The Shadow Of What Was Lost (2 page)

There was silence for a few
moments, and Davian hesitated. "I know we've talked about this before...
but maybe if I told one of the Elders about my other ability, they could
help." He swallowed, unable to look Wirr in the eye. "Maybe we're
wrong about how they would react. Knowing when someone is lying
is
different
from being able to Read them, you know."

Wirr considered the statement for
a few seconds, then shook his head. "It's not different enough. Not to the
Elders, and certainly not to Administration if they ever found out." He
stared at his friend sympathetically. "Fates know I don't want to see you
become a Shadow, Dav, but that's nothing compared to what would happen if
anyone heard even a whisper of what you can do. The Treaty is clear when it
comes to Augurs. The Elders may love you, but they would still turn you in in a
heartbeat."

Davian made a face, but
eventually nodded. They'd had this conversation many times, and it always ended
the same way. Wirr was right, and they both knew it.

"Back to studying then, I
suppose," said Davian, glancing over at the jumble of books on his desk.

Wirr frowned as he followed
Davian's gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that you’re just pushing yourself
too hard, Dav? I know you’re worried, but exhaustion isn't going to help.”

“I need to make use of what time
I have,” Davian observed, his tone dry.

“But if you ever want to use
Essence, you need to sleep more than an hour or two each night, too. It’s no
wonder you can’t do so much as light a candle; you’re probably draining your
Reserve just by staying awake for so long.”

Davian gestured tiredly. He’d
heard this theory from plenty of concerned people over the past few weeks, but
it was the first time Wirr had brought it up. The trouble was, he knew it was
true - when a Gifted pushed their body past its limits they instinctively drew
Essence from their Reserve, using it to fuel their body in place of sleep. And
if he was draining his Reserve to stay awake, his efforts to access the Essence
contained within were doomed to failure.

Still, three years of keeping
sensible hours had done nothing to solve his problem. Whatever reasons
prevented him from using the Gift, they ran deeper than a lack of sleep.

Wirr watched him for a few
moments, then sighed, getting slowly to his feet. "Anyway - regardless of
whether you plan to sleep,
I
certainly do. I have a session with Elder
Caen tomorrow." He glanced out the window. "In a few hours,
actually."

Davian gave him a nod of
acknowledgement and a weary smile. "Of course. Thanks for the company,
Wirr. I'll see you at lunch."

Davian waited until Wirr had
left, then reluctantly considered the title of the next book he had laid aside
for study.
Principles Of Draw And Regeneration
. He'd read it a few weeks
ago, but maybe he'd missed something. There had to be
some
reason he
couldn’t access Essence, something he hadn’t understood.

The Elders thought it was a
block, that he was subconsciously resisting his power because of his first
experience with it, the day he’d received his scar. Davian was doubtful,
though; that pain had long since faded. He knew it could well be something to
do with his other ability - some sort of interference, perhaps - but
information on the Augurs was so hard to find, nowadays, that there was little
point even thinking about that possibility.

And perhaps it was simply
technique. Perhaps if he read enough about the nature of the Gift, he could
still gain sufficient insight to overcome the problem.

Despite his resolve, now he was
alone again he found the words on the cover blurring in front of him, and his
jaws cracking open unbidden for a yawn. Perhaps Wirr was right about one thing.
Exhaustion wasn’t going to help.

Reluctantly he stood up, leaned
over and extinguished the lamp.

He settled into his bed, staring
up into the darkness. His mind still churned. Despite his tiredness, despite
the late hour, it was some time before he slept.

Davian awoke with a start.

There was a moment of silence,
then the sound that had woken him – an insistent knocking at the door - came
again. He looked around blearily, the fog of sleep not yet departed. What time
was it? The distant chatter of voices from the courtyard below indicated that
lessons had already begun for the day. Motes of dust drifted lazily through the
light that streamed in through the still-open window; from the angle, he
realised it must be at least mid-morning, if not later.

Muttering a curse under his
breath, Davian flung himself to his feet. He usually woke at dawn and had
trusted his body to keep to that schedule, but apparently he had deprived it of
sleep for one too many nights in a row. The knocking came again; hurriedly
throwing on some clothes, he stumbled over to the door and opened it.

The girl waiting outside had
blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and the recent good weather had
left her with the faintest smattering of freckles high on her cheeks. She
smiled at him, a guileless expression, and amusement danced in her sea-green
eyes.

“Hello, Ash,” Davian said
awkwardly, suddenly aware of his dishevelled appearance.

“Morning, Dav. You look….”

“I know.” He raked through his
thick, unruly black hair with his fingers, but he knew it would make little
difference. “Apparently I overslept.”

“Apparently you did. Quite a
bit,” said Asha, with a brief, meaningful glance towards the window. Then,
after a careful examination of the hallway to check they were truly alone, she
lowered her voice. “Mistress Alita’s been keeping me on the run this morning,
but I came as soon as I had an excuse." Her smile faded. "I heard
about Leehim.”

