The Shadow Of What Was Lost (49 page)

Immense pain tore through him.

A scream ripped from his throat
as he fell to the ground. Every nerve ending in his body felt like it was being
burned by ice, and his eyes felt like someone was scraping hot knives across
them. He could feel his ribs expanding, his bones growing, his muscles
contorting themselves into position around his changing ligaments. His skin
stretched until it felt as though it would break apart. He tasted blood.

Then it was over. He lay on the
cold stone floor for several minutes, drifting in and out of consciousness, his
mind trying to recover from what had just happened. Eventually he forced
himself to kneel, then stand. He shuffled unsteadily on shaky legs that were
longer than he was used to. He was taller; everything seemed just a little further
down than normal.

Despite the aches, despite the
memory of the fierce, unimaginable pain, he smiled to himself. It had worked.

He hurried down a corridor into a
room which he knew contained a mirror. As he came within sight of his
reflection, he froze, staring in horror.

His features, his body, were
normal enough. But they were not Wirr’s.

The reflection in the mirror was
of an older man, at least in his thirties. He had dirty blond hair and was of a
size with Wirr, but there the similarities ended. He had a hooked nose and
small, beady black eyes. When Davian tried to smile, his lips curled upward
into a sneer instead. His skin was weather-beaten rather than tanned – the skin
of a sailor, perhaps? Whomever the man was, Davian was quite certain he had
never seen him before.

Davian scowled as he continued to
examine his new visage. This man had facial scars too; if anything, they stood
out more than Davian's. That had been one of the fantasies he’d had about
shapeshifting. He could finally wear a face that wasn’t marred.

“Davian? Where are you?” It was
Malshash calling out, apparently having returned sooner than expected. Either
that, or Davian had been unconscious longer than he’d realised.

For a second he considered trying
to turn back, to hide what he’d done. But he knew immediately that it would not
work, and was too dangerous besides. He was probably fortunate to have survived
the first transition alone. He needed Malshash’s help to return to his normal
body.

He slowly walked back down the
corridor to the main chamber. Malshash was laying out some food on a nearby
table, his back turned.

“I’m here,” said Davian,
flinching as the voice emanating from his throat was deeper, huskier than his
own.

Malshash whirled in alarm. Before
Davian knew what was happening he was frozen to the spot, unable to move,
though he could feel no bindings holding him in place. He stared at Malshash
pleadingly.

“It’s me,” he said, hanging his
head. “I shapeshifted. I… I’m sorry.”

There was silence. Davian raised
his head again to find Malshash just looking at him, seeming more horrified
than angry.

“Whose form is this?” asked
Malshash eventually, sounding shaken.

Davian grimaced. “I’m not sure. I
pictured my friend Wirr, but ended up like this. They look vaguely similar, but
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this man before.”

Malshash swallowed, looking
disturbed. He waved his hand in the air, and Davian found he could move again.
“You must have seen him before,” Malshash said softly. “There is no other
explanation.” He seemed… off. Not just concerned, or shocked. He appeared
suddenly wary of Davian. As if he’d arrived expecting a mouse and instead found
a lion.

Davian shrugged. Even without the
odd sensation of being in someone else’s skin, he didn’t like this body at all.
It ached everywhere, particularly the fingers, which he could barely move
without a dull pain shooting through his hand. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his
tone heavy with contrition. “It was a foolish thing to do. And it
hurt
.”
He scratched his head. “Can you help me change back? Preferably without the
pain this time,” he added with a shallow smile.

Malshash shook his head. “If you
did this safely one way, all you need to do is picture your own face and do the
same.” He sighed. “As for the pain… I’m afraid that’s unavoidable. It happens
every time you change.”

Davian paled. He desperately
didn’t want to go through that again.

Then he realised what Malshash
was saying.

“But that means….” His eyes
widened. “You do that
every day
?”

Malshash grunted. “It certainly
wakes me up in the morning.”

“But why?” exclaimed Davian. The
thought of facing that pain each and every day chilled him to his core. “Why
not just return to your own form?”

Malshash sighed. “I’ve already
told you, Davian. I need it to hide, and my own shapeshifting ability is next
to useless. The talent I have for it now was taken from Ath herself. If I don’t
use it once during each day, it will return to her and I will be discovered...
not to mention stuck in whatever form I happen to be in at the time.” He
shrugged dismissively. “Believe me, if there was a better choice I would take
it in a heartbeat.”

