what she was doing that very moment – probably in a lesson, if everything had returned to normal after the Athian Elders had left.