The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 24

Wirr took a deep breath, heart still hammering.

He threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, relieved to see that the mists had finally hidden the sha’teth and their unsettling stares from view. He slowed his pace a little, breathing evening out as the end of the bridge became visible up ahead. A flight of stairs led sharply downward; below, stretching away into the fog, the rooftops of hundreds of abandoned buildings were barely discernible through the haze.

Taeris came to a gradual halt at the top of the stairs, and everyone followed suit. Wirr gave an involuntary cough as he stared into the city. The atmosphere here was thicker, damp and hard to breathe. The mood of Deilannis was even heavier and more oppressive than it had looked from the outside.

“Are we safe?” Wirr asked Taeris.

Taeris looked around at the foreboding mists, then nodded, though his expression was still grim. “From the sha’teth, at least.”

Dezia shivered, walking up to stand beside Wirr. “What if we get through, and they’re waiting for us on the other side?”

“They won’t be. There’s not a crossing for at least two hundred miles in any direction. Even with their speed, it would take them several days to get there.” Taeris paused, then rummaged around in his bag, producing four Shackles. “Before we go any further….”

Wirr sighed. “They’re really necessary?”

“We’ve already talked about this,” said Taeris, his tone firm. “You all need to wear one. The Contract will let me sense you - if we get separated, it’s the only way I’ll be able to find you.”

Aelric looked at the Shackle with obvious distaste. “I’m still worried about what happens if you don’t find us. I don’t want to wear that thing for the rest of my life.”

Taeris gave a long-suffering sigh. “If I don’t find you then either I will be dead, in which case the Shackle will come off of its own accord, or you will be dead, in which case you won’t terribly mind.”

Dezia pushed past her brother, rolling up her sleeve. “We know. We’re happy to do it,” she said, glaring at Aelric.

Taeris nodded as if there had been no issue, touching the Shackle to Dezia’s wrist. The young woman stared as the torc sealed itself, touching it lightly. “I don’t feel any different,” she reassured Aelric.

Aelric hesitated, then reluctantly submitted himself to the same process. He gave an irritable tug at the twisted metal band once it was on, but did not appear to suffer any ill effects. Davian followed, and then Taeris held up the last Shackle to Wirr, gesturing for him to come forward.

“What about Nihim?” asked Wirr, realising the priest didn’t have one.

Taeris shook his head. “There aren’t enough Shackles.” He turned to Nihim. “If you’re separated….”

“It’s okay,” said Nihim. “I’ve studied maps of Deilannis. If it happens, I can figure out the way through.”

Taeris and Nihim exchanged a look, so brief that Wirr immediately wondered if he’d imagined it. Then Taeris was turning back to him. “Your turn.”

Wirr sighed. He hated Shackles. He wasn’t as badly affected as some Gifted, but whenever he wore one he still felt significantly slower, weaker. He held out his arm, and Taeris touched the torc to it.

Pain lanced through Wirr’s head.

He gave an involuntary cry as his knees buckled; he scrabbled desperately at the metal as it slithered around his arm, trying his utmost to rip it off. It was hard to breathe…

And then he was lying on the cool, smooth stone of the bridge. He took a few long, shaky breaths, vision clearing to see everyone crowded around him, their faces taut with concern. Taeris was kneeling at his side, the Shackle back in his hand, his face pale.

“Wirr. Can you hear me?” Taeris asked urgently. “Are you okay?”

Wirr groaned, elevating himself on one elbow. “A little dizzy, but… I think I’ll be fine.”

Taeris exhaled in relief. “Good.” His brow furrowed. “What happened? Have you ever had a reaction like that to a Shackle before?”

“Never.” Wirr climbed to his feet with Davian’s assistance. “I sometimes get a little shaky or nauseous, but that was….” He shook his head, lost for words.

There was silence for a few moments.

“Should we be wearing these?” Aelric asked nervously.

“Whatever happened to Wirr, happened as soon as he put the Shackle on. You’ll be fine,” said Taeris, waving away the question. His eyes never left Wirr.

