James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“Who are you?” asked Davian as they walked.

The man did not turn around. “My name is Malshash.”

“Well, Malshash,” said Davian, encouraged by the response, “ can you tell me where I am?”

They were at the end of the passageway; Malshash grabbed one of the double doors in front of them and swung it wide.

Davian sighed. The mists were not as thick as they had been when the creature had attacked, but they were there.

”I’m still in Deilannis,” observed Davian, his tone flat.

“Yes.”

Davian walked outside, turning to examine the building he had just exited. To his surprise, he recognised it. It was the same building Taeris had been so interested in - the one he had nearly stayed behind to enter, despite the danger. The memory reminded Davian of the threat, and he looked around with apprehension.

“The creature,” he said to Malshash in a low, urgent tone.

“We’re safe,” Malshash assured Davian. He started off down the road, in the opposite direction to which Taeris and the others had gone. Davian tried to stand his ground, but discovered that his feet were moving to follow Malshash.

“Wait!” Davian called softly. “My friends may still be here! One of them is badly hurt – the creature wounded him. If I can just find him….”

Malshash did not stop, or even turn. “If your friend was wounded by Orkoth, he is dead.” His tone held no emotion. “Even if he is not, there is no way for you to return to him.”

“But he’s only a few hundred feet the other way!” Davian protested, voice louder now as frustration and anger crept in.

Malshash shook his head. “There is no-one here but us, Davian. I would know if it were otherwise.” He held up his hand peremptorily, still not looking back as he spoke. “No more questions. There will be time later.”

They walked for a few minutes, Davian throwing nervous glances over his shoulder, until they came to a large, two-story house. Malshash entered, gesturing for Davian to follow. They passed through the landing and into a large kitchen, where a small fire crackled merrily in the corner, casting a warm glow across the room that was in stark contrast to the cold whites and greys so prevalent in the rest of the city.

Malshash motioned Davian into one of the seats at the table, then began opening cupboards filled with food. Davian watched in surprise as the man began preparing a meal, apparently lost in thought.

“You live here?” Davian asked.

Malshash gave an absent nod. “For now.”

Davian watched in silence until Malshash set down two meals on the table.

“You must be hungry,” said Malshash, gesturing for Davian to eat.

Davian’s stomach growled, and he realised just how hungry he truly was. There was cooked meat of some kind – beef, he thought – and vegetables. It was simple fare, but to Davian it looked a feast.

Ravenous, he had eaten several mouthfuls before he realised that Malshash had not touched his food. He stopped, eyes narrowing, a flash of panic racing through him.

Malshash saw his reaction and gave him a slight smile. “I’m not poisoning you,” he reassured Davian, taking a quick bite of his own meal to prove the point. He leaned back, sighing. “So. You have questions.”

Davian swallowed his mouthful, nodding. “What happened to me? How did I end up in that building?”

Malshash paused. “What do you mean?”

“One moment I was on the road out of this El-cursed city. Then I was… somewhere else. Everything was grey, and I was being thrown around. I thought I was going to be torn apart, but I saw a light and headed towards it. The next thing I knew, I was waking up. You know the rest.”

“You… you don’t know what that was?”

“Should I?”

Malshash rubbed his forehead, for some reason looking shaken. “I suppose not. But for you to have survived the rift with no training, no idea what you were doing… it’s remarkable.”

“The rift?” Davian leaned forward, but even as he did so he realised that his eyelids were getting heavy. He yawned, long and loud. The heat of the fire, combined with his full stomach, were making him drowsy – but far moreso than they should have been. “What is this?” he said through another yawn. “You drugged me?”

“No. It’s just a side-effect. The shock, the adrenaline, must have kept you awake until now.”

Davian felt his head getting heavy. He leaned forward until his head touched the table. “Side-effect of what?” he mumbled.

If Malshash answered, Davian didn’t hear it. He slept.

Wirr burst through the edge of the mists.

He collapsed upon the smooth white stone of the bridge, savouring the sight of the night sky and luxuriating in the feel of fresh air on his face. Even the roaring of the river below was musical compared to the sullen silence of the cursed city behind him. The stars were out, though no moon was in evidence; still, Wirr thought the cloudless heavens were as beautiful a thing as he had ever seen.

He twisted in his seated position to watch as Aelric and Dezia came stumbling from the thick blanket of fog, followed quickly by Caeden and then Taeris. From within Deilannis, he could still hear occasional shrieks as the creature hunted, but the sounds were distant now.

Suddenly he went cold. He stared at the group on the bridge for a long moment.

“Where are Davian and Nihim?”

Taeris looked around at that, paling. “Nihim tripped,” he said after a moment, “ but I didn’t see what happened to Davian.” As one they looked at the mists, as if expecting the remaining two men to emerge at any moment.

Nothing happened.

In the distance, the creature shrieked again, but this time the sound was different. It sent a shiver through Wirr like none of its previous cries.

Still short of breath, he struggled to his feet. “We have to go back.” He started forward shakily towards the white curtain of fog.

Taeris grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip, stopping him mid-step. He looked Wirr in the eye. “Don’t be a fool,” he said quietly.

Wirr struggled forward for a moment longer, but he knew Taeris was right. The last vestiges of energy drained from him and he slumped to the ground, staring back at the city.

“They must be lost,” he said, hearing the desperation seeping into his voice. “They’ll be hiding. But you can find them….”

Taeris closed his eyes for a long moment, and Wirr knew what he was about to say next.

“Wirr,” the older man said, his tone gentle. “I can’t feel Davian any more. My Contract with his Shackle was broken.”

Wirr just gazed blankly at Taeris for a moment, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, then shook his head in denial. “What does that mean?”

Taeris bowed his head, and everyone else looked away as the meaning of the Gifted’s words struck home. “They are dead, Wirr,” Taeris said, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s the only explanation.”

With that, he slowly started walking along the bridge, towards Andarra.

Wirr, Caeden and the others didn’t follow, just stared back into the mists, listening numbly to the bone-chilling shrieks of the creature.

This time, they sounded triumphant.

Wirr perched on a boulder dangerously near the edge of the chasm, letting the roar of the Lantarche wash over him, his expression blank as he stared out towards the roiling mists.

Most of the others had long since fallen asleep; the rigours of the night had taken a toll, as he knew they should have on him, too. Still, he didn’t turn as the sound of crunching gravel indicated someone approaching.

“I would prefer to be alone,” he said quietly.