James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“You’ve never been there?” Wirr kept his voice low, but he couldn’t stop it from taking on a slightly panicked note. “How can you be sure you know the way?”

Taeris shrugged. “Now you mention it, I’m not sure I even recognise the layout of these streets. Don’t tell the others, but I think we may be lost.”

Wirr’s eyes widened, then narrowed as the corners of Taeris' mouth twitched upward for a brief moment, betraying the scarred man’s amusement at Wirr’s expense.

“That was not funny,” Wirr grumbled.

Taeris did not take his eyes off the road ahead. “It was a little funny. Now be quiet.”

Wirr lapsed into silence.

Despite his admission, Taeris walked the route they were taking with confidence, and whenever he made a turn it seemed to be because he recognised certain landmarks along the way. They progressed in almost complete silence, none of them straying further than the reach of the torches, fixing their eyes on the road ahead. Everyone walked with their heads slightly bowed, as if trying to ignore the buildings on the edge of their peripheral vision.

Wirr found himself doing the same; looking too closely at his surroundings only fed his unease. Every road was clean and every building looked as if it were newly made, with not a hint of rot or decay. As if they were being maintained.

“I’m beginning to think the sha’teth had the right idea,” he whispered to Davian. “This place makes my skin crawl.”

A sharp look from Nihim silenced Davian before he could reply, and they pressed on mutely.

They made their way mainly along the one road, which was wide enough that their torchlight barely penetrated the mists as far as its edges. Soon they came to a giant archway which, like the rest of the city, was still wholly intact. Sitting atop the arch itself was a pike; impaled on it sat a leering skull, the bleached white seeming to glow in the surrounding gloom. It was the only skeletal remains they had seen since entering the city.

Wirr felt a chill as he looked at it. There was something… wrong about it, aside from the obvious. Something disturbing, though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Davian had noticed it too. “Creepy,” he muttered to Wirr, shivering.

Caeden stepped towards them, having overheard. “This is the entrance to the inner city,” he said, staring at the skull. “The Door of Iladriel. When we pass through, we will be in Deilannis proper.”

Wirr raised an eyebrow at him. “How do you know that?”

Caeden shrugged. “I just do,” he said distantly, gaze shifting to the stone structure itself. Then he frowned, turning to Taeris. “I… would not have thought this was the fastest way to the Andarran bridge.”

Taeris had stopped in front of the archway. He looked at Caeden for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable. “You’re right,” he said. “This is the southern entrance to the inner city. I only know the way from maps – the originals of which are almost two thousand years old. I didn’t want to get lost.”

“What lies in there?” asked Aelric, eyes searching the darkness beyond the archway for any sign of movement.

Taeris shook his head. “No-one knows. I don’t believe anyone has passed through this part of the city since Devaed’s time.”

The group was silent as they digested this information. “We could go back,” suggested Dezia.

Taeris shook his head. “The sha’teth are not fools. They will have split up, one of them staying on the Desriel side to ensure we don’t double back.”

For a moment everyone hesitated, then Dezia stepped forward.

“Then I suppose we shouldn’t delay,” she said. Before anyone could stop her, she was striding through the archway.

Davian exchanged a look with Wirr. Taking deep breaths to steel themselves, they moved beneath the archway’s grinning skull and into the inner city.

Davian beckoned to Caeden, who was staring at the enormous archway as if mesmerised.

“Caeden!” he hissed in a harried whisper. The sound jerked Caeden into action; the young man took a last look at the archway and hurried after them into the inner city.

Davian took a long glance at the archway himself, wondering what Caeden had been looking at. The Door of Iladriel, he’d called it. A memory. Had there been something else, though? Something he wasn’t telling them?

He shivered again as he looked up at the skull piked atop the stones, white and grinning. If Caeden was concealing something, he was probably doing them a favour.

Everyone was deathly silent now as they walked; Davian often found himself holding his breath, so intent was he on hearing any sound that was out of the ordinary. As they crept closer to the centre of the city, he began to notice subtle changes in their surroundings. The mists thinned, and a grey light gradually became apparent, illuminating everything in drab monochrome. The buildings here were mostly the same as in the outer city, untouched by the ravages of time – however some had smashed windows or doors crumpled inward, and others bore the scars of fire.

Occasionally Davian thought he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, but every time he spun, there was no-one there. He could see his tenseness reflected in the faces of the others, including Taeris. Something about this place felt very wrong.

Soon he began to notice that the structures in this section of the city were less cramped, grander and far more distinctive than the close-packed houses they had already passed.

Dezia suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” she whispered, staring at Caeden. The others stopped too, all turning to Caeden curiously.

The young man bit his lip. “I… know this place,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Despite some uncertainty, there was also excitement in his tone.

He took a couple of steps forward, pointing to an enormous building with giant columns of white marble. “We are in the main street of the city. That is the Great Library of Deilannis.” He pointed to a structure a little further down the road. “That is the Ashac Temple, where worshippers would go each Seventhday to hear the word of the One God preached.” He pointed again, confident now, this time to a wide roadway that curved off to the left. “That road is known as the Scythe. Follow it for another five minutes, and you would come to a massive marketplace.” He smiled, a flush of excitement on his cheeks. “I think from here, I could even guide us to the Northern Bridge.”

Taeris placed his hand on Caeden’s shoulder. “That’s good, lad.” Davian could see a mixture of fascination and concern in his eyes. “I don’t wish to dampen your enthusiasm, but – do you actually recall being here? I’ve not been into the inner city before, but I do recognise many of these buildings from the texts I’ve collected over the years. Are you sure you’re not simply remembering things you’ve read?”

Caeden shook his head, still staring around, absently rubbing at the wolf tattoo on his wrist as he did so. “I don’t think so.”

Taeris gave Caeden a considering look for a few moments, then just nodded. “Let me know if anything else comes back.”

They moved on, drawing ever closer to the centre of the city. Soon they came to a fork in the road, and Taeris led them without hesitation to the left.

Caeden stopped in his tracks.

“Taeris,” he called quietly, uncertainty in his voice. “I think that’s the wrong way.”

Everyone paused, and Taeris turned to Caeden. “I know where I’m going,” he whispered firmly, so that everyone could hear. “I know you think you remember this place, but I am quite certain.”

Caeden didn’t look convinced, but eventually inclined his head. “If you’re certain,” he said, reluctance still clear in his tone.