The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 38

Davian cracked his knuckles, giving Malshash a confident grin.

“I’m ready.”

Malshash smiled, shaking his head. “You’ve spent half your life trying to use Essence. What makes you so sure you can do it now?”

Davian shrugged. “That wasn’t really my fault. I was being taught to look for it in the wrong place,” he pointed out. “At the school, I was always told that the only way to access Essence was to tap into my Reserve - the internal pool of Essence that every Gifted’s body produces. But I’m not Gifted; I don’t even have a Reserve. As an Augur, I needed to be extracting it from the world around me instead.”

Malshash inclined his head. “True enough, but knowing that isn’t even half the battle. You still need to learn to control Essence, to harness it properly. Remember it’s an energy, active, a force in and of itself. Nothing like kan.”

Davian smiled. “I’ve probably studied more about the nature of Essence and how to use it than any Gifted my age,” he said wryly. “I’ve always felt that if I could just access it, I could use it as well as anyone.”

Malshash grinned. “Very well. This is the final skill I can teach you, so let’s see whether your abilities are a match for your confidence.”

Davian took a deep breath and reached out, feeling the kan all around him, permeating everything. It had been almost indistinguishable at first, but now – only a couple of weeks into his training - he could touch it, grasp it almost without needing to think. Malshash never said so, but Davian could see the look in his eyes after he’d picked up the basics of a new skill in an afternoon, an hour. He was good at this. Very good. It came to him as naturally as breathing.

He concentrated, extending his senses using kan, looking for the telltale glow of Essence. Malshash pulsed with it, but he knew better than to try and extract any from him – Davian would likely just end up hurting his teacher by accident.

He focused harder. A little way down the road, he caught the faintest glimpse of a glow through the mists, which seemed especially heavy today. He moved forward, concentrating on the luminescence.

Slowly the haze around the light thinned, revealing a tall oak tree. Its glow was far from bright, but it definitely had Essence running through it. Davian reached out.

Something blocked him.

He pushed against it, gently at first, but with increasing frustration. There was a space of a few metres around the tree that he could not seem to enter with his kan-enhanced senses. He scowled, opening his eyes.

“I can see the Essence flowing through the tree,” he said in irritation, “ but I can’t get to it.”

Malshash crossed his arms, a smile threatening to creep onto his face. “But you were so confident a moment ago.”

Davian made a face at him. “Fine. I don’t know everything yet,” he said in as humble a voice as he could muster. “What am I doing wrong?”

Malshash raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t wonder how there are trees growing here, healthy and well-maintained?”

Davian looked again. Sure enough, the oak trees lining the street were neatly trimmed; they were clearly set there as part of the city planning. He frowned. “You’re right. They should all be dead, surely?”

Malshash shrugged. “They’re like the books in the library. Preserved in their original state.” He gestured around. “This place was built to absorb small amounts of Essence from almost everything except the human body, then channel it to the Jha’vett. Because of that, there were a few things the Darecians had to shield against kan. If they hadn’t, I doubt the trees would have grown here in the first place, let alone survived unchanged for a couple of thousand years.” He slapped Davian on the back. “Anyway, all you need to do is go up to one and touch it. That will put you inside the shield, and you won’t be blocked.”

Davian rolled his eyes. “So I wasn’t doing anything wrong after all.”

Malshash grinned. “Not as such, I suppose.”

Davian began walking towards the nearest tree but then hesitated, turning back.

“How am I still alive?” he asked quietly. “I thought you said I had to get Essence from outside my body to live.”

Malshash was silent for a moment. “You’re getting it sporadically from what I can tell,” he admitted. “I’ve tried to see on a few different occasions, but the lines of Essence are so fine, so thin, that even I have a hard time making them out. And I actually know what to look for, so that is quite an accomplishment.” He sighed. “I’d rather hoped you wouldn’t wonder too much about this. You draw some from the fire each night and each morning. The library is shielded from the rest of the city; when you’re in there you draw it from the Adviser, I think.” He paused. “Occasionally, when you run low, you draw some from me.”

Davian stopped mid-step. “From you?” It obviously hadn’t hurt Malshash, but the thought of stealing someone’s else’s Essence – their life force – made his skin crawl.