Davian gave a reluctant nod. “I
suppose I should just get this over and done with, then.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. It’s probably safer if
someone is watching over me.”

Malshash inclined his head,
moving over to a nearby chair and taking a seat.

As Malshash had indicated, the
process of shapeshifting was just as painful in reverse. By the time the echoes
of Davian’s screams had faded from the Great Library, though, he found himself
fully aware of his surroundings. That was one thing, at least. The
disorientation was not so bad changing back.

Malshash walked over to where he
lay, offering his hand and dragging Davian to his feet. “You’re back,” he confirmed
after a moment. He shook his head in amazement. “You pick things up so quickly
it’s frightening, Davian.” His expression hardened. “But never try something
like that again. Understand? These early lessons are by far the most dangerous.
You may not kill yourself, but there are plenty of ways you could be badly
injured playing around with kan.”

Davian bowed his head. “Of
course,” he said in a penitent tone, his face burning. Inwardly, he kicked
himself for his impatient overconfidence. Malshash had said these powers took a
year and a day
each
to learn under normal circumstances. His teacher
knew how important it was for Davian to grasp them; Malshash was pushing as
hard as he thought possible. Davian had to trust him.

Malshash clapped Davian on the
back. “I think this afternoon we should revisit what we’ve done so far. Make
sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”

Davian smiled. “You mean I should
slow down for a few hours.” He shrugged. “Agreed.”

They sat down to eat the meal
Malshash had brought. Davian wolfed down his generous portion of food, a little
surprised at the end that his stomach was still growling. He’d been eating more
and more the last few days, but it never seemed to satisfy his hunger. Still,
he’d been working harder than he ever had before. No doubt it was simply a side
effect of that.

They eventually resumed their
work, Malshash acting as if nothing untoward had happened that morning. Still,
to begin with, the image of the stranger’s face in the mirror bothered Davian
from time to time. He was
sure
he’d never seen the man before. There had
to be a good explanation for it.

Eventually he became engrossed in
the drills Malshash had set him, forgetting about it and all his other troubles
for a time.

He didn’t even pay any attention
to Malshash’s occasional glances towards him. Uncertain. Contemplating.

Worried.

Wirr stretched nervously.

Though he’d already begun to
suspect, Taeris had just informed them that they were now less than a
half-day’s travel away from Ilin Illan. The place where he’d grown up; the
place where he was not simply Wirr, but Torin Wirrander Andras, prince of the
realm. People would be bowing and scraping whenever he was around. They would
always smile at him, even if it was through gritted teeth. He was leaving a
world and a life he loved to return to one where most people he met wore a
mask.

He’d begun seeing familiar
landmarks over the past couple of days. They’d passed the Eloin Marshes this
morning; yesterday they’d travelled through the mid-sized town of Goeth, where
he had distant relatives with estates. Now, in the distance, the tip of Ilin
Tora was just barely visible against the horizon. Every step he took felt
heavier with reluctant inevitability. He’d known this day would come, though
he’d wished against it constantly.

“Which problem are you worrying
about?” came a soft voice at his side.

He started, whipping his head
around. Dezia was walking beside him, looking torn between amusement and
concern.

He smiled at her, though he knew
the effort was a weak one at best. “I’m trying to give them all a fair shot at
ruining my day,” he said lightly. He couldn’t help but widen his smile as the
corners of Dezia’s mouth turned upward. A moment later he looked away, feeling
like he'd been punched in the stomach. Being home meant seeing Dezia far less,
too. If at all.

“Which one is winning at the
moment?” she asked.

Wirr grunted, glancing around.
They were slightly separate from the others, able to have a conversation
without being in danger of anyone overhearing. “Going back to court,” he
admitted. “Pretending to be someone I'm not.”

Dezia’s eyebrow raised a little.
“As opposed to the last few years?”

Wirr sighed. “You know what I
mean. I won’t even be able to look sideways at one of the Gifted for the next few
years. And there will be... other restrictions on what I can do, too. Who I can
spend time with.”

Dezia nodded slowly. "I
know." She gave a small smile. "Though that doesn't mean you won't
run into people. Coincidentally."

Wirr grinned. "Certainly.
Sometimes you can't avoid running into people," he agreed readily. His
smile faded. "But still... it won't be the same as out here." He
shook his head in frustration. “I won’t even be able to help to find out what
happened at the school. It will be nothing but lessons in politics, and maybe
military tactics, for the foreseeable future.”

“As long as there
is
a
foreseeable future,” observed Dezia, " the rest will work itself
out." She reached over and squeezed his arm, a reassuring touch.

