James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Davian shrugged. “I’ve never found it has much effect on me.”

Talean grunted. “Still. I’ve had too many students say exactly that, and then wonder why I can’t be bothered catching them when they fall. Not a few Elders, too, though don’t tell them I told you so.”

Davian grinned. “Fair enough.” He sat compliantly in a nearby chair, stretching out his left arm so that the wrist was exposed, along with his own tattoo. He flinched as Talean pressed the two points of the open end of the torc against his Mark, shivering as he felt the device moulding itself to his arm, the ice-cold metal slithering forward over his skin and finally joining, completely encasing the forearm. The entire process only took a few seconds.

He looked up at the Administrator, who was watching him closely.

“Take your time,” said Talean.

Davian shook his head. “No need.” Most Gifted found putting on a Shackle a fairly traumatic experience – it could cause lethargy, dizziness, even nausea for some. All Davian felt, though, was slightly weaker and a little more weary, as if the cold metal had stolen away an hour or two of the previous night’s sleep. Even that much could have been his imagination, given how tired he was already.

Before, he’d always considered that good fortune… but today, he found himself wondering whether it was something else entirely.

Still - Davian could sense a cold layer of something sitting just beneath his skin, encasing him, sapping at his strength. The device was definitely working.

He stood, Talean still watching him intently. Davian rubbed at the Shackle with his finger, tracing the markings etched into the cold steel.

“I’m not even sure why I need to wear this, sometimes,” he said, a hint of dejection in his tone. Talean raised an eyebrow at him, and Davian snorted at his expression. “Don’t worry, I’m not questioning the Treaty. I only meant that I can’t use the Gift anyway. This, the Tenets - none of it really seems relevant to me at the moment.”

Talean grimaced, so briefly that Davian wondered if he’d imagined it. Then the Administrator gave him a sympathetic nod. “Of course. Even so.” He placed his hand on Davian’s shoulder. “By the Fourth Tenet, return to the school once you have finished.”

Davian rolled his eyes, feeling the slight warmth on his left arm as the Tenet took effect. “Is that necessary?”

Talean raised an eyebrow. “You want me to risk a troublemaker like you running away?”

Davian gave a slight smile, shaking his head in wry amusement. “Fine. I’ll see you when I get back.”

He felt a sudden stab of nervousness as he walked back out into the courtyard; he hadn’t had time to think about it since waking, but this would be the first time in months he’d been outside alone. Despite his bravado to Talean, he really would have felt more comfortable with a companion on the journey.

It was always that way, though. He couldn’t let his past – his fears - inconvenience everyone else forever.

He hitched Jeni, the school’s mule, to the rickety old cart they used for transporting supplies. She was a placid animal, and as always stood happily until the process was complete. He absently noted that there were three horses tethered in the courtyard, where there would usually be none. They belonged to the mysterious visitors he’d overheard talking to Talean, presumably.

Soon enough, he was ready. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he gave Jeni’s reins a gentle tug and set off for Caladel.

The road was quiet.

Davian led Jeni at a relaxed pace, kicking loose stones along in front of himself as he walked, enjoying the feel of the sun on his back. This - the solitude - was always his favourite part of the journey. The cliffside road had been a major highway before the war, but now it was all but abandoned; the cobblestones were cracked and crumbling where nature had taken its course, and weeds sprouted anywhere they could get a foothold. It was still easily the shortest route north for anyone living in town, but it also passed within a hundred feet of the school. Only the Gifted used it any more.

Soon enough though, he rounded a curve in the road and the picturesque township of Caladel came into view, nestled between the sparkling coastline and surrounding hills.

He sighed.

Davian was avoided as he made his way down into the streets, Jeni and cart in tow. A few hawkers and merchants were out selling their wares, but none called to him as he passed. They knew he would not have money for them - and worse, having him seen at their stall or shop would keep other customers away.

For his part, Davian kept his eyes lowered, trying not to meet the gaze of the townspeople giving him a wide berth. He’d been to Caladel many times before, but the wary, sometimes disgusted look in the eyes that followed him still stung. After a while he found himself hunching his shoulders, as if the stares were a physical pressure on his back. He hurried between his destinations as unobtrusively as possible.

His purchases went smoothly today. In the past, some merchants had refused to sell to him or had demanded outrageous prices for their goods; whenever that happened he knew to return to the school empty-handed rather than cause a scene. This afternoon though, much to his relief, the storekeepers were cold but willing to trade. Most people didn’t want to be seen dealing with the Gifted, but the school brought in a lot of business – and when earnings were counted at the end of the day, a coin from the Gifted was just as good as one from anyone else.

Even so, it was with some relief that Davian hitched Jeni outside the small, dimly-lit butcher’s shop that held the last items on his list. He’d dealt with the owner many times before, and didn’t anticipate any trouble.

“Afternoon, Master Dael,” he said respectfully as he entered.

The butcher was a thin man, no older than forty, with a bushy moustache that dwarfed his narrow face. “Morning, lad,” he replied, looking neither happy nor unhappy to see him. He never learned the names of his regular Gifted customers – none of the shopkeepers did – but Master Dael was unfailingly polite, which was an improvement on most.

Davian handed him a slip of paper. “This is everything.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Master Dael said as he read the list.

Behind him, the bell hanging above the door rang as another customer entered. The butcher glanced up, and immediately his demeanour changed.

“Get out,” he growled, looking twice the size he had a moment ago. “We don’t serve the likes of you here.”

For a moment, Davian thought the order was directed at him; some shopkeepers were only willing to sell to the Gifted when there was nobody else present to see. In those situations, Davian knew to simply take Jeni around the back of the shop and wait for the shopkeeper to come and find him.

Master Dael’s gaze was focused past him, though. Davian turned to see an unfamiliar young man – no more than five years older than Davian himself – frozen in the doorway. Even in the dim light, Davian could see the black spiderweb of veins running jagged lines across his face, outward from his eyes.

The butcher’s scowl deepened when the newcomer didn’t move. “You heard me,” he said angrily.

“I just wanted -”

Before Davian knew what was happening there was a stout oak club in Master Dael’s hands, and the thin man was advancing around the counter.

The Shadow turned and fled, leaving only the clanging of the door’s bell in his wake.

Immediately, Master Dael’s expression reverted to its usual, businesslike state, as if nothing had transpired. “I apologise for that.”