James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Acting on pure instinct he found himself trying to calm his mind, employing every technique he’d ever learned while trying to use Essence. For a terrible moment, he understood that Essence did not – could not – exist here.

Suddenly there was something else. Cold and dark. Flowing though him.

He immediately felt an easing of the pressure on his mind. The sensation was still terribly unpleasant, but what had been a raging torrent around him now moved slower, flowing almost calmly past in comparison. He floated in the void, composing himself, the chill substance coursing through him like blood. Looking too closely at the grey smoke streaming past hurt his head, but he tried anyway.

Soon enough, he noticed something. A gap, an area lighter than the space around it. He gazed at it, trying to focus in on it, ignoring everything else. It was a beacon in this surreal place – but how to reach it? He knew without looking that he had no physical body here, no legs to carry him.

Instinctively he fixed the light in his mind, then willed himself towards it…

…and the light was directly in front of him. Whether he had gone to it, or it had come to him, he did not know.

He studied the gentle glow. It seemed… familiar. Inviting. He stared into it for what seemed like only a moment…

… and groaned.

Davian’s head felt as though someone had taken to it with a hammer. He lay still, eyes closed for several seconds as he tried to assess the situation.

What had happened? He had been in Deilannis, and then… the void. That torrent of grey emptiness. He shifted, feeling cold, chiselled stone beneath him. So he was no longer in that place, at least. He had his body back. That was something.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open. A high stone roof greeted his gaze, sturdily made but otherwise unremarkable. It was dim in here, though the light was still bright enough to hurt his eyes until they adjusted. How long had he lain there? Had he been returned to Deilannis, or was he somewhere else? A jolt of adrenaline ran through him as the memories started to come back. Nihim. With an effort, he raised his head and looked around.

He was lying atop the altar of what appeared to be a vast temple. Columns stretched away into the darkness in all directions; Davian could not see any walls, any edges at all to whatever this room was. The light was coming from a skylight in the roof, but it must have been the only one in the room, for outside of a small pool of light – in the centre of which Davian now lay – nothing was visible. Everything in the room had a cold greyness to it; though there were no mists, Davian had the immediate sense that he was still somewhere in Deilannis.

“Welcome, Davian. Be at ease. No harm will come to you.”

Davian scrambled to his feet, looking around apprehensively for the source of the words. “Who’s there? How do you know my name?”

The disembodied voice chuckled, though it was a joyless sound. “ That is a story.”

Davian slowly stepped back, until he was pressed against the stone altar. “Show yourself.”

There was movement from the shadows, and a man stepped forward into the light. His appearance was unremarkable – mousy-brown hair cropped short, a plain, slightly lumpy face, neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. Yet he carried himself with an air of authority.

There was something else, too, something almost unnoticeable but definitely there. Though there were no physical signs of it, the man’s eyes were old. Weary beyond reckoning.

The stranger slipped something into his pocket, frowning at Davian. Davian tried to shift, to place the altar between himself and the other man, but suddenly found he could not move.

“Do not try using your powers. They will have no effect on me,” said the man absently as he walked closer, squinting as he stared into Davian’s face. He wore a puzzled expression. As he drew near he stopped, a sharp intake of breath making a hissing sound as it passed through his teeth.

“You have only one scar,” said the man in disbelief. He looked shaken.

“Yes. One scar. Now tell me who you are and what I’m doing here!” Davian tried not to let panic seep into his tone.

The plain-looking man appeared not to hear him. “Impossible,” he muttered, now standing only a few feet from Davian, who was still powerless to move. The stranger began circling him, staring at him with morose fascination. “I was so sure. So sure. Perhaps the old fool was right after all.” The energy seemed to go out of him.

“Are… are you going to kill me?” Davian asked, unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. The man seemed completely mad.

The stranger stopped at the question. He gazed long and hard into Davian’s eyes, then let out a loud laugh, a raucous sound that echoed off into the shadows. “I’m hoping we can avoid that,” he said with a wry shake of his head.

Davian swallowed, not entirely comforted. “Then what do you want of me?”

The man did not reply, continuing to study Davian with an intent expression. Finally he sighed. “I will release you, but only if you swear not to run.”

Davian nodded. “I can do that.”

The man moved to stand directly in front of him, placing a hand against Davian’s forehead. He closed his eyes. “Now repeat after me: I swear I will listen to what you have to say, and judge it fairly. I swear I will not harm you or try to escape from you.”

Davian felt his brow furrow in confusion, but seeing little alternative, repeated the words. A jolt of energy flashed through him, and there was a brief burning sensation on his left forearm. He jerked, glancing down.

For the first time he realised that his Shackle had somehow fallen off and was lying on the altar next to him; where the Gifted mark had once been on his arm, there was now a simple circle of light. As he watched, the circle faded, dissolving into his skin and vanishing.

“What was that?” he demanded. “And where is my Mark?”

The man frowned. “That was a binding,” he said. “It enforces your vow to me. As to the other… I don’t know to what you are referring.”

Davian paused for a moment, taken aback. “My Mark . From being Gifted.” When the man still stared at him blankly, Davian shook his head in disbelief. “You haven’t heard of the Tenets? They bind the Gifted and the Administrators to one another, stop us from using our powers in certain ways.”

The stranger cocked his head to the side. “Interesting,” he said. “A binding applied to every Gifted. Impressive. I wonder which one of them did that.” He looked at Davian thoughtfully. “What symbol did it leave?”

“It was the outline of three people within a circle. A man, woman and child.” Davian stared at his arm. He’d lived with that brand for so long now, had known with such certainty that it was permanent. It was unsettling to see clean skin there again.

“Of course it was,” muttered the man, mostly to himself.

Davian frowned at him. “So where did it go?” he asked again.

“These Tenets, as you call them, don’t exist yet. Thus, you’re not bound by them.”

Davian screwed up his face. “I don’t understand.”

The man gestured, and Davian found he could move again. “All in good time, Davian. Now follow me.”

Davian hesitantly trailed after the stranger into the shadows.

Once the darkness had closed around him and his eyes had adjusted to it, Davian could see that they were in a very, very large room – a hall of some kind, he assumed. Its size was the only thing spectacular about it, though; there were rows of stark grey columns, a smooth stone floor, an arched roof high above – and nothing else.

They walked for around thirty seconds before they came to a doorway, which opened into a narrow corridor. After the cavernous hall, the passage made Davian feel almost claustrophobic.