James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Caeden nodded, though he had hoped for more reassurance. Still, what his friend had said made a lot of sense. He couldn’t hide from what was coming, just as his people could not.

“Again, then,” he said, tone grim, taking the stance.

They circled, and this time he felt oddly at peace, no longer nervous. When Ordan’s attack came he didn’t even break stride; the barrier dissolved the bolt long before it reached him. He dug inside himself, then pictured Ordan bursting into flame. Not just his skin, but his insides, his entire body from head to tail. The Shalis were vulnerable to fire, but he drew more from his Reserve, letting the power build up. More. More.

He released.

Ordan was expecting the blast, but his shield was nothing compared to the power of Caeden’s blow. The shield shattered and Ordan screamed in pain as tongues of fire engulfed him; his scaly skin began to shimmer and then melt as the intense heat devoured all. Caeden made himself watch, though it tore him up inside to do so. His friend would be reborn, as the Shalis always were. He knew it would be painful for Ordan, hated himself for doing this. Yet, it was necessary. Ordan was right. He needed to return home.

Another Shalis – Indral, he thought, though they all looked very similar – came and busied himself next to Ordan’s smoking body. Gently he picked it up, powerful arms having no trouble lifting the corpse. He turned to Caeden.

“He will be proud of you, Tal’kamar,” he said in his unusual, high-pitched voice. The words were blunt but Caeden thought he detected a hint of respect in them. That was something, coming from Indral, who had always been against his being allowed to train here.

Caeden stared at the corpse sadly. “Will I be able to speak to him before I leave?”

“No.” Indral was emphatic. “You have completed your training, and Ordan will not return for months yet. Rebirth in the Forges is a slow process. You will need to be gone before then.” Indral was not being rude, Caeden decided, only practical. The Shalis were like that: blunt, often difficult to read.

He felt a wave of regret as he glanced around. He would never see this place again, of that he was certain.

“Tell him it was an honour,” he said to Indral quietly.

“I will, Tal’kamar. Farewell.” Indral slithered off with Ordan’s body.

Caeden flexed his burnt shoulder, grimacing in pain, then moved off towards his quarters. He needed to pack.

He was going home.

Caeden woke, a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

He rolled onto his side, gazing up at the pre-dawn sky. Another dream. As with the others, this one was already fading; even now he could only grasp the odd detail here and there. The snake-like creature he’d been friends with – so similar to the dar’gaithin. The strange fortress where he’d lived, if only for a time.

He hadn’t told the others about the dreams. Alaris’ warning still echoed in his head, and like tonight, sometimes he saw things… if he told them the truth they’d think he was crazy, or worse, a threat. Taeris removing his Shackle had meant a lot. Caeden didn’t want to force him to put it back on.

Soon enough the others were awake, and they were travelling once again. The roads had been heavy with traffic over the past few days – and many of the travellers had borne ominous news. There was trouble in the north, an invasion of some kind. Details were scarce, but Caeden could see how Taeris was beginning to look more worried with each mention of it.

He rubbed the tattoo on his arm absently. The fact that this invasion was from the north - where the Boundary lay - had not been lost on him. That glowing wolf’s head, always in the corner of his vision, was a constant, unsettling reminder that he was likely connected somehow.

They proceeded for a while in companionable silence; at about midday the road forked, and the steady stream of people coming the other way suddenly stopped. For several hours after that, they walked without seeing anyone, and the silence of the group gradually became an anxious one.

Late in the afternoon, Taeris held up his hand, signalling they should halt.

“Do you smell that?” he asked. He turned to the others, seeing the answer to his question in their wrinkled noses, and Dezia holding a kerchief to her face.

There was a stench on the breeze that had just sprung up, the sickening smell of rotting meat. Not just a whiff, though, as would happen if an animal had died nearby. This was strong and constant.

“What is it?” asked Wirr, almost gagging.

Taeris shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said in a worried tone, “ but I think we’re going to find out soon enough.”

They kept moving along the road, which was still deserted. As Caeden crested the next rise, he let out an involuntary gasp, freezing in his tracks as he took in the scene before him. Behind him, he could hear equally horrified sounds from his companions as they saw what he was seeing.

The bodies were everywhere.

They lined the road for hundreds of feet ahead, draped over piles of grey stone rubble. Many of the corpses were sliced open and already rotting under the hot sun; black carrion birds flocked wherever he looked, pecking at eyes and entrails with ecstatic fervour, barely bothered by the arrival of living humans.

To Caeden’s horror, he realised some of the bodies had been carefully arranged in lewd embraces. In some places, men’s heads had been removed and sewn onto the bodies of women. He forced himself to look even closer. Some of the men’s heads were on children’s bodies, too.

He turned and retched, vaguely relieved to hear he was not the only one doing so.

His stomach emptied, he forced himself to turn back to the scene. With a chill, Caeden realised that the piles of stones he could see were all that remained of a large township.

“Gahille,” said Taeris, dismay in his voice. “I’ve been here before. This was a big town. It had its own wall, and a garrison to protect it.”

The wall was gone, now, only a few stones jutting up from the grass a reminder of it. There were no buildings left standing. Just a flat expanse that stretched out ahead, broken by the small hills of stone that indicated something had once stood there.

“Who could have done this?” whispered Caeden. He felt another wave of nausea.

“The sha’teth?” asked Aelric. He was doing better than the others. Still, he looked a little unsteady as he surveyed the carnage.

Taeris took a deep breath, trying not to breathe through his nose. “No,” he said after a moment. “The sha’teth would not bother to do this. They haven’t changed that much. Whoever, or whatever, was here revelled in what they were doing.”

“We should see if there are any survivors,” said Wirr.

Taeris shook his head. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. It could still be dangerous.”

“I’ll not feel right if we leave without at least looking,” pressed Wirr.

Aelric stepped forward, nodding. “I agree. We need to look.”

Taeris sighed. “As you wish,” he said, though his tone was heavy with reluctance.

They walked forward slowly, checking for any sign of life, each of them now breathing through kerchiefs to lessen the chance of sickness. Some of the corpses were entirely rotten, while others looked almost fresh; the stench of death was overpowering at times, making Caeden’s eyes water.

Ahead of him, Taeris sent out a thin stream of Essence - nothing strong enough to be detected by any nearby Finders, presumably, but sufficient to clear most of the smell. It wasn’t enough to make the air entirely breathable, but it was an improvement.