“I think I’m going to have to risk Deilannis without a Shackle,” noted Wirr, still a little groggy.

“I think you are,” agreed Taeris. “Just… don’t try to use Essence while we’re in the city. Under any circumstances.”

Wirr frowned. “I thought you said it has no effect here.”

“It doesn’t. And we have no idea why.” Taeris rubbed his forehead. “For all we know, it’s by design. Essence could be dangerous here, somehow.”

“Or it could attract whatever guards this place,” pointed out Caeden.

“Exactly.” Taeris acknowledged Caeden with a nod. “Regardless of the reasons – if you’re not going to be wearing a Shackle….”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Wirr.

“Good.” Taeris gave him an appraising look. “Can you walk?”

Wirr nodded; his head still ached, but everything else seemed to be functioning normally. “I’ll be fine.”

Taeris turned to Nihim, holding out the Shackle in his hand and raising an eyebrow.

“Not a chance,” said Nihim firmly.

Taeris gave the ghost of a smile. “Then we should move.” He turned to the others. “Keep the talking to a minimum. Whatever’s in here, we want to do as little as possible to attract its attention.”

Without anything further, they headed down the stairs from the bridge and into the city itself.

After a few minutes of walking in uneasy silence, Wirr found himself next to Taeris. “So you’ve been through the city from Narut,” he said conversationally, trying to provide himself with a distraction.

Taeris gave an absent nod, never pausing in his scanning of the road ahead. “The Narut and Desriel bridges are actually quite close together,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, the Andarran bridge is on the other side of the city. According to the maps, anyway.”

“You’ve never been there?” Wirr kept his voice low, but he couldn’t stop it from taking on a slightly panicked note. “How can you be sure you know the way?”

Taeris shrugged. “Now you mention it, I’m not sure I even recognise the layout of these streets. Don’t tell the others, but I think we may be lost.”

Wirr’s eyes widened, then narrowed as the corners of Taeris' mouth twitched upward for a brief moment, betraying the scarred man’s amusement at Wirr’s expense.

“That was not funny,” Wirr grumbled.

Taeris did not take his eyes off the road ahead. “It was a little funny. Now be quiet.”

Wirr lapsed into silence.

Despite his admission, Taeris walked the route they were taking with confidence, and whenever he made a turn it seemed to be because he recognised certain landmarks along the way. They progressed in almost complete silence, none of them straying further than the reach of the torches, fixing their eyes on the road ahead. Everyone walked with their heads slightly bowed, as if trying to ignore the buildings on the edge of their peripheral vision.

Wirr found himself doing the same; looking too closely at his surroundings only fed his unease. Every road was clean and every building looked as if it were newly made, with not a hint of rot or decay. As if they were being maintained.

“I’m beginning to think the sha’teth had the right idea,” he whispered to Davian. “This place makes my skin crawl.”

A sharp look from Nihim silenced Davian before he could reply, and they pressed on mutely.

They made their way mainly along the one road, which was wide enough that their torchlight barely penetrated the mists as far as its edges. Soon they came to a giant archway which, like the rest of the city, was still wholly intact. Sitting atop the arch itself was a pike; impaled on it sat a leering skull, the bleached white seeming to glow in the surrounding gloom. It was the only skeletal remains they had seen since entering the city.

Wirr felt a chill as he looked at it. There was something… wrong about it, aside from the obvious. Something disturbing, though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Davian had noticed it too. “Creepy,” he muttered to Wirr, shivering.

Caeden stepped towards them, having overheard. “This is the entrance to the inner city,” he said, staring at the skull. “The Door of Iladriel. When we pass through, we will be in Deilannis proper.”

Wirr raised an eyebrow at him. “How do you know that?”

Caeden shrugged. “I just do,” he said distantly, gaze shifting to the stone structure itself. Then he frowned, turning to Taeris. “I… would not have thought this was the fastest way to the Andarran bridge.”

Taeris had stopped in front of the archway. He looked at Caeden for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable. “You’re right,” he said. “This is the southern entrance to the inner city. I only know the way from maps – the originals of which are almost two thousand years old. I didn’t want to get lost.”