Malshash made a reassuring gesture. “Tiny amounts,” he said. “And you’ve needed it to help you concentrate.”

Davian blinked. Now that he thought about it, he’d barely slept these past couple of weeks. An hour or two each day, perhaps? How was that possible? His brow furrowed. Why had that not occurred to him before as being odd?

He sighed, focusing again on their topic of conversation. “But if I were alone, without a fire, on these streets for long enough….”

Malshash shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. My recommendation is to not put yourself in a situation where you find out.”

Davian grunted. “Good advice,” he said, his enthusiasm dampened as the reality of the dangers he faced struck home once again. Malshash had been pushing him harder and harder these past few days; though he’d said nothing, Davian knew the time must be approaching when he had to return, go back through the grey void. He twisted the ring on his finger nervously. Despite Malshash’s apparent confidence in Davian’s abilities, he’d pulled no punches when it came to the perils of the rift.

Davian shook his head, clearing it again before striding up to the tree he had been looking at before, placing his hand against the rough, dry bark. He closed his eyes.

He could feel the Essence now, pulsing and vibrant within the tree. He carefully drew kan around it. It was different to the kan he normally used - that would have engulfed the Essence in a moment, extinguishing it completely. Instead he positioned the kan and then… hardened it, for want of a better word. Partly it was how Malshash had described it, but partly it was what felt natural. It was this new form of kan that he used to draw the Essence towards his body.

Nothing happened at first. Then the glowing stream slowly poured towards him, into his hand and up his arm, into his chest. He felt warmth and life flow through him, intense and beautiful. He opened his eyes to see his hand glowing with raw energy.

He spun and flung the Essence at a nearby wall.

It didn’t have the effect he’d hoped. Rather than the wall exploding into pieces, the bolt of energy simply rippled and vanished, absorbed into the air. Of course; Malshash had just been telling him how the entire city was an enormous conduit for Essence. He should have tried something else.

His body still buzzing, he stepped away from the tree, examining it in fascination. The leaves, which had been a bright green against the dull greys of Deilannis only moments ago, were now shrivelled and black. The trunk and branches, too, looked as though they had been wasting away for years. He gave the withered trunk a gentle tap, then leapt away as the entire tree collapsed in a puff of black dust. He coughed furiously, trying to get the taste of dead wood from his mouth and lungs.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You took the life force from the tree,” Malshash replied, his gaze fixed on where the oak had once stood. Now there was only a pile of ash-like grit littering the stone. He shook his head, looking disturbed. “You took all of it, Davian.”

Davian finally managed to clear his throat. “Is that good?”

“It depends on how you look at it, I suppose,” said Malshash, sounding reluctant. “It’s certainly… unusual. I’ve seen it done before, but only in times of great need, great stress. And it was certainly not good then.” He grimaced. “Regardless, it seems like that lesson went rather smoothly. Away from Deilannis, I have no doubt you will be able to draw large amounts of Essence, should the need arise.”

Davian grinned. “Definitely good, then.”

Malshash held up a cautioning hand. “You must be very, very careful with this ability, Davian,” he said softly. “What you did to that tree? You could just as easily do that to a person. Accidentally, if you are not careful.”

Davian looked back on the pile of black dust and paled. “It could kill them?”

Malshash nodded. “Your body is used to drawing on anything it can to survive; I can only assume that’s why you’re able to take so much. But if you drained a human being like that… well, Essence is their life force. Remove it completely, and I think you can guess the consequences.”

Davian nodded. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. He gave Malshash a cautious look. “Aside from that….”

Malshash laughed. “It was very impressive, Davian. The bolt you threw looked like it would have blown the wall apart if we were anywhere else.”

“It was less spectacular than I’d hoped,” admitted Davian. “If only it were -”

He cut off with a grunt as pain flooded through his stomach, and every limb went suddenly weak. He collapsed to the ground with a moan, clutching at his belly. It felt… empty. Painfully so. He was so hungry.

Malshash rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside him. Without a word, he drew an apple from his pocket. Davian took it and devoured it; as he ate the pain lessened, and soon he was able to sit up straight again.

“What was that?” he asked, dazed.

Malshash rubbed his hands together nervously. “Your bond here is weakening, Davian. It has lasted much longer than I would have thought possible, but it’s finally happening. Our time together is drawing to a close.”