The memory of the previous night
came crashing back into Davian; it must have shown in his expression because
Asha stepped forward, eyes suddenly soft with sympathy and concern. “Are you
okay?”

“I am.” It was a lie; he actually
felt a renewed flood of fear as he remembered Leehim's convulsing form, the
black veins crawling their way across the other boy's face. Still, he wasn’t
about to admit any of that to Asha. “It was nothing I hadn't seen before. It
just... reminded me how close the Trials are, I suppose.”

Asha grimaced at that but nodded,
saying nothing.

Davian's chest tightened a little
as he watched her. As the last few months had flown by, he'd faced plenty of
fears about becoming a Shadow. It had only been recently, though, that he'd
realised that never being able to see Asha again was far and away the worst of
them. That their friendship of the past couple of years had developed into
something more, at least for him.

But he couldn’t say anything. Not
now. It would only make the next few weeks harder on both of them, regardless
of whether Asha felt the same way.

There was silence for a few
moments; Davian glanced at the angle of the sun, which was high enough now that
it barely came through his east-facing window. “I’ll tell you the full story
later,” he promised, suddenly remembering that he had other responsibilities.
He forced a smile as he spoke, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m supposed to be
going into Caladel today.”

“You were supposed to be going
into Caladel two or three hours ago,” corrected Asha. “Actually – I don't want
to make your day any worse, but that’s why I’m here. Mistress Alita realised
that you haven’t been by to get the list.”

Davian groaned. “What did she
say?” Mistress Alita took students shirking their responsibilities more
seriously than any of the Elders. Worse, having all but raised Davian, any sign
of him avoiding his tasks was considered by the head cook to be a personal
affront.

Asha shrugged. “You know – the
usual. Something about you, boiling water and that large knife she keeps hanging
by the bench. It was too detailed to remember all of it.” She gave him a rueful
smile. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to repeat it for you, though.” 

“Wonderful.” Davian paused. “I
don’t suppose you could… omit… that I overslept, when you speak to her?”

"She's going to ask."

"Lie." Davian raised an
eyebrow. "I meant lie."

Asha gave him a look of mock
surprise. “You of all people....”

Davian sighed, repressing a
smile. “I’d owe you one.”

“Another one,” Asha corrected.

Davian narrowed his eyes, but
this time couldn’t help grinning. “Thanks, Ash.”

Once Asha had vanished down the
stairs he shut the door again, his mood improved. As little as he was looking
forward to a tongue-lashing from Mistress Alita – and as heavily as the memory
of last night was beginning to weigh on him again – waking up to a visit from
Asha was far from a bad start to the day.

He stood in front of the mirror,
taking a few minutes to rub the sleep from his eyes, straighten his clothes and
rake his fingers through his hair until it sat in a vaguely respectable state.
The Elders were firm on anyone going outside the school walls appearing
presentable. He was already late, so there was no point worsening his lecture
by rushing off and looking dishevelled into the bargain.

Finally satisfied with his
appearance, Davian hurried down the spiral staircase of the North Tower and
into the inner courtyard of the castle. A group of younger students were
gathered around Elder Jarras at the far wall, some of them giggling at a story
he was telling them. Davian watched as the thick-bearded man made a
deliberately overdramatic sweeping gesture with his deep red Gifted’s cloak,
his eyes widening comically, sending the children into more peals of laughter.
Davian smiled. Everyone liked Jarras.

He moved on, hurrying through a
narrow breezeway to the back entrance of the kitchen. Most of the students used
the main door from the dining area, but he’d been a serving boy here long
before becoming a student, and a lifetime of habit was hard to break.

He slipped inside as quietly as
possible, taking in the familiar sensations. The heat from the fireplace as a
pot boiled busily above crackling flames. The smells of various spices mingling
together. The cheerful chatter from Tori and Gunder, the cook and her apprentice,
their backs facing him as they chopped away at some vegetables. Even after
three years, this felt more like home than his room in the tower ever had.

He hesitated; Mistress Alita was
nowhere to be seen. Tori, a middle-aged, dowdy woman who had always spoiled him
before he had discovered he was Gifted, finally noticed that someone had
entered. She glanced away again when she realised who it was. Her conversation
with Gunder died within seconds as the teenage boy saw too.

Davian flushed, as always feeling
like he was intruding. Gunder and Davian had been apprentices together, had
shared a room until Davian’s abilities were uncovered. Now they were strangers.
The servants here might work for the Gifted, but the war had left too many
scars for them to look past what their employers were. What
he
was.

Sometimes he caught the familiar
faces looking at him, a kind of sad accusation in their eyes. As if he had
betrayed them, chosen this path rather than been pushed down it.

Davian forced himself to ignore
the stares today, eyes darting around the room for the slip of paper that would
tell him what was needed from town. If he could just find that list and leave
before Mistress Alita returned….

“Is this what you’re looking
for?”

