The Shadow Of What Was Lost (53 page)

Suddenly it came crashing in on
him. What had happened. What he’d done. He dropped to his knees and vomited,
retching until his stomach was empty. Once he was finished, he stood shakily
and kept walking to the castle. In a distant kind of way, he knew he was in
shock.

A crowd of people were waiting
for him outside the gates, but he pushed by them, barely even hearing their
questions or meaningless offerings of sympathy. He moved straight past them
back to where his wife’s body lay. Someone had moved her from the gutter,
laying her in the middle of the courtyard, her hands carefully folded over her
breasts. Despite the position, she looked anything but peaceful. Her dress,
torn and bloodied, told the true story.

He stood over her, looking down
vacantly. Inside, he felt… nothing. An emptiness so profound that it made it
difficult to breathe. It was all so meaningless. She was gone, gone in a moment
and suddenly nothing that was to come mattered any more.

“No.” The word came from his
throat unbidden. He knelt, cupping her cheek with his hand. “No.”

He reached deep inside, drawing
once again on Essence. Despite all his efforts tonight, his Reserve was nearly
full again. But he knew somehow, instinctively, that even with all his powers
he could never generate enough Essence to bring her back. He needed more. So
much more.

He reached out. He could feel the
Essence all around him, everywhere in the castle and its surrounds. The trees
and grass. The torches on the walls.

The people.

There was no time to think; every
second he delayed made it harder to bring her back. He drew in Essence, then
let it flow into Ell. Her entire body glowed with the soft yellow light, but it
wasn’t nearly enough. As his Reserve came close to dry, he started pulling
Essence from around him. Vaguely, he could sense the grass withering; in the
distance over the wind he could hear trees collapsing to the ground. The
torches winked out around the castle one by one.

It was still not enough.

There was a scream from somewhere
in the castle as the first person fell, dead, drained of their Essence. Screams
started up elsewhere, but they were cut off as Davian snatched away their life
force, taking it into himself and then letting it flow into Ell. In his mind,
the area became darker and darker, until there was no Essence left. No life.
Nothing but him.

He’d drained his Reserve long
ago, but he knew there was more. He was so close; he could almost see her
breathing again, could almost see a tinge of red returning to her smooth
cheeks. He tapped into his own Essence, the force that was sustaining his body.
All he had left.

He felt his limbs growing numb;
his hand slipped from Ell’s cheek, the link finally broken. Had it worked? He
strained to see her face, her chest, anything that might indicate if she were
alive. But he was so tired.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was
back in Deilannis opposite Malshash. He stood there for a long moment, aghast,
unsure what to say. Malshash wore a similar expression, though his was mixed
with something that sent a shiver of fear through Davian. White-hot anger.

Davian blinked, suddenly making a
connection. Malshash’s form today was familiar. The man from the wedding, the
one who had tried to comfort him. Ilrin.

It took him only a moment longer
to make other connections. None he could put names to, but many he remembered
clearly. All of them men whose form, at one time or another over the last
couple of weeks, Malshash had chosen to take.

Malshash just stood for a few
more moments, staring at Davian, panting as if he had been running a race.

“Prepare yourself, Davian,” he
snarled eventually. “You leave this place today.”

He spun without another word,
stalking off down the road and into the mists.

Davian bit at his fingernails.

He sat on the steps at the
entrance to the Jha’vett; he assumed this was where Malshash would find him,
though the shapeshifter hadn’t said so explicitly. Several times in the last
couple of hours he’d considered going to search him out, but each time he
thought of it, he remembered the expression on his teacher’s face.

Davian shivered again at the
memory of what he’d seen. Not just seen -
experienced
. Davian had lived
Malshash’s grief, lived his rage. The emotions had been more powerful, more
raw, than anything he'd ever felt. He knew that what Malshash had done was
horribly, horribly wrong. Yet he had
been
Malshash, felt the
irresistible need to mete out justice, to try everything –
anything
– to
bring back his wife.

It made him sick to his stomach
every time he thought of it, and yet somehow, he also understood.

He suspected he now knew
Malshash’s reason for being in Deilannis, too. The shapeshifter had been trying
to do exactly what Davian had done and travel to the past - except Malshash had
thought to
change
his past, and Davian’s arrival had apparently proven
that he could not. Though it was hardly his fault, Davian felt a sliver of
guilt for denying Malshash that hope.

After a few more minutes a figure
emerged from the mists, trudging down the road towards him. Davian stood as
Malshash approached. The shapeshifter still wore the same face, but somehow
looked as if he had aged terribly. His gait was unsteady, weary, his expression
sad rather than angry.

Malshash stopped a little
distance away from Davian, unable to meet his gaze, preferring instead to stare
at the ground.

“So. Now you know,” he said. “I
am sorry you had to see that.”

