James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“The Trials are soon,” he said quietly by way of explanation.

The head cook’s brow furrowed, and she lowered her voice so that it would not carry to the others. “No progress?” Her frown deepened as she studied his face. “You’re still not sure if you can pass?”

Davian bit his lip. He didn’t want to give Mistress Alita cause for concern. “It’s… still a risk,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

“But you’re worried.” It was a statement rather than a question. She knew him too well.

Davian hesitated. “Terrified,” he admitted softly.

Mistress Alita gave him a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on his shoulder in a maternal manner and giving it a light squeeze. “El doesn’t give us burdens we can’t carry, Davian. Always remember that.”

“I will.” Davian nodded, but the words didn’t make him feel any better. Mistress Alita had tried raising him as an adherent of the Old Religion, but everyone knew that all confidence in El and his Grand Design had died along with the Augurs twenty years ago. Davian – like most people in Andarra, now – couldn’t bring himself to believe in something that had been so clearly disproven. Still, Mistress Alita was devout, and he had always respected that.

The head cook pressed the slip of paper and a few heavy coins into his palm, then gave him a light but firm cuff to the back of the head with her other hand, her usual grumpy exterior reasserting itself. “Now get moving; Administrator Talean is expecting you. And if this happens again, I’ll be thinking up a proper punishment, Trials or no.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And it won’t involve Asha waking you up next time, either. I think you’d enjoy that a little too much.”

She sent him on his way with a gentle push, leaving him blushing in surprise.

He chewed his lip as he walked. Were his feelings becoming so obvious? Asha spent plenty of time around the kitchens; whatever Mistress Alita suspected, he just hoped she would be tactful enough not to say anything.

He headed towards the Administrator’s office. The courtyard was quiet now; Jarras and his class had vanished. A couple of younger students were sparring to the side, overseen by a still sombre-looking Elder Seandra, but otherwise there was no sign of movement.

Davian paused for a moment to watch the bout. Despite his best efforts, jealousy stabbed at him as whip-thin tongues of light periodically lashed out from the students’ hands, flicking towards the other before being met by bright, rippling shields of Essence, energy crackling as the two forces collided.

He examined the contest analytically. Both children – they could not have been older than twelve – seemed about equal in strength, but Davian could immediately see the smaller one’s shield was better-formed, more complete. Even as he watched, a sliver of bright Essence pierced the taller one’s shield and touched him on the arm, making the boy yelp in surprised pain. It would only be a matter of time before the match was over.

Davian tore his eyes away and kept walking, pushing down the frustration he felt every time he saw the Gift being used. Move on. Get his chores done quickly, then try again. There was nothing more he could do.

His stomach twisted as he approached the Administrator’s office, the memory of last night still fresh in his mind. The door to Talean’s office was ajar but as Davian moved to knock, he heard low voices coming from inside - one of which he didn’t recognise. That was unusual in the small, close-knit school, enough so that it made him pause.

“So you understand our true purpose here?” the unfamiliar voice was asking.

There was silence for a few moments, then, “You’ve come for the boy.” It was Talean.

“We have. The Northwarden thought it was time.”

Davian frowned. The Northwarden – the king’s brother and head of the Administrators? What were they talking about?

Talean spoke again. “I would hope so. I heard about the school at Arris.”

“Dasari was hit too.” A different stranger’s voice this time, a woman’s, her tone grim. “A hundred or so dead, and no-one saw anything.”

Talean let out a long breath. “I am sorry to hear that.”

There was a grunt, evidently from someone dubious about the Administrator’s sincerity. “Tell me. What are your defences like here?”

“Three guards at the gate at all times. Usually an Elder and two senior students, or three students if need be. The castle walls are warded; if anyone tries to scale them, the Elders know straight away.” There was a pause. “You think there should be more?”

“Perhaps,” came the first stranger’s voice, sounding unimpressed. “It should suffice for now.”

“That’s good." A pause. " So do you think it’s Hunters, then? I heard that -”

There was a scuffling of feet too close for Davian’s comfort, right by the door. He darted away. Whatever that conversation had been about, it hadn’t been meant for his ears, and it sounded far too serious for him to simply interrupt.

He walked around the hallways for a few minutes, uneasy as he puzzled over what he’d heard. Schools had been attacked? He knew it happened, every so often - Hunters working in groups, or sometimes just common townsfolk deciding that they didn’t like living so close to the Gifted. But he hadn’t heard of any major attacks in the last few months, and certainly none on the scale the strangers had been suggesting.

Eventually he sighed, realising that he hadn’t overheard enough to understand what was really going on. If it was something he and the other students needed to be worried about, he was sure the Elders would let them know.

Soon he decided that enough time had passed to try again; sure enough, when he returned to the Administrator’s office the door was wide open. Talean was alone as he pored over some notes, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his blue Administrator’s cloak draped over the back of a nearby chair. He removed his reading glasses and stood as Davian came to a halt in front of the desk.

“Ah, so Mistress Alita finally found you. I see you’re still in one piece,” he said with a hint of amusement.

The corners of Davian’s mouth turned upward, relieved that Talean was not going to dwell on the events of last night with him. “I’ll wait until everyone finds out why there’s no midday meal before I celebrate,” he said dryly.

Talean grinned. “Probably wise.” He gestured for Davian to follow him over to a cupboard in the corner, the motion revealing the tattoo on his bare right forearm. Davian repressed a shudder, as he did every time he saw an Administrator’s Mark. It was the same as that found on the Gifted – a circle surrounding a man, woman and child – but the Administrators’ were always coloured red, not black. It made them look like burns, as if they had been seared into the flesh.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to put one of these on you,” Talean noted as he rummaged about in the bottom of the cupboard.

Davian shrugged. “I don’t get sent out as often as everyone else. I can’t imagine why,” he added, sarcasm thick in his tone.

Talean paused, glancing over his shoulder at Davian. “It is out of a desire to protect you, Davian. In their shoes, I might do the same. There’s no shame in it.” He scratched his beard. “Speaking of which - I know you don’t usually go out alone. I could ask Elder Olin to find you a companion, if you’d like.”

Davian reddened, shaking his head. “It’s been three years. I don’t need special treatment any more. From anyone,” he added significantly.

Talean sighed. “True. True enough.” He emerged from the cupboard grasping a torc, the twisted bands of onyx-like metal polished so brightly that Davian could see his own distorted reflection in them. “Hold out your arm. You should sit down first, too.”