The familiar voice came from
behind him. His heart sank as he turned to see the head cook standing with a
frown plastered across her face, waving the list at him.

Davian grimaced. “Sorry,” he
said, abashed.

The portly woman shook her head
in irritation. “Don’t apologise to me. The Elders are the ones whose plates
will be empty at lunch. I’ll be sure to let them know who to speak to when they
ask why.”

Mistress Alita seemed about to
launch into one of her tirades when she suddenly stopped, eyes narrowing as she
examined his appearance. “You look tired.” She was clearly still displeased
with him, but there was a question in her voice now. “I haven’t laid eyes on
you in days.”

Davian glanced over towards Tori
and Gunder, but they had both returned to their task and were talking amongst
themselves. Students were not supposed to speak to non-Gifted about their
training, but he and Mistress Alita regularly flouted that rule. She had looked
after him for years after he’d been left to the school’s care as an infant. She
had a right to know at least a little of what was going on in his life.

“The Trials are soon,” he said
quietly by way of explanation.

The head cook’s brow furrowed,
and she lowered her voice so that it would not carry to the others. “No
progress?” Her frown deepened as she studied his face. “You’re still not sure
if you can pass?”

Davian bit his lip. He didn’t
want to give Mistress Alita cause for concern. “It’s... still a risk,” he said,
keeping his tone carefully neutral.

“But you’re worried.” It was a
statement rather than a question. She knew him too well.

Davian hesitated. “Terrified,” he
admitted softly.

Mistress Alita gave him a
sympathetic smile, placing a hand on his shoulder in a maternal manner and
giving it a light squeeze. “El doesn’t give us burdens we can’t carry, Davian.
Always remember that.”

“I will.” Davian nodded, but the
words didn’t make him feel any better. Mistress Alita had tried raising him as
an adherent of the Old Religion, but everyone knew that all confidence in El
and his Grand Design had died along with the Augurs twenty years ago. Davian –
like most people in Andarra, now – couldn’t bring himself to believe in
something that had been so clearly disproven. Still, Mistress Alita was devout,
and he had always respected that.

The head cook pressed the slip of
paper and a few heavy coins into his palm, then gave him a light but firm cuff
to the back of the head with her other hand, her usual grumpy exterior
reasserting itself. “Now get moving; Administrator Talean is expecting you. And
if this happens again, I’ll be thinking up a proper punishment, Trials or no.”
She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And it won’t involve
Asha waking you up next time, either. I think you’d enjoy that a little too
much.”

She sent him on his way with a
gentle push, leaving him blushing in surprise.

He chewed his lip as he walked.
Were his feelings becoming so obvious? Asha spent plenty of time around the
kitchens; whatever Mistress Alita suspected, he just hoped she would be tactful
enough not to say anything.

He headed towards the
Administrator’s office. The courtyard was quiet now; Jarras and his class had
vanished. A couple of younger students were sparring to the side, overseen by a
still sombre-looking Elder Seandra, but otherwise there was no sign of movement.

Davian paused for a moment to
watch the bout. Despite his best efforts, jealousy stabbed at him as whip-thin
tongues of light periodically lashed out from the students’ hands, flicking
towards the other before being met by bright, rippling shields of Essence,
energy crackling as the two forces collided.

He examined the contest
analytically. Both children – they could not have been older than twelve –
seemed about equal in strength, but Davian could immediately see the smaller
one’s shield was better-formed, more complete. Even as he watched, a sliver of
bright Essence pierced the taller one’s shield and touched him on the arm,
making the boy yelp in surprised pain. It would only be a matter of time before
the match was over.

Davian tore his eyes away and
kept walking, pushing down the frustration he felt every time he saw the Gift
being used. Move on. Get his chores done quickly, then try again. There was
nothing more he could do.

His stomach twisted as he
approached the Administrator's office, the memory of last night still fresh in
his mind. The door to Talean’s office was ajar but as Davian moved to knock, he
heard low voices coming from inside - one of which he didn't recognise. That
was unusual in the small, close-knit school, enough so that it made him pause.

“So you understand our true
purpose here?” the unfamiliar voice was asking.

There was silence for a few
moments, then, “You’ve come for the boy.” It was Talean.

“We have. The Northwarden thought
it was time.”

Davian frowned. The Northwarden –
the king’s brother and head of the Administrators? What were they talking
about?

Talean spoke again. “I would hope
so. I heard about the school at Arris.”

“Dasari was hit too.” A different
stranger's voice this time, a woman's, her tone grim. “A hundred or so dead,
and no-one saw anything.”

Talean let out a long breath. “I
am sorry to hear that.”

There was a grunt, evidently from
someone dubious about the Administrator's sincerity. “Tell me. What are your defences
like here?”

“Three guards at the gate at all
times. Usually an Elder and two senior students, or three students if need be.
The castle walls are warded; if anyone tries to scale them, the Elders know
straight away.” There was a pause. “You think there should be more?”