James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Davian wasn’t sure what Wirr was attempting to do – the Tenets restricted him from doing much that could help, now – but even through his panic, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d always known Wirr was strong, but had never seen him use all his power at once, which he must surely be doing now. It was more energy in one burst than Davian had ever seen.

And it was for naught. The last of Davian’s hope vanished as the threads of light struck an invisible barrier around the soldiers, evaporating before they got within a few feet. At least one of the men had a Trap then, too - a device that dissipated all Essence within its radius. Whatever Wirr had been trying to do, it had never had a chance of succeeding.

Just as the soldiers were almost upon them, the clearing exploded in white light, the force of the blast knocking Davian to the ground.

The impact stole the breath from his lungs, and for a few moments he just lay there on his stomach, gasping for air and trying to make sense of what was happening. Had Wirr tried something else, something new? However much power he had been using the first time, this was ten times more. A hundred.

His vision cleared. The soldiers were moving again, getting to their feet, dazed but apparently unharmed. It took Davian a few seconds to spot the figure behind them, shrouded in a cloak so black that it actually seemed to stand out against the darkness. It stood there for a moment, motionless. Watching.

Then it moved.

It glided rather than walked forward. Davian’s blood froze; it made no sound but it had a sinuous menace, a sense of heavy danger that made his legs feel like lead. The soldiers sensed it too, turning away from the boys. Davian couldn’t see their faces, but their sharply drawn breaths were audible even from this distance.

A disconnected part of Davian’s mind registered that all other sounds had stopped – everything from the nocturnal animals and birds, to the chirping crickets and buzzing mosquitoes. It was as if the world was holding its breath.

The figure flowed forward, difficult to follow in the darkness. It made a grasping motion with its hand as if pulling something from the air, and suddenly there was something coalescing, long and thin, as shadowy and indistinct as the figure itself. A dagger, Davian realised. Fear clenched him so tightly that he couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t shout, either in horror or in warning.

The creature – Davian could not believe it was human – continued towards them, reaching the first soldier. Without pausing, it flicked out its arm as it passed. The action was casual, dismissive. Almost disdainful.

The soldier fell silently, dark blood spraying from where his jugular had been opened. His body hit the grass with a soft thud.

The sound seemed to snap the other soldiers into motion; two scrambled for their swords while another held out a long, thin Trap with a trembling hand like it was a ward against evil, the whites of his eyes visible. Still no-one shouted, as if everyone feared that doing so would draw the creature’s attention.

The scene had a surreal quality to it. Davian still couldn’t move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as another soldier fell to the dagger, his bubbling final breath horrible in the hush. The third soldier took a wild swing at the creature, but his sword stopped in mid-air as if hitting a brick wall. He died like the other two.

The creature’s trajectory was clear now. It was deviating slightly to remove the soldiers, but it was coming for the boys.

The last soldier fell. It had all happened within the space of about ten seconds; the shadow was moving so fast that it was almost impossible to comprehend. It turned towards Davian, only a few feet away now. It was human at least in shape, its face hidden by a deep black hood. But its knife was not solid; it seemed to pulse and fade with darkness, steel one second and translucent black glass the next.

“ Sha nashen tel. Erien des tu nashen tel ,” it hissed. Its voice was deep and whispery, cold and angry. It spoke of something ancient and terrible, and Davian felt himself getting lightheaded at the words.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised, and he felt a massive charge of energy from behind him.

Light roared past Davian and crashed into the creature. Not a beam, but a torrent. A river. It did not touch Davian, but he still felt as though he needed to grab onto something to keep from being swept away.

It hit the creature squarely in the chest, and for the briefest of moments its face was illuminated. Its features were human-like, but twisted almost beyond recognition. Its skin was bruised and sagging, its lips white and horribly scarred.

Its eyes were recognisable though. They were wide with what was very clearly surprise.

Then the light stopped. When Davian’s sight returned, the creature was gone.

Davian stood rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, his body refusing to believe it was over.

Then with a shuddering chill he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. He’d thought he’d been afraid when the Hunters had caught them in Talmiel, and again when it had seemed that there was no escape from the Desrielite soldiers tonight. But this had been something else. It had been abject, crushing terror flowing through his veins. Now it was gone, every part of his body felt tired, weak.

He finally came to his senses enough to turn around. Wirr was sitting on the ground too, hugging himself with his arms around his knees. Even in the dim light, Davian could tell his friend was white as a sheet.

“That was amazing, Wirr,” said Davian, awe making his tone hushed. “I never imagined you had anywhere near that much power! It was like… a god! It was -”

“I don’t.” Wirr cut him off, not bothering to look up. “I didn’t do anything. It was him.” He nodded towards the prone body lying a few feet away, the Shackle that had been around the stranger’s arm now embedded in the dirt next to him.

The man they had rescued.

For a moment Davian thought he was dead, but the slight rise and fall of the man’s chest reassured him.

Davian watched a moment longer, then shook his head disbelievingly. “Look at him, Wirr. He’s barely breathing. He couldn’t have had enough Essence to light -”

“It was him. The Shackle fell off when that last soldier died, and… it was him,” said Wirr. There was a finality to his tone that made Davian snap his mouth shut. He still wasn’t sure he believed his friend – not entirely – but now was not the time or place to argue. His wits returning, he staggered to his feet and then offered his hand to Wirr, helping him do the same.

“They would have seen that in Thrindar,” he said.

“They would have seen that in the Eastern Empire,” replied Wirr grimly. “Nothing for it. Let’s grab him and get moving.”

“What about the soldiers? Shouldn’t we… bury them or something?” wondered Davian.

Wirr shook his head. “There’s no time." He rubbed his forehead. "Though it means that when they find the bodies, they’ll think we did this.”

Davian shrugged. “It’s not like they can execute us more.”

Wirr gave a slightly hysterical giggle at that, and suddenly they were both snorting with fits of nervous laughter, relief and shock finally finding an outlet.

They were still chuckling when, from the darkness behind them, there was yet another flash of light.

Then both Wirr and Davian were on their knees, their hands forced behind their backs. Thin, pulsating cords snaked around their wrists and ankles, binding them where they lay on the ground; another cord coiled around the unconscious man, tying him just as securely. Davian struggled against the bonds, laughter replaced in an instant by fear, but it was of no use.