Davian took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. “Now?”

“No.” Malshash shook his head. “We still have a few hours - I think waiting until this evening would be best, maybe even tomorrow morning unless these attacks start increasing. That at least gives us the opportunity to run through a couple of more exercises, get you as prepared as we can.”

Davian stared at the apple core in his hand. “How did you know I would need this?”

Malshash sighed. “Remember what I said, about a shadow of a shadow of your body remaining in your own time? It’s still a physical presence, Davian. And it’s had neither food nor water in the last couple of weeks.”

“So… I’m dying? In my time?”

Malshash ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s all just theory, but I suspect so. Your body there won’t need sustaining like a normal person’s would, but eventually it is going to need nourishment.”

“So that’s why I’ve been so hungry,” muttered Davian. He scowled. “You leave this until now to tell me?”

“I didn’t think you needed the added pressure.”

Davian just grunted, in no mood to argue. “So what now?”

“What you just felt was a stronger connection with your body in your own time. The rift is trying to correct the anomaly of your being here. It’s trying to send you back,” said Malshash. He sighed. “All we can do is break your binding to my time. Choose when to begin the process.”

“By destroying this,” said Davian, holding up his hand to display the ring.

“Exactly,” said Malshash. He gave Davian a considering look. “I think we should practice your Reading, one more time. It’s probably the best exercise for mental focus, and you’ll need all you can get once you’re in the rift.”

Davian hesitated. "What about Control?" He’d been wondering whether Malshash would teach him that, ever since he’d read about the ability. He’d been stunned to learn it truly existed - there had always been rumours of the Augurs being able to manipulate other people’s thoughts, but nobody had ever really believed them. Even back when the Augurs still ruled, he knew that people had been sceptical such a power existed.

Malshash shook his head. "No. Control is like Shapeshifting - ill-advised, and very dangerous." He looked Davian in the eye. "This time, you need to trust me. Don’t try it."

Davian gave a noncommittal shrug. “Very well. Reading it is,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone. He took some deep breaths, calming his mind. “I’m ready. What am I looking for?”

Malshash shrugged. “I’ve left a few things open, this time. See what you can find.”

Davian nodded. He closed his eyes, pushing through the kan until he was inside Malshash’s mind. He still hadn’t quite grown used to the feeling: he knew who he was, knew all his own thoughts, but if he tried to think of something – anything, really – it would be Malshash’s mind to respond, not his own. And Davian could then examine that response with his own mind.

He composed himself for a second, then began searching through Malshash’s thoughts and memories.

Most were still hidden within the locked box, he soon discovered. The ones that were not were fairly dull, and all recent. What Malshash had had for his meals the last few days. How amazed he was at how quickly Davian had picked up kan. His sense of urgency to get Davian back to his own time, to keep him alive. There were other feelings associated with that – sorrow, pain – that Davian did not understand, could not access the exact memories to explain. When you knew what to look for, emotions were much harder to hide than specific recollections of events.

He thought to find out where Malshash had lived, before he came to Deilannis. He was confronted with the locked box again. He wondered where Malshash had received his Augur training. The locked box. He wondered why Malshash had been so upset to discover Davian could shapeshift. The locked box. Davian felt his frustration turn to anger. What was the point of this ability if people could just hide things so easily?

He wondered why Malshash had given up his ability to See. The locked box.

Rather than move on, Davian imagined himself directly in front of the box. He concentrated, gripping the lid with his hands and pulling.

The lid came open, and he heard a gasp of horror from Malshash.

He was in a large, long room, filled with table upon table of people talking and laughing, all dressed in fine suits and elegant gowns. He felt his heart swelling as he gazed out across the crowd from his position, his own table slightly raised above everyone else’s. So many people. His friends and family, come to celebrate with him. A feeling of pleasant warmth flooded through him, not just the fine wine they had been drinking.

This was happiness.

Detached, Davian forced himself to stay alert. He knew this feeling. He was reliving the memory, unable to alter it in any way, but experiencing it exactly as Malshash had. He knew he’d somehow broken into Malshash’s locked box, knew this memory was supposed to be personal, but had no idea how to stop it now.

