James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

The contents of Wirr’s satchel had spilled all over the floor during the initial attack; while the creature’s back was turned Caeden had knelt, scrabbling awkwardly for something that he had seen fall under the bed. For one gut-wrenching second, Davian wondered if Taeris had dropped the Vessel in the confusion and almost made to stop him.

Then Caeden found what he was looking for. Another Shackle. By the time the creature turned back, Caeden was ready.

He leapt forward, beneath the swinging blade of shadows, hands plunging deep beneath the creature’s hood and pressing the ends of the torc against its neck.

The scream that followed was chilling, a sound filled with pain and torment. The blade vanished from the creature’s hand; it stumbled backward, flailing wildly as the shackle began melding to its throat, wailing in a high-pitched screech that forced all four men to cover their ears. Its hood fell back, and Davian recoiled in horror. Even set against ashen skin and disfigured features, the creature’s eyes were recognizably human, locked onto him and pleading for mercy.

Then it fell to the floor and with a final convulsion, lay still.

Taeris stared at Caeden, wide-eyed. “That was…”

“Quick thinking,” Davian breathed. He clapped Caeden on the back, as much to stop his hands from shaking than anything else. Caeden inclined his head, still panting from the adrenaline.

“Is it dead?” asked Wirr cautiously.

Suddenly there was a crash downstairs, and the sound of angry voices echoed along the hallway outside. Taeris grimaced, then sprung into action, gathering up his scant possessions.

“We need to go. All of us,” he said with a meaningful glance at Caeden. The red-haired man hesitated, then gave a single relieved nod of assent.

For a split second Davian looked at Taeris, puzzled, before realising why there was such urgency in his tone. Taeris had used the Gift. They had minutes, if that, before the inn was swarming with Gil’shar soldiers.

They hurried downstairs and slipped out through a back door, apparently without raising any suspicion. It was past dusk but there were still plenty of people about; Davian risked a glance back as they mingled with the crowd, moving slowly but steadily away. As he watched, a group of about twenty soldiers rushed inside the inn, silent but grim-faced. Even at this distance, he could see their Finders out and a Trap at the ready.

The town was large, but those in the dirty, poorly-lit streets paid them little heed as they hurried past, and they made good time. Davian flinched at every glance that came their way, but they were soon through the eastern gate without incident.

“Where do we go now?” asked Wirr, the first any of them had spoken since the inn.

“North,” replied Taeris. “I’ll explain more when we’re well clear of this place.”

Wirr grimaced, obviously disliking the answer as much as Davian did, but there was little else either of them could do but nod.

They started down the dark road in silence.

They had only travelled for a few minutes before Taeris stopped, signalling the others should do the same.

“Now. Tell me which one of you has given Tol Athian a Trace,” he said, expression grim as he stared at the three boys. “And then, you might like to tell me why they have decided to use it, too.”

Davian frowned. What was a Trace? He glanced across at Wirr, but his friend was just glaring back at Taeris.

“If it was me, I don’t remember,” pointed out Caeden. “I don’t even know what a ‘Trace’ is.”

Taeris examined their faces for a moment, then nodded in Wirr’s direction. “He can explain it to you.”

Wirr grimaced, eyes still locked with Taeris’. “A Trace is a small sample of your Essence, sealed in a container that keeps it… fresh. Pure. Everyone’s Essence is unique, so if Tol Athian needs to find someone, they can use their Trace to help locate them.”

Taeris nodded. “It’s like a person’s scent,” he elaborated to Caeden and Davian. “And the sha’teth are the hounds. Except that the Trace can only guide them if the person they are tracking uses the Gift.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Which young Wirr here did in the process of rescuing Caeden, I assume.”

“But not at the inn,” protested Wirr.

“They can use it to track you for up to a day after. Longer, if you’ve got a deep Reserve.” Taeris frowned at Wirr. “When you expend that much power, you’re using your body as a focal point, drenching it with energy - and that takes time to fully dissipate. Finders can’t pick it up, but a sha’teth’s senses can.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Wirr softly.

“You should have asked,” growled Taeris. “The question is – why do Tol Athian want to kill you, Wirr? What crimes have you committed that they would go so far as to take a Trace?”

Davian and Caeden had both watched the exchange in open-mouthed silence. Davian stared at his friend in disbelief. Wirr had brought that creature down on them?

“It’s called a… sha’teth?” Davian had never heard the word before. “What is it?” He looked at Wirr in confusion. “What’s going on?”

Wirr frowned, looking almost as puzzled as Davian. “I’m not sure.” He turned to Taeris. “If Tol Athian sent the sha’teth after me, it was not to kill me, I promise you that. I don’t know why it attacked. They do have my Trace, but not because I’ve committed any crime.” He shook his head. “It’s complicated, but I cannot say more.”

Taeris' face darkened. “The sha’teth are assassins – that is their only purpose. You’ll tell me everything, boy, or that Shackle won’t be coming off your wrist anytime soon.”

“Then that’s the way it must be. I’m not lying, though.” Wirr met Taeris’ gaze flatly, without fear. He’d never been afraid of standing up to the Elders in Caladel when he felt he was in the right, and it seemed he was no more intimidated by Taeris.

"He’s not lying," agreed Davian.

Taeris turned to Davian. "And you’re not in the slightest bit curious as to why the sha’teth are hunting your friend?"

Davian studied Wirr for a long moment, then took a deep breath. "I am, but… I trust him. If we need to know what’s going on, he’ll tell us."

Taeris glowered as Wirr gave Davian a grateful nod. “We’ll talk more of this later, when we’re safely away,” the scarred man promised. “The immediate danger has passed, at least – you won’t be able to attract the rest of them while you’re wearing a Shackle. We should be safe.” He grimaced. “As far as these things go.”

Caeden shifted. “There are other sha’teth?” he asked, echoing Davian’s thoughts.

Taeris nodded. “Four of them - all Hunters though, so at least they can’t jump directly to our location like the Watcher did.” He glanced back in the direction of Anabir. “Still, regardless of whether Tol Athian still holds their leash, they won’t be pleased that their brother has been killed. We should keep moving.”

Wirr held up his hand. “Before we follow you blindly wherever you’re taking us, you need to answer a few of our questions.”

Taeris inclined his head wearily. “Of course.”

“The other sha’teth. Will they come after us?”

“Almost certainly.” Taeris sighed. “Once, perhaps not. But if what you say is true and they were not instructed to kill you… well, from what I just saw, they may be operating outside of Tol Athian’s purview. The one that attacked us certainly seemed to ignore my command easily enough, and that should not have been possible.”

“What did it say to you?” asked Davian.

Caeden spoke up. “It said, ‘The sha’teth no longer serve’.”