“What lies in there?” asked Aelric, eyes searching the darkness beyond the archway for any sign of movement.

Taeris shook his head. “No-one knows. I don’t believe anyone has passed through this part of the city since Devaed’s time.”

The group was silent as they digested this information. “We could go back,” suggested Dezia.

Taeris shook his head. “The sha’teth are not fools. They will have split up, one of them staying on the Desriel side to ensure we don’t double back.”

For a moment everyone hesitated, then Dezia stepped forward.

“Then I suppose we shouldn’t delay,” she said. Before anyone could stop her, she was striding through the archway.

Davian exchanged a look with Wirr. Taking deep breaths to steel themselves, they moved beneath the archway’s grinning skull and into the inner city.

Davian beckoned to Caeden, who was staring at the enormous archway as if mesmerised.

“Caeden!” he hissed in a harried whisper. The sound jerked Caeden into action; the young man took a last look at the archway and hurried after them into the inner city.

Davian took a long glance at the archway himself, wondering what Caeden had been looking at. The Door of Iladriel, he’d called it. A memory. Had there been something else, though? Something he wasn’t telling them?

He shivered again as he looked up at the skull piked atop the stones, white and grinning. If Caeden was concealing something, he was probably doing them a favour.

Everyone was deathly silent now as they walked; Davian often found himself holding his breath, so intent was he on hearing any sound that was out of the ordinary. As they crept closer to the centre of the city, he began to notice subtle changes in their surroundings. The mists thinned, and a grey light gradually became apparent, illuminating everything in drab monochrome. The buildings here were mostly the same as in the outer city, untouched by the ravages of time – however some had smashed windows or doors crumpled inward, and others bore the scars of fire.

Occasionally Davian thought he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, but every time he spun, there was no-one there. He could see his tenseness reflected in the faces of the others, including Taeris. Something about this place felt very wrong.

Soon he began to notice that the structures in this section of the city were less cramped, grander and far more distinctive than the close-packed houses they had already passed.

Dezia suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” she whispered, staring at Caeden. The others stopped too, all turning to Caeden curiously.

The young man bit his lip. “I… know this place,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Despite some uncertainty, there was also excitement in his tone.

He took a couple of steps forward, pointing to an enormous building with giant columns of white marble. “We are in the main street of the city. That is the Great Library of Deilannis.” He pointed to a structure a little further down the road. “That is the Ashac Temple, where worshippers would go each Seventhday to hear the word of the One God preached.” He pointed again, confident now, this time to a wide roadway that curved off to the left. “That road is known as the Scythe. Follow it for another five minutes, and you would come to a massive marketplace.” He smiled, a flush of excitement on his cheeks. “I think from here, I could even guide us to the Northern Bridge.”

Taeris placed his hand on Caeden’s shoulder. “That’s good, lad.” Davian could see a mixture of fascination and concern in his eyes. “I don’t wish to dampen your enthusiasm, but – do you actually recall being here? I’ve not been into the inner city before, but I do recognise many of these buildings from the texts I’ve collected over the years. Are you sure you’re not simply remembering things you’ve read?”

Caeden shook his head, still staring around, absently rubbing at the wolf tattoo on his wrist as he did so. “I don’t think so.”

Taeris gave Caeden a considering look for a few moments, then just nodded. “Let me know if anything else comes back.”

They moved on, drawing ever closer to the centre of the city. Soon they came to a fork in the road, and Taeris led them without hesitation to the left.

Caeden stopped in his tracks.

“Taeris,” he called quietly, uncertainty in his voice. “I think that’s the wrong way.”

Everyone paused, and Taeris turned to Caeden. “I know where I’m going,” he whispered firmly, so that everyone could hear. “I know you think you remember this place, but I am quite certain.”

Caeden didn’t look convinced, but eventually inclined his head. “If you’re certain,” he said, reluctance still clear in his tone.

