James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

He hadn’t mentioned his odd dream of the previous night to anyone, not even Wirr. He’d spent the entire morning telling himself that it meant nothing – that Taeris' talk of dangers beyond the Boundary had somehow brought it on - but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. He remembered every detail as if he had actually lived through it. He never remembered his dreams.

Though he did his best to ignore the knowledge, what he’d seen had to have been Foresight.

In some ways the development had actually been a welcome distraction, something else to focus on. Too often since Thrindar, he’d found his thoughts drifting to Asha. Picturing her face, her smile, and then gritting his teeth at the fierce, aching pain those memories produced.

He missed her. He’d never be able to speak with her again, never have a chance to tell her how he really felt. There was still a deep sadness at the death of Mistress Alita, Talean, all the others too - but the thoughts of Asha were always worse, always more intense.

He looked up as Taeris, who was leading the group, sliced through some more vines and emerged onto what appeared to be a cliff top. The scarred man stopped, turning to the others with a half-relieved, half-worried expression.

“We’re here,” he announced.

Davian reached the top of the rise, his eyes widening as he took in the sight, troubles momentarily forgotten.

They were at the edge of a downward slope that was almost steep enough to describe as sheer; several sets of broken stairs wound their way sharply downward to what appeared to be the remnants of a small village below. No movement was visible in the streets; the buildings were crumbling shells, each one missing its roof and at least one wall. The stillness was eerie in the fading light.

Beyond the group of houses, the ground vanished into a vast chasm; the sound of distantly thundering water echoed even from where they were standing. Davian realised that if he were to go to the edge of that chasm he would be able to peer down and see the white, churning waters of the Lantarche River far below.

A massive bridge stretched out at least a hundred feet over the abyss, maybe more, before vanishing into thick mist. It was made of a white stone that gleamed in the last rays of the day; no cracks or joins were evident, as if the entire thing had been carved from one enormous piece of rock. From this distance, it looked wide enough to comfortably take five men walking abreast – perhaps even wider. Despite its length, Davian could not see any supports; it hovered above the chasm as if suspended by an invisible rope.

It was the mist, however, that made him pause. Unnaturally thick and dark, it hung like a shroud in the middle of the chasm; it seemed to devour the waning sunlight, making the entire scene feel colder and darker than it should have. Staring out at it, Davian suddenly realised he could make out vague shapes within it – the very tops of houses and other structures within the city. If he had not seen those, he may not have believed there was anything at all between the two sides of the gorge.

“Deilannis,” Wirr murmured beside him in an awestruck voice.

Taeris dismounted. “We will have to leave the horses,” he observed regretfully.

“Will they survive?” protested Dezia.

“There’s a good chance they’ll make their way back to the road.” Taeris gestured to his own mount, which was whickering softly, rolling its eyes so it didn’t have to look upon the city below. “Animals have a sense about this place - they want to get away from it as quickly as possible. By the time they lose that feeling, they should be back where someone will find them.”

Dezia looked like she was going to object, but then took another look at the narrow, crumbling steps and remained silent. They began unpacking their mounts, taking as much food and water as they could each comfortably carry. Taeris quickly fed each of the horses, then gave them a slap to send them on their way. As he’d predicted, the animals didn’t need much motivation, moving back along the path they had carved through the forest at a steady trot.

The group made their way carefully down one of the many stairways, which were etched straight from the rocky sides of the cliff. The steps were narrow and quite steep; Davian forced himself to focus on each one, taking care not to slip. Grass and weeds had long ago begun creeping through cracks in the stone; though the stairs had doubtless once been well-maintained, shale and other loose rubble now made the descent a dangerous undertaking.

Finally they had picked their way safely to the bottom. The thundering of the Lantarche was louder now, though the air remained unnaturally absent of other sounds. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the dark, empty husks of buildings glowered at the party as they trudged through the narrow streets. An occasional gust of wind blew a loose window shutter that was somehow still on its hinges, making everyone flinch and look around nervously.

“Perhaps we should make camp for the night here, and cross Deilannis in the morning,” Aelric suggested.

Taeris hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "It wouldn’t hurt to be rested when we try the city," he agreed.

They made a rudimentary camp and settled in, trying to ignore the sinister feeling of the abandoned town around them.

A couple of hours had passed when a prickling on the back of Davian’s neck made him twist in his seated position. He looked up; at the top of the cliffside stairs, silhouetted against the fading light, stood two figures. The wind was blowing, yet their cloaks did not seem to move.

“Taeris,” he said, not taking his eyes from the scene.

Taeris followed Davian’s line of sight and inhaled sharply. “Get to the bridge. Run.”

Davian sat rooted to the spot for a few more seconds.

The figures moved.

Suddenly they were starting down the stairs; they seemed to move casually, almost lazily, but their progress was terrifyingly quick. There was a flash of light, and the earth in front of Davian erupted, showering him with shale.

Spurred into motion, he and the others scrambled to their feet and ran.

They were already close to the bridge. Davian knew that it could not have taken him more than twenty seconds to reach its edge, but it felt like an eternity; around him, bursts of power flew past, any one of which would have torn his body apart if it had struck him. Some of the houses, already decaying, collapsed entirely as bolts of light smashed through their foundations, sending clouds of dust and grit into the air.

He was last to reach the bridge; without hesitation he ran onto its smooth surface, the roaring of the Lantarche far below crashing in his ears. A few paces in he slipped, tumbling. The stone was so smooth that it didn’t even badly graze his skin; he rolled over, scrambling to his feet.

He turned to see how far behind the sha’teth were, and let out a cry of terror.

The two figures stood at the very edge of the bridge, less than five feet from Davian. The shadows hid their faces but he could feel the malice, the frustration, in their gaze. Vaguely, behind him, he could hear someone calling his name – Aelric, he thought – but all his senses were consumed by the black-cloaked creatures in front of him.

For a long moment, Davian was sure he was going to die.

Then he was backing away as fast as he could. The sha’teth just stood there, watching him. The bolts of Essence had stopped.

A hand clasped his shoulder from behind; he leapt, heart racing, before he realised it was Taeris.

“What are they doing?” Davian whispered, eyes still fixed on the sha’teth.

“Either they cannot cross, or they refuse to,” Taeris puffed, out of breath from the sprint. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the mist-wreathed city. “The Law of Decay is warped from the edges of the bridges inward. They know that if they try to attack us with Essence now, it would simply… dissolve before it reached us.”