Davian blinked. He had expected a
tongue-lashing at best. “I’m sorry I pried where I had no right,” he said,
genuine remorse in his tone.

Malshash barked a short laugh.
Then he shook his head, sighing, any trace of amusement vanished. “I should
probably say the same thing.” He walked up to Davian, and before Davian could
react, Malshash’s hand was on his forehead.

He gasped as a cold sensation
washed through him, sharp but brief. When Malshash removed his hand, the world
suddenly seemed both clearer and duller.

“What did you do?” Davian
demanded.

“I removed my influence from your
mind,” said Malshash, sounding tired.

Davian gaped at him. “You’ve been
Controlling me?” He took a step forward angrily. “All this time?”

“No.” Malshash looked guilty, but
his tone was firm. “Not Controlling. Influencing. Feeding.
Focusing
.” He
gave a small smile. “Your mind is exceptional, Davian, have no doubt about
that. But no-one can learn what you have learnt in a couple of weeks. Not
without help.”

Davian opened his mouth to
protest, but was suddenly struck by just how hard he’d been studying and
practicing. He had been sleeping one, maybe two hours a day, and hadn’t
questioned it. The oddity of it hit him. He knew that it had before, too –
remembered thinking it curious before now – but somehow, he’d never been
motivated to follow up on the thought.

“You’ve been keeping me awake.
Alert,” he said, some of his initial anger dissipating.

Malshash shrugged. “That, and
keeping you focused on the task at hand. A little too focused, apparently.” He
shook his head, chagrined. “You have a hundred different questions about the
things I know. Some of them I wouldn’t answer, the rest I couldn’t, and none of
that was going to be conducive to your studies. With the time we had, Davian,
you couldn’t just get no answers. You had to forget there were questions.” He
screwed up his face. “I truly am sorry, but you needed to be ready. If I hadn’t
done this, you wouldn’t have had a chance of surviving the trip back through
the rift.”

Davian clenched his fists. Some
of those questions were already coming back to him, and he didn’t know which
ones to ask first. “At least tell me one thing.”

Malshash gave him a wary look.
“It depends on the question,” he warned.

“You said that you stole your
shapeshifting ability from the Ath. That you gave up your ability to See.” He
gestured in confusion. “I’ve read nothing like that, anywhere, in the library.
I’ve never heard of it even being
possible
. These abilities are all just
applications of kan, aren’t they? If you can do one, why not another?”

Malshash rubbed his chin. “That
is too complicated a question to answer properly right now,” he said. “The
short version is, it’s just a very complex use of Control. I’m linked to the
part of the Ath’s mind that understands shapeshifting – not the theoretical
knowledge, but what you would call the talent, her unique mixture of instinct
and experience. When I shapeshift, I use both her talent and my own. When she
tries to shapeshift, she hits a kind of mental barrier. As long as I hold the
link, it’s like at a very deep level, she just can’t grasp how to do it.”

Davian gave a thoughtful nod,
accepting the explanation. “And when you gave up Foresight?”

“It was the same," admitted
Malshash. "I could try to See right now, but it simply wouldn’t work - any
natural sense I have for it is completely blocked.”

“But why? Why give away your
ability?” He frowned. “And to whom?”

Malshash sighed. “I gave it away
because of what you saw before,” he said quietly. “Seeing can work in both
directions, forwards and backwards. Not many people know that. Most people with
the talent are naturally focused on what is to come. But I….” He shook his head.
“When I See, I go back there. I was reliving it, again and again, every time I
closed my eyes. I couldn’t make it stop any other way.” He paused. “Whom I gave
it to is not your concern, though.”

Davian opened his mouth, but
grunted as another attack punched into him. It felt like his stomach was eating
itself from the inside. He doubled over, gasping for breath. He knew it would
pass – there had been three since he’d begun waiting for Malshash – but they
seemed to be increasing in intensity.

Malshash watched him, looking
troubled. “There’s no more time, Davian. We need to do this now.”

Davian nodded, following Malshash
into the building and along the long corridor. As they walked, more and more
questions filled Davian’s head. He scowled to himself.

“Tell me one last thing before I
leave,” he said.

Malshash hesitated, then nodded.
“Very well.”

“Why do you wear the faces of the
people at the wedding. The ones who….”

“The ones I killed,” finished
Malshash. He looked at Davian with an expression of immense sadness. “You
haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

“Figured out what?”

Malshash hesitated. “A
shapeshifter can only take the form of someone who is dead,” he said
eventually.

“Oh.” Davian lapsed into silence.
Malshash was watching him expectantly, but Davian didn’t know how he was
supposed to react to that news. Idly, he wondered again about the identity of
the blond-haired man he had changed into. Whomever it had been was dead? It
didn’t bring him any closer to determining who it was. He wondered why Malshash
had thought it so important to hide that detail from him.

