James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Taeris held up the Vessel in front of him. “What is this?”

The stranger squinted at the object. “I don’t know.”

Taeris flicked a quick glance at Davian, who inclined his head. It was the truth - so far as he could tell, anyway.

“But you can see it glowing?” asked Taeris.

The red-haired man nodded. “The same as my wrist,” he said, sounding confused.

Taeris considered for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “Who do you work for? What were you to do with this after it was delivered to you?”

The stranger gave Taeris a perplexed, helpless look. “I am sorry. Truly,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My memory is….” He shook his head. “Beyond three weeks ago, I remember nothing. I don’t even know if I’m guilty….” He trailed off again, a pained look in his eyes.

There was a moment of silence, then Taeris gave a derisive snort. “You will need to do better than that.”

Davian had been watching the stranger, a small frown on his face. He turned to Taeris. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

Taeris scowled. “Do you at least have a name?”

“Caeden,” said the man. “That’s what the villagers said, anyway.”

Taeris grunted. “Caeden. Like the Darecian fairytale. How appropriate,” he said dryly. “Well, Caeden, perhaps you should tell us what you do remember, and we can go from there.”

“There is not much to tell,” Caeden admitted. “A few weeks ago I found myself in the middle of the forest, no recollection of how I got there or who I was. I didn’t even know which country I was in. I was holding a sword, and my clothes were soaked in blood. At first I thought the blood was mine, but apart from a couple of scratches, I wasn’t injured.

“I found a stream and tried to wash the blood out of my clothes, but most of it had already stained. I wandered for a few hours until I found a road, and eventually a group of men came across me. When I told them I couldn’t remember anything, they offered me shelter in their village and food for the evening. One of them thought he recognised me, said I’d probably been attacked and beaten by bandits. They seemed like good people at the time.” Caeden grimaced at that.

“The next day, word came that my village had been wiped out. Someone had gone through the town and put everyone to death. Everyone . The people who’d seen the aftermath said there were women and children lying in the streets, blood everywhere. And that all the faces had been… disfigured. Mutilated beyond recognition.” He shuddered. “Many of the people where I was staying had friends and family that had died. There was a lot of grief, a lot of fear.

“It didn’t take long for people to make a connection. At first they just locked me up - said not to worry, that I’d probably been a survivor, maybe a witness, and that they were doing it ‘just in case’. But I think they’d already made up their minds.

“After a couple of days, there was a farmer whose wife had been visiting the other village when the attack came. He’d gone and found her body – what he thought was her body, anyway - and then come straight back to find me.” He shivered. “He was a big man, so they let him into my cell. The constable just looked the other way. Locked the door with the two of us inside and left. I tried to explain, but he was so angry .” Caeden’s voice wavered as he remembered. “He was going to kill me. I was so afraid, and then I just… reacted. I used the Gift, I suppose. Threw him back against the cell door so hard that he broke his neck.” He ran his hands through his hair.

“It was an accident, but no-one believed it. The village Ka’tare’s Finder went off, so they knew how I’d done it. But I didn’t have a tattoo, which made them even more afraid… once they knew I had powers, though, it settled any doubts they’d had.

“They were going to hang me – there were enough people who wanted it to happen – but the Gil’shar sent word that they wanted a public execution in Thrindar. So they put a Shackle on me, and kept me locked up for another week.” His hands shook as he remembered; he clasped them together to stop them from trembling.

“They beat you?” interjected Taeris, his tone gentler now.

Caeden nodded. “Every day,” he said softly. “And when the soldiers came to take me to Thrindar, they took me out every evening and did the same. Gave me just enough time to heal so that I would be conscious for the next night.” He hesitated. “I am grateful we didn’t reach Thrindar, though.”

Taeris didn’t respond. He thought in silence for a few seconds, then turned to Davian. “Well?”

Davian didn’t take his eyes from Caeden. “It’s all true,” he said eventually.

Except it wasn’t. On Caeden’s last sentence, the tiniest puff of darkness had escaped from the young man’s mouth. He’d been lying about not wanting to reach Thrindar.

He’d wanted to be executed.

Taeris inclined his head in acknowledgement and Davian could see the struggle on his face, knew what the Elder was thinking.

“We can’t give him to them,” Davian observed. Wirr nodded his agreement.

“And he doesn’t know an El-cursed thing about the Boundary,” growled Taeris, though he didn’t argue the statement. “You’re sure he wasn’t lying?”

“As sure as I can be.” Davian tried to keep the bitterness from his tone.

Taeris was silent, then turned to Caeden, still holding the Vessel. “I can’t say as I like our choices here, but someone went to an awful lot of trouble to get you this box. You’re important, somehow. Too important to turn over to the Gil’shar.” He shook his head. “We’re going to have to get your memories back.”

“How?” asked Caeden.

“There’s a device in Tol Athian. A Vessel meant to repair the mind. That’s where we need to go, so… we’re going to have to trust each other, I suppose.” He began untying Caeden’s hands. “I’m going to leave the Shackle on, though. If you -”

Without warning the door exploded inward off its hinges, flying past Taeris' head and embedding itself in the far wall.

Everyone froze for a moment in shock. The figure in the doorway seemed to slither into the room; Davian quickly took in the black cloak, the shadowy hood, the swirling blade that wasn’t quite there. The creature from last night.

Taeris moved with a speed that Davian would not have credited him with had he not seen it. The older man leapt to one side and rolled; as he came up he crossed his wrists in front of himself, closing his eyes. A blinding flash roared through the air and the creature staggered a few steps backward, its disfigured, pallid face briefly illuminated, mouth curled in a silent rictus of pain. Davian’s heart dropped as the creature stopped, steadied, and then started forward again. With Shackles on, there was little any of them could do to help.

The creature’s blade flashed at Taeris' head; Taeris ducked backward, a shield of blazing white appearing in front of him. The dagger darted forward again, into the shield. Rather than the expected clash, the blade sliced straight through Taeris' defence, extinguishing it in an instant.

Dismissing the older man, the creature turned towards the three boys in Shackles, holding its dagger aloft.

“ Sha’teth keloran sa, Aelrith !” Taeris yelled.

The words stopped the creature. It lowered its blade and turned back to Taeris, staring at him through its unblinking, dead eyes for several long seconds.

“ Sha’teth di sendra an ,” it growled. Taeris' eyes widened with astonishment as it let out a guttural laugh, then swivelled, preparing to deliver the killing blow.