He glanced to his left, and his breath caught in his throat. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen sat alongside him. Her long black hair was straight and gleamed in the light of the lanterns. She was slim, with an oval face, large blue eyes and a delicate mouth. Her full lips curled upward slightly as she saw him watching her, and she leaned towards him.

“See anything you like?”

Davian felt himself grin in return. “I think you know the answer to that.” He looked around. “Is it wrong to wish your own wedding were over?” he whispered conspiratorially.

The woman – Elliavia was her name, Davian suddenly knew – leaned forward and gave him a long, passionate kiss. In the background, he could hear a few people starting to hoot and whistle. “Not at all… husband,” she whispered back.

Davian sat back, trying to drink it all in. This was the moment. It was perfect, better than he could have imagined, than he could have hoped for. He looked again at Elliavia. She was amazing. He knew, perhaps more deeply than he’d known anything before, that he didn’t deserve her. No-one deserved her. Perhaps that was where he’d been so lucky. He’d been the closest thing she’d found to a good match.

A servant came and touched Ell lightly on the shoulder, whispering something in her ear. She nodded, then leaned towards him again, her lips tickling his ear she was so close. “I will be back in a moment, my love,” she said, her eyes shining as she looked at him.

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be waiting."

He watched her slip away after the servant, so beautiful in her white wedding dress. Once she was through the door he returned his attention to the festivities, nodding politely as people came past his table, offering their congratulations. His face hurt – it actually hurt! – from the effort of smiling so much, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. He was not by nature a man who found happiness easily, but tonight most certainly qualified.

A half-hour passed. He found himself glancing towards the door his wife had disappeared through, expecting to see her reappear at any moment. It remained closed, though. He scanned the crowd, but the servant who had come to fetch her was nowhere to be seen either.

Finally he called over another weary-looking young man who was serving drinks. “Excuse me,” he said, “ but have you seen my wife?”

The boy stared at him for a moment to see whether he was joking, then glanced around the room as if expecting to see Elliavia standing somewhere obvious. Finally he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lord Deshrel. I haven’t.”

Davian felt himself frowning, and sighed in vague exasperation. It seemed he would need to find her himself. He rose, navigating through the jumble of chairs that had been abandoned mid-aisle, then slipped through the door Ell had gone through.

There was a short passage, lit by a single torch, and then another door that opened into the castle courtyard. He felt his frown deepen. He didn’t know Caer Lyordas well, hadn’t realised this door led outside. Why would Ell have needed to come out here?

The courtyard was lit, but it was a gusty night and some of the torches had guttered out – this area was unattended, as most of the guardsmen tonight were focused around the feast. Davian found himself meandering aimlessly, a little light-headed from the wine, around the side of the castle.

Then he spotted it. It was just a flash, a glimpse of white against the dirty black of a ditch. Uncomprehending, he wandered over, peering into the gloom.

The cry was out of his throat before he realised what was happening. He was in the dirt, the cold mud, screaming for help, cradling Ell’s bloodied head in his lap. Her eyes stared sightlessly up at him, the jagged gash along her throat still leaking dark red fluid. Her dress was muddied everywhere, and torn in such a way that he did not want to think about what else may have happened to her. Even as he wept, he carefully, tenderly made her private again.

There were shouts behind him as people ran to answer his screams. He heard gasps of horror as the first to arrive took in the scene, but he didn’t turn, couldn’t take his eyes from Ell. He rocked her back and forth gently, sobs ripping from his throat, tears spilling onto her beautiful, cold face.

No. It couldn’t be this way. He would not let it be this way.

He delved into his Reserve, drawing deeply, more deeply than he ever had before. All of it, in fact. He closed his eyes, putting his hands against Ell’s clammy skin and letting his Essence flow into her. He could feel the wound on her neck close, the bruises she had sustained all over her body fade away. He pushed more, willing her heart to begin beating again, willing her life to return. He drained himself, past the levels he knew to be dangerous. He could take it.

But when he opened his eyes, Ell still lay there, staring up at the murky sky. Her chest was still, her skin cold.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt the hand on his shoulder. It was Ilrin, his teacher from the Academy.

“Who did this?” Ilrin asked, his voice shaking. His eyes held horror, anger, pain, sorrow. Ell had been his student, too.