They were in the enormous room
now, and Davian could see the Jha’vett itself, lit up between the columns. As
they approached, Malshash reached beneath his cloak and drew something out – an
object that fit into the palm of his hand, shining slightly even in the dull
light. They stopped just short of the altar, and Malshash held out the object
for Davian to see.

“We need to do one last thing
before you go.”

Davian stared in disbelief. The
small bronze box gleamed, the strange symbols on it as alien as ever to his
eyes. He stepped forward, snatching it from Malshash’s grasp and examining it
closely.

There could be no doubt. This was
the same Vessel that had guided him to Caeden.

He shook it at Malshash.
“Explain.”

Malshash shook his head.
"There's no time." He put one hand over the box and the other on
Davian’s forehead; there was a flash of energy, a warmth flowing through him
for a moment. Without asking, Davian knew that Malshash had just linked him to
the box.

Davian just stared at him,
incredulous. "You lied to me, didn't you. You said you didn't know
anything about my future... but that was before you showed me how to see lies
through a shield."

Malshash didn't deny it, tucking
the box back into his pocket. He faced Davian, looking him in the eye.

"I tell you this, I tell you
everything - and that's not safe for either of us. The only secrets a mind
cannot give up are those it doesn't know," he said softly. "You
taught me that, Davian."

Davian looked at him, head
spinning. "
I
taught you -"

Another attack hit him without
warning and he cut off, falling to his knees. Pain ripped through his stomach,
his chest. He felt like he might burst open at any moment.

Malshash ran to him, looping a
supporting arm under him and steadying him. They made their way over to the
altar. Malshash helped Davian to sit on it, then held his hand out, palm up.
Davian reluctantly slipped the silver ring off his finger.

So this was it. The moment had
finally come. His stomach hurt too much to feel the butterflies, but he knew
they were there.

“Just tell me,” groaned Davian,
not taking his eyes from the ring. “Should I be trying to get that box to
Caeden - the man it leads me to in my time?”

“Yes,” snapped Malshash, his tone
impatient. "Now clear your mind, Davian. It's time to concentrate."

Davian gritted his teeth - he had
so many more questions he wanted to ask - but he gave a reluctant nod. He knew
that aside from the training he’d been doing, there was no real way to prepare
for what was coming. Even Malshash had admitted that everything he knew of the
rift was theoretical. Davian was probably the only person to ever survive it,
and now he had to do it again.

Malshash placed the ring on the
ground, then knelt and put his hand over it. He hesitated, though, twisting so
he could look up at Davian.

“I have something I need you to
remember. A message from me,” he said. “That it was worth it. It changed me.
And… I am so very sorry.”

Davian frowned, repeating the
message as he noticed a glow beginning to shine out from beneath Malshash’s
hand. “Who is it for?”

Malshash didn’t reply for a few
moments, then lifted his hand. All that remained of the ring was a small pool
of molten metal on the ground. He stood, turning towards Davian. Even as he
moved, Davian realised he was beginning to fade.

“It’s for you, Davian,” said
Malshash softly. "You'll understand one day."

The grey torrent washed him from
view. Davian was once again within the rift.

***

The river of grey nothingness was
just as terrifying as before, but this time Davian’s mind reacted with
instinctive discipline. After the first few moments of chaos, he found himself
concentrating, focusing on the flow rather than struggling to break free of it.
As he did so it seemed to slow, until it was a gentle stream rather than a
raging river. He hovered within it, not comfortably, but no longer fearful of
being torn apart by the raw power of this place.

He floated for a moment, or an
hour, or a day – there was no way to tell, here. The longer he looked, the more
he could see differences in the grey. A lighter patch here, a darker section
there. Places he could go, if he so wished.
Times
he could go to.

But that was not where the flow
was taking him. Time was trying to correct itself; though Malshash had not said
so, it seemed only logical to Davian that the forces within the rift would
therefore try to take him back to where he was supposed to be. So he passed by
the distinct sections he made out – portals, as he thought of them – and waited
patiently for a sign.

When that sign came, it was
unmistakable. To one side, the greys were banished by a shining light, so
bright that it reminded him of pure Essence. He pushed himself forward, not
struggling, but guiding himself towards the light. He reached out to touch it.

He groaned.

How long had he been lying there?
The stone was cold and rough against his cheek. His body felt drained, and
hunger and thirst stabbed at him everywhere. He rolled, trying to get his
bearings.

Nihim's sightless eyes stared at
him glassily.

The pool of blood surrounding him
had dried long ago, now black and flaky where Davian was lying in it. Davian
stared sadly at the priest’s body, the memories of what had happened rushing
back. Somehow, he’d hoped Nihim had survived, had miraculously been saved. It
shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the priest had bled out on the ground
next to him, but it did.