Wirr gave a grim nod in response.
The past couple of days they had been moving very much against the flow of
travellers; the closer they got to the city, the more people there seemed to be
leaving it. Many were hauling carts and wagons filled to the brim with personal
items. Some said they were leaving the city only as a precaution against the
oncoming army, and expected to return once word came that the king’s forces had
defeated the enemy. But others were not so certain.

“Do you believe what people are
saying about the invaders?” he asked. “That they're stronger and faster than
normal men should be?”

Dezia shrugged. “I’m not sure. On
one hand, it’s only a rumour, and it could be blown entirely out of proportion
– I doubt we can trust what Jashel and Llys told us. On the other... we saw
ourselves what they’re capable of. They obviously have
some
powers.” She
sighed. “It is going to be a difficult time for your uncle.”

Wirr nodded. They had already
heard murmurs against the king - rumours suggesting he had started to take a
hard line against the Gifted, just when he should be courting them and
considering the possibility of modifying the Tenets. It was hard to know how
much was true, and how much was just people's nervousness - it was only
grumbling, the odd word here and there - but the message was clear enough.
People were frightened by what they'd heard of the Blind. They wanted the
invaders defeated by any means possible.

“Whatever the Blind are, it
sounds like what we saw was hardly the worst of what they've done,” Wirr noted.
Word had begun to trickle in a couple of days ago from those refugees who were
brave, or foolish, enough to come to Ilin Illan to help fight. Villages burned
to the ground, entire towns razed. Men, women and children – regardless of
whether they resisted, fled or surrendered – being slaughtered and left for the
animals. “I hope we’re making the right choice, going back to the city.”

“Given the circumstances, it’s
the only thing we can do.” It was Taeris interjecting; he'd drifted closer to
them and had evidently overheard. He lowered his voice, looking at Wirr.
“Before we reach Fedris Idri, Caeden and I will need to part ways with the rest
of you.”

Wirr nodded; he'd known it would
probably be necessary. “If there's any way I can help....”

Taeris shook his head, looking up
ahead at the steadily growing silhouette of Ilin Tora. “No. Needless to say,
Wirr, even though it’s been a few years and my face has… changed, once inside
the city I’ll need to tread lightly. I was known to a lot of the
Administrators. If I’m caught... well, the last thing you need is to be
associated with me.”

Wirr acknowledged the advice with
a nod, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Taeris was right; he
couldn’t afford to be found travelling with any of the Gifted, let alone with two
accused of murder.

“Still. There must be something I
can do, even if it's not directly,” he said. “My name won’t carry much weight
in political circles just yet, but Karaliene will be back from Desriel by now.
I can probably convince her to use her connections, put pressure on the Council
to help you, should things not go well at the Tol.”

Taeris raised an eyebrow. “To do
that, you would need to tell her that Caeden and I were in the city. And she
didn't exactly take a shine to us when we last met.”

Wirr nodded. “True - but a lot
has changed since Thrindar. You warned us about the Boundary weakening before
the invasion began, and that will count for something. I know my father and
uncle won't believe a word of your theory, but Karaliene's always made up her
own mind about things. I think I can convince her."

Taeris looked dubious, but
nodded. "I leave it to your judgment, Wirr," he said quietly.

“Then I'll try. If you fail at
the Tol, come to the palace and ask for Aelric or Dezia. I'll make sure they know
what to do. At worst, they have to turn you away.”

Taeris clapped Wirr on the
shoulder. “That’s very generous. I hope it won’t come to that, but should the
Council be unwilling to listen, I’ll take you up on that offer. There won't be
many other places for us to turn, to be honest.”

Wirr inclined his head. “I’ll
also be listening for any notable arrests in the city. If the worst should
happen and you get caught, I’ll see what I can do with Administration. It will
be risky, but aside from anything else, getting Caeden’s memories restored is
too important at the moment.”

Taeris smiled slightly. “You’re a
handy man to have around, Wirr.” He glanced over at Caeden. “I should let him
know what to expect, I suppose,” he murmured to himself, detaching himself from
the group.

Wirr took a deep breath, glancing
across at Dezia. “So I suppose this is it. Everything changes,” he said, tone
grim despite his best efforts. Ilin Tora was now clearly visible up ahead; Wirr
could even make out the gap in the mountains where Fedris Idri lay.

Dezia nodded, almost to herself.
“Everything changes,” she repeated quietly.