Davian found himself looking around. His gaze fell on a young man; it took him a moment to place him, but when he did his grief flashed into white-hot fury. It was the servant who had led her out here. Led her to her death.

He was on his feet in an instant; moving faster than he would have believed possible he slipped through the steadily growing crowd until he had both hands around the young man’s throat. “Tell me what happened,” he growled. He barely recognised his own voice. It was animal, feral.

The blood had drained from the boy’s face. “It was the priest,” he managed to choke out. “The one who married you. He asked me to fetch your wife out here.”

Davian looked at the young man and felt only rage. He had drawn Ell out to her death. He was a part of it.

His Reserve was already refilling. He let Essence infuse his arm, giving it the strength of ten men, and then twisted.

The servant’s neck snapped like a twig. A low moan went up from the stunned onlookers.

Davian felt himself whirl, scanning the crowd. The priest. A holy man, supposedly. He had done this. People leapt from his path; a few of his friends called out to him, pleaded with him to stop, but none moved to get in his way. They knew better. They could all try to stop him, and it would be meaningless, nothing to him. He would brush them aside like flies. He would find the priest and kill him, slowly and painfully.

It didn’t take him long. He sent his vision high above the castle, scanning the surrounding lands; almost immediately he spotted the lone figure scrambling along the north road, slipping on loose shale as it hurried down the steep hillside. The plain brown robe was obvious, even from this distance, even in the gloom.

He moved, faster than he had ever moved before, and yet somehow with a cold deliberateness, a calm that belied the raging fire inside him. He walked, but those around him stood like statues. The wind seemed to slow so that he could barely feel it, and even the fire of the torches moved sluggishly. He took one off its bracket as he passed, leaving the castle and streaking northward. Somehow he knew that anyone watching would see only a blur of orange light, nothing more.

He walked in front of the priest, setting his feet firmly in the portly man’s path. Davian wanted to see his face. He wanted to see his expression when he realised he was going to die.

The priest skidded to a stop when he saw Davian in front of him. His cheeks were flushed with exertion, but the rest of his skin was pale as a ghost. His expression was one of pure terror.

“Mercy,” he muttered, falling over as he moved backward as quickly as he could. Even sitting down he tried to scramble away, his eyes wild. “Mercy. It was not me. I swear it by El. It was not me.”

Davian took in the priest’s muddied clothes. His arms were bare, and he could see long scratches on them. Any semblance of calm evaporated.

He reached out with Essence, holding the terrified man down. Then he concentrated on the man’s hands. The priest screamed as the little finger on his left hand snapped backward with a sharp crack. Davian released it and moved on to the next finger. Crack. The middle, the forefinger, the thumb. Then the other hand. Crack. Crack. Crack. Davian barely knew what he was doing. All he wanted was for this man to feel the pain he was feeling now. To feel worse.

He moved on. He broke every toe, the priest’s screams intensifying until finally they died to almost a whimper.

Davian frowned. That wouldn’t do. The man had felt nothing yet.

He concentrated. He fed Essence into the priest, allowing the broken bones to mend themselves. He hadn’t bothered to straighten them; most healed at ghastly angles, deformed and likely still agonizing. Even so, the worst of the pain would be gone.

He changed the flow of Essence, pointed it at the man’s blood. Heated it. A little at first, then more, until he could feel it boiling. The priest screamed properly this time. Prolonged cries of pain, gut-wrenching screams of agony. Davian watched impassively, feeling nothing. Not satisfaction. Not sorrow. This was not revenge. This was justice, plain and simple.

Ensuring he still fed enough Essence into the man to keep him conscious, he turned another sliver of energy into a razor, thin and sharp. With one flick of the wrist, he castrated him.

The priest made no noise now - just lay there, back arched, spasming. His mind was trying desperately to shut down, but Davian concentrated, made sure it was aware of every moment of what was happening. Boiling blood spilled out into the dirt, hissing as it hit the cold ground. This was how he would die. Bleeding out in slow agony.

Davian made sure the man had absorbed enough Essence to keep him conscious to the end, then leaned forward until the priest was focused on his face.

“For Ell,” he said softly.

He turned and walked back up towards the castle.

He’d come further than he’d realised; it was a good mile back to Caer Lyordas from where he was. How had he come here so quickly? He tried to remember. Everything was a blur….

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.