They walked for a few more minutes until Taeris abruptly signalled a stop, looking up at an unusual structure on the side of the road. It was less a building than a spire, twisting at impossible angles as it stretched skyward and only twenty feet wide at its base, just large enough to accommodate the broad double doors set into its facade. Davian couldn’t quite see, but he suspected it stretched well back from the street.

Suddenly a piercing shriek cut across the silence. Davian spun, trying to determine the direction from which it had come, but all was still.

“What was that?” asked Aelric, his voice thick with apprehension.

Taeris shook his head. “Stay alert,” was all he said, casting a longing glance towards the building. He took a deep, steadying breath. “And stay here. I’ll return soon.”

“What?” whispered Wirr in disbelief. “You’re going in there? Why?”

Taeris didn’t have time to respond before another cry came. This time it was deeper, clearly a man’s voice; the sound was so full of pain that Aelric’s sword was out of its sheath before anyone else could even move. He held it for a moment, wary, scanning the road ahead before slowly sheathing it again. No-one chuckled at the reaction. Davian felt blood pounding in his ears, his muscles tensed.

Then he strangled a yell. He’d been looking at one of the buildings, and for the briefest of moments there had been someone standing in the doorway and staring straight at them. The expression on the man’s face had been… quizzical, with neither alarm nor malice in his gaze.

Then the stranger was gone again. Vanished.

“What?” hissed Taeris, his tone a mixture of fear and anger at the comparative loudness of Davian’s cry.

Davian didn’t take his eyes from the building. “There was a man in that doorway,” he said, gesturing towards where he had seen the figure.

Taeris' eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”

Davian nodded mutely.

Taeris grimaced and looked about to say something else when Caeden gasped, pointing in a different direction. They all spun to see a young woman standing in the middle of the road, looking at them with an expression of curiosity. Taeris made to step towards her, but even as he moved, she was gone again.

“Illusions,” muttered Aelric. His comment was punctuated by another scream, though this one seemed further away.

Taeris shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

Suddenly Wirr let out a roar of warning, and Davian spun to see a figure standing only a few feet away from them. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. At first glance he thought it was a man, though it stood head and shoulders above even Nihim, who was the tallest of the group. Then he saw the reptilian visage, the cold black eyes regarding them with undisguised rage.

Davian’s eyes travelled down its body and he saw that rather than legs, it stood erect on a thick tail that trailed out behind it. Its skin was an oily dark green, almost black in the dull light of Deilannis. Thick, well-muscled arms stretched towards Dezia, who was closest to it.

Everything seemed to happen at once. There was an odd ripple of white light in the grey; Taeris screamed “No!” as the creature turned, distracted, a look of what could only be called surprise on its ugly face. Then it vanished.

Taeris rounded on Wirr, whose hands were still outstretched, his expression frozen in shock. The ripple faded, but Davian could see clearly that it had emanated from his friend’s body.

“You tried to use Essence, didn’t you!” Taeris hissed, looking as though he were about to strike the boy.

Wirr nodded, his face pale.

Balling his hands into fists, Taeris groaned as a cry went up from somewhere in the city. Unlike the other sounds they had heard, this was completely inhuman, a high-pitched keening that made Davian’s blood freeze.

Taeris turned to Caeden, and Davian knew the older man was now genuinely frightened.

“You know the way to the Northern Bridge?” he asked.

“I think so.”

Taeris pushed Caeden into motion, back the way they had come. “Then run.”

Caeden stumbled into a quickly accelerating jog, and Taeris turned to the others. “All of you, follow him and do not let him out of your sight! He knows the way out.”

Caeden was already disappearing down the street, and Davian didn’t need a second invitation. Aelric and Dezia set off at a dead run; Davian was close behind as another shriek sounded, this time much, much closer. Whatever was coming, it was moving faster than should have been possible.

Suddenly he realised that he could not hear Nihim or Taeris behind him. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw Nihim gripping Taeris by the arm, the two men talking in low tones. Davian hesitated, then turned, sprinting back towards them.

“Let me go, Nihim,” said Taeris furiously.