***

Caeden looked up as Taeris tapped
him on the shoulder.

"We're nearly at the
city," the scarred man informed him. "We should talk about what's
going to happen next."

Caeden nodded. "I'd been
wondering." He'd already gathered that Taeris was not on the best of terms
with the Tol, and actively wanted by Administration. The end of their trip was
going to be no easier than the rest of it, it seemed.

"First, we're going to split
up from the others soon. Before we reach the city."

Caeden frowned. "Why?"

Taeris shrugged. "Justified
or not, we've been accused of crimes, and the others have not. Aelric and Dezia
have reputations to protect, and it's in Wirr's best interests if he's not
associated with us either. Starting out in the Tol can be hard enough without
that sort of introduction."

"Oh." It made sense...
still, he felt the slightest sting of betrayal. It was irrational, he knew, but
the others were his closest - only - friends.

Taeris saw his expression and
gave him a sympathetic smile. "It was my decision. I insisted," he
added. "The others understand the logic behind it, but it's not something
they would have asked for."

Caeden opened his mouth to reply.

Without warning, screams split
the air.

Everyone froze as chaos erupted
on the road just ahead of them. Travellers in front of them scattered, fleeing
across fields, away from a figure swathed in black. A figure hard to focus on,
as if somehow deep in shadow despite the noonday sun shining on it.

It was surrounded by bodies –
four, Caeden thought. None of them moved.

Taeris gripped his shoulder. “Get
ready,” he muttered. “There's nowhere to run this time. We can’t beat it
without you.”

The sha’teth was coming now,
walking steadily towards them, though it was covering the distance at an
unnatural speed for its gait. Dezia had already unslung her bow and was
notching an arrow; Caeden watched in stunned fascination as she loosed and the
creature moved smoothly to one side, impossibly fast, the arrow clattering
harmlessly to the road behind it. Aelric was trying to push his way forward,
sword drawn, but to Caeden's relief Wirr dragged the other boy back again.
Steel would have no place in this battle.

In moments, the creature was
standing only twenty feet away.

“You were warned, Taeris Sarr,”
it hissed. Its face was covered by its hood, but Caeden could feel the malice
of its gaze on him. “I told you that all you needed to do was relinquish him,
and no-one else would die. Now, your companions will all pay for your
foolishness.”

Caeden closed his eyes,
concentrating. He knew what to do.

He moved several paces in front
of the others, stretching out his hands towards the sha’teth and tapping his
Reserve.

A torrent of energy exploded from
him, a blinding wave of yellow-white light.
This
was power. He gloried
in the strength he felt, how vivid the colours of the world were, how
right
the feeling was.

He released Essence, panting a
little from the exertion, almost laughing at how easily it had come to him.

Then he stumbled as the memory
crashed into him.

The cold wind of Talan Gol swept
silently through the deserted stone streets, sending a shiver down his spine.
He increased his pace. Seclusion was an area of Ilshan Gathdel Teth where no
living thing survived for long, and powerful though he was, he had no desire to
find out why.

He glanced to his right; Gellen
was walking alongside him, lost in thought, apparently unperturbed by where
they were. That was his way, though. Unflappable, silent unless spoken to but
always observing, always thinking. A strong successor to Chane.

“What do you think?” he asked
Gellen.

Gellen continued as if he hadn’t
heard for a few moments, then sighed. “I think even from here, there must be a
way to use them. To turn their existence to our advantage. The Gifted have no
idea of the powers they are meddling with, creating these sha’teth – I doubt
they would be able to stop us taking their new toys away from them.”

Caeden nodded; he had been thinking
much the same thing. “To do that, He would need to send one of us across.”

Gellen didn't look at him, but
Caeden saw the slightest tensing of muscles in the other man's face. “Dangerous
ground, Tal’kamar,” he said softly.

Caeden grimaced, but nodded. It
was
dangerous ground. Still.
“Vote for me.”

“I’ve voted for you the last
three times. People are beginning to talk. He is already suspicious.”

Caeden shrugged. “That doesn’t
matter. We can’t create sha’teth ourselves, and won’t be able to until the power
of the ilshara has been broken. When that happens, the attack will already be
underway. The Andarrans have five of them. Five! If they still control them
when the time comes, what do you think will happen to our forces?” He paused.
“I am the only one who can do this, Gellen. You know that.”

Gellen grunted noncommittally,
but Caeden knew his point had been made. They walked on in silence for a while,
then Gellen said, “He thinks you are planning to overthrow him, you know.”