James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“But why did they wait until now to show themselves?” asked Dezia, looking puzzled. “They’ve had our trail for nearly two weeks.”

“Perhaps they were trying to force us into the city all along.” It was Caeden, watching the creatures at the edge of the bridge worriedly. Nobody said anything to that, but the mere possibility sent a shiver down Davian’s spine.

Taeris shook his head. “No. The first must have been waiting for the second. He just got here too late.” He bit his lip as he stared at the sha’teth. “First she speaks Andarran. Then, she waits for reinforcements at the risk of losing us. A survival instinct. Something is different,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Suddenly one of the creatures – Davian could not tell which one – spoke. “He belongs to us, Taeris Sarr,” it hissed. “Give him over and you may yet live.” It was not angry, or even insistent. It was completely devoid of emotion.

Taeris offered his hand to Davian, hoisting him to his feet. “Ignore them,” he said to the others. “Let’s move.”

No-one voiced a complaint, and they started silently along the long, open bridge. After a minute, Davian looked back. The sha’teth were still just standing there, watching.

Then the mists closed around him, hiding the creatures and the desolate town from view.

He turned his head forward again, facing into the thick white murk.

They had reached Deilannis.

Wirr took a deep breath, heart still hammering.

He threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, relieved to see that the mists had finally hidden the sha’teth and their unsettling stares from view. He slowed his pace a little, breathing evening out as the end of the bridge became visible up ahead. A flight of stairs led sharply downward; below, stretching away into the fog, the rooftops of hundreds of abandoned buildings were barely discernible through the haze.

Taeris came to a gradual halt at the top of the stairs, and everyone followed suit. Wirr gave an involuntary cough as he stared into the city. The atmosphere here was thicker, damp and hard to breathe. The mood of Deilannis was even heavier and more oppressive than it had looked from the outside.

“Are we safe?” Wirr asked Taeris.

Taeris looked around at the foreboding mists, then nodded, though his expression was still grim. “From the sha’teth, at least.”

Dezia shivered, walking up to stand beside Wirr. “What if we get through, and they’re waiting for us on the other side?”

“They won’t be. There’s not a crossing for at least two hundred miles in any direction. Even with their speed, it would take them several days to get there.” Taeris paused, then rummaged around in his bag, producing four Shackles. “Before we go any further….”

Wirr sighed. “They’re really necessary?”

“We’ve already talked about this,” said Taeris, his tone firm. “You all need to wear one. The Contract will let me sense you - if we get separated, it’s the only way I’ll be able to find you.”

Aelric looked at the Shackle with obvious distaste. “I’m still worried about what happens if you don’t find us. I don’t want to wear that thing for the rest of my life.”

Taeris gave a long-suffering sigh. “If I don’t find you then either I will be dead, in which case the Shackle will come off of its own accord, or you will be dead, in which case you won’t terribly mind.”

Dezia pushed past her brother, rolling up her sleeve. “We know. We’re happy to do it,” she said, glaring at Aelric.

Taeris nodded as if there had been no issue, touching the Shackle to Dezia’s wrist. The young woman stared as the torc sealed itself, touching it lightly. “I don’t feel any different,” she reassured Aelric.

Aelric hesitated, then reluctantly submitted himself to the same process. He gave an irritable tug at the twisted metal band once it was on, but did not appear to suffer any ill effects. Davian followed, and then Taeris held up the last Shackle to Wirr, gesturing for him to come forward.

“What about Nihim?” asked Wirr, realising the priest didn’t have one.

Taeris shook his head. “There aren’t enough Shackles.” He turned to Nihim. “If you’re separated….”

“It’s okay,” said Nihim. “I’ve studied maps of Deilannis. If it happens, I can figure out the way through.”

Taeris and Nihim exchanged a look, so brief that Wirr immediately wondered if he’d imagined it. Then Taeris was turning back to him. “Your turn.”

Wirr sighed. He hated Shackles. He wasn’t as badly affected as some Gifted, but whenever he wore one he still felt significantly slower, weaker. He held out his arm, and Taeris touched the torc to it.

Pain lanced through Wirr’s head.

He gave an involuntary cry as his knees buckled; he scrabbled desperately at the metal as it slithered around his arm, trying his utmost to rip it off. It was hard to breathe…

And then he was lying on the cool, smooth stone of the bridge. He took a few long, shaky breaths, vision clearing to see everyone crowded around him, their faces taut with concern. Taeris was kneeling at his side, the Shackle back in his hand, his face pale.

“Wirr. Can you hear me?” Taeris asked urgently. “Are you okay?”

Wirr groaned, elevating himself on one elbow. “A little dizzy, but… I think I’ll be fine.”

Taeris exhaled in relief. “Good.” His brow furrowed. “What happened? Have you ever had a reaction like that to a Shackle before?”

“Never.” Wirr climbed to his feet with Davian’s assistance. “I sometimes get a little shaky or nauseous, but that was….” He shook his head, lost for words.

There was silence for a few moments.

“Should we be wearing these?” Aelric asked nervously.

“Whatever happened to Wirr, happened as soon as he put the Shackle on. You’ll be fine,” said Taeris, waving away the question. His eyes never left Wirr.

“I think I’m going to have to risk Deilannis without a Shackle,” noted Wirr, still a little groggy.

“I think you are,” agreed Taeris. “Just… don’t try to use Essence while we’re in the city. Under any circumstances.”

Wirr frowned. “I thought you said it has no effect here.”

“It doesn’t. And we have no idea why.” Taeris rubbed his forehead. “For all we know, it’s by design. Essence could be dangerous here, somehow.”

“Or it could attract whatever guards this place,” pointed out Caeden.

“Exactly.” Taeris acknowledged Caeden with a nod. “Regardless of the reasons – if you’re not going to be wearing a Shackle….”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Wirr.

“Good.” Taeris gave him an appraising look. “Can you walk?”

Wirr nodded; his head still ached, but everything else seemed to be functioning normally. “I’ll be fine.”

Taeris turned to Nihim, holding out the Shackle in his hand and raising an eyebrow.

“Not a chance,” said Nihim firmly.

Taeris gave the ghost of a smile. “Then we should move.” He turned to the others. “Keep the talking to a minimum. Whatever’s in here, we want to do as little as possible to attract its attention.”

Without anything further, they headed down the stairs from the bridge and into the city itself.

After a few minutes of walking in uneasy silence, Wirr found himself next to Taeris. “So you’ve been through the city from Narut,” he said conversationally, trying to provide himself with a distraction.

Taeris gave an absent nod, never pausing in his scanning of the road ahead. “The Narut and Desriel bridges are actually quite close together,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, the Andarran bridge is on the other side of the city. According to the maps, anyway.”