Nihim shook his head. “No.” He tugged on Taeris' arm. “There will be other chances, but if you leave those children to their fate, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Taeris hesitated, his face a mask of frustration. “El damn you.” Then he spun, spotting Davian. “What are you doing?” he bellowed. “I said RUN!” He followed his own advice, and then the three of them were sprinting after the others.

The mist, which had barely been in evidence a moment ago, abruptly thickened to the point where Davian could only see a few feet ahead. Taeris and Nihim were lost to view. Suddenly Davian heard a muffled cry in front of him, and he had to leap to one side to avoid stumbling over a body writhing on the ground.

He stopped, kneeling. It was Nihim; the priest was holding his ankle, face twisted in pain.

There was another cry. The creature couldn’t be more than a few streets away now.

“Can you stand?” Davian asked in an urgent whisper.

Nihim sat up and pushed him hard in the chest. “Run, lad!” he said, wide-eyed. “There’s no point us both dying!”

“Neither of us is going to die.” Davian said the words more as a prayer than encouragement.

The mist was so thick now that even breathing felt difficult; he felt more than saw Nihim’s form, at one point stepping clumsily on the man’s arm. Muttering an apology, he grabbed the priest under his armpits and hauled him into the shelter of the nearest building, wincing as he dragged him over the shattered remains of the door.

This was one of the buildings blackened by fire, though the roof and all the walls were still intact. He propped Nihim up against the nearest wall, facing away from the street and hidden from the view of anything outside. Davian collapsed beside him, trying to slow his breathing, straining for any sound of approaching danger. There was nothing, though. The silence was eerie.

They stayed that way for several seconds. Then the dark mists swirling around them thickened even more and the shriek sounded again, this time so close it seemed to be right on top of them. Davian and Nihim sat motionless, barely daring to breathe.

After a few moments, Davian risked glancing out the door. The mist was getting… darker, eddying and churning until it seemed more like a cloud of black smoke than fog. He shuddered. The swirling darkness spoke of nothing but death and decay.

The air grew colder as Davian watched the darkness coalesce in the middle of the street, distending and contracting until it finally formed itself into the silhouette of a man. It was unlike any man Davian had seen before, though; its skin was completely black and seemed to glisten in the dull grey light. Its hands were curved and elongated, more claw-like than anything else, and its limbs and torso were unnaturally thin.

A horrible snuffling sound erupted from it; it turned and Davian sank back, covering his mouth in horror. Though its face was distorted by the fog, he could see that the creature had no eyes, a mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and a gaping, circular hole where its nose should have been.

It raised its smooth, hairless head. The snuffling sound came again, and Davian realised with mounting terror that it was sniffing out a scent.

Then it opened its mouth wide and keened in triumph, a sound so loud and shrill that Davian and Nihim both had to put their hands over their ears.

It came into the building slowly, deliberately, as if it knew its prey was nearby and didn’t need to rush. It moved for Davian with unhurried, almost lazy steps, a blade coalescing in its hand. In the corner of his mind not consumed by fear, Davian realised that the blade which was about to kill him was the same blade he’d seen the sha’teth use.

Nihim moved before Davian could stop him. He stumbled awkwardly to his feet, throwing himself in between Davian and the creature.

“You cannot have him. He is not supposed to die,” he said, lifting his chin in defiance. “You cannot -”

The blade moved forward in slow motion. Nihim screamed.

The following moments passed in a blur for Davian. Nihim crumpling to the floor, blood spilling from the gaping wound in his stomach. The creature moving forward through the mist as if nothing had happened.

Then it stood in front of him, its hideous, eyeless face studying his. Davian braced himself for the death blow, but the creature stopped, cocking its head and sniffing the air.

“Ilian di,” it said in a low, gravelly voice. It sounded angry, perhaps even disappointed. “Sha di Davian.” Davian’s eyes widened when he heard his name, but he did not move.

Suddenly the creature exploded apart, disintegrating back into its wraithlike form, merging once again with the surrounding mists.

The unnatural, awful chill vanished from the air. They were alone once again.