The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 6

Davian held his breath as another group of blue-cloaked Administrators walked by, Finders glinting on their wrists as they observed the preparations for the evening’s festivities.

“They’re everywhere,” he muttered to Wirr, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead as he walked.

“Just ignore them. And try not to scratch your arm,” said Wirr without looking at his friend.

Davian grimaced, snatching his hand away from his left forearm. The makeup they had bought a few days ago hid their tattoos from all but the closest inspection, but it itched constantly. At the time it had seemed unnecessary – the vials of thick paint-like substance had cost more than Davian would have credited, and taken hours to mix to the right skin tones – but the last half-hour had proven otherwise. The fashion in Talmiel, it appeared, was to keep the forearms bare. A way for people to show that they were not Gifted.

“My nerves cannot take much more of this,” he said.

Wirr snorted. “’We need to go north, Wirr. Talmiel can’t be that dangerous, Wirr. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Wirr.’”

Davian grunted. “I know, I know. You warned me.” He checked in both directions as they emerged into a new street, but there was no sign of any blue cloaks here, only the general bustle of people hanging decorations. “I just didn’t think there would be so many, even with the festival tonight.”

Wirr sighed. “This is the only border crossing into Desriel, Dav. Desriel. The one country that hates the Gifted more than Andarra.” He shook his head. “The Administrators do a lot of their recruiting here. The only reason we haven’t been caught so far is because people like us aren’t stupid enough to come here any more, so nobody’s really looking.” He glanced around, unable to hide his apprehension. “Our luck will run out sooner or later, though. Are you sure we need to be here?”

Davian hesitated, unconsciously touching the pocket where he kept the Vessel. It had been nearly three weeks since they had left Caladel, and the further they travelled north, the more he had expected it to do… something. Something to show him what came next. But though he examined it at least once each day, the bronze box never changed.

“Ilseth said to travel north until I knew where to go next,” he said eventually. He gave his friend an apologetic look. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

Wirr nodded ruefully. “I know.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe I thought that sounded like a plan back at Caladel.”

“Thinking you should have stayed behind?”

“Thinking I should have tried harder to stop you from leaving.” Wirr shot him a crooked smile, then nodded towards an inn a little further down the street. “We should at least get inside. As many Administrators as there are now, there will be twice as many out tonight. It will be safer indoors, and it’s late anyway.”

Davian nodded his agreement. Talmiel was bustling with activity as it prepared for the Festival of Ravens; people hurried about everywhere in brightly-coloured clothing, and officials had begun lighting the traditional blue lanterns that lined each street of the city. Natural light was fading fast, and Davian had even seen a few children in ill-fitting Loyalist uniforms, the costume of choice for the feast that celebrated the overthrow of the Augurs. Davian had always found it odd that Tol Athian normally held its Trials to coincide with the festival. He could only assume that it must have held a nice sense of irony for someone.

They made their way over to the inn, which the sign out front proclaimed to be the King’s Repose. If a king had ever stayed there it must have been generations ago; the façade was dirty and cracked, and the picture on the sign had faded almost entirely. Exchanging dubious looks, Davian and Wirr headed inside.

The interior of the King’s Repose was as uninviting as the outside; the common room smelled of stale beer, and the tables and chairs looked rickety at best. Still, there were already plenty of people laughing and drinking, and the rotund innkeeper was friendly enough once he saw their coin. Before long, he was showing them to a small but clean room upstairs.

Once the innkeeper had left, Davian locked the door behind him and collapsed onto one of the beds with a deep sigh.

Wirr sat on the bed opposite. “So. What now, Dav?”

Davian drew the Vessel from his pocket, staring at it intently. As always, it was warm to the touch. Was it his imagination, or was it emanating more heat than previously? After a moment he replaced it with a shrug. “We keep heading north, I suppose.”

Wirr frowned. “Into Desriel?” He began chewing at a fingernail, a sure sign he was nervous. “You do know that any Gifted that the Gil’shar capture are executed as heretics, don’t you?”

Davian nodded. He’d read about the Gil’shar: part government, part religious body, they had absolute authority in Desriel. “I think they call us abominations rather than heretics, actually. They say only the gods are supposed to wield the Gift,” he said absently.

Wirr massaged his forehead. “You might be missing the point, Dav.”

“I know. But the Boundary’s a long way north; we were always going to have to go further. And if the sig’nari are in Desriel, that’s where I need to go.” He hadn’t come this far to turn back. “If you don’t want to come, though, I will understand.”

Wirr hesitated, for a moment looking as though he was considering the offer before shaking his head irritably. “You can stop staying things like that. Given where we are, I think I’ve proven that I’m with you the rest of the way.” He sighed. “Can I safely assume you have absolutely no plan to get over the border?”

“Elder Olin always said you were very astute.”

“He always said you were the sensible one, too,” pointed out Wirr, his tone dry. He thought for a moment. “The bridge over the Devliss is like a fortress; people get stopped and checked with Finders on both shores, even on a night as busy as tonight. Not to mention that this makeup on our arms won’t stand up to close inspection - we wouldn’t even make it past the Administrators on this side. So the first thing will be to find another way across the river.”

Davian raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here before?”

Wirr was silent for a few moments, then nodded. “I have. Briefly. Let’s leave it at that.”

Davian inclined his head. The two of them had an unspoken agreement to never discuss Wirr’s life before the school; whatever had happened to him, it was clearly too painful to talk about. Wirr had simply lied about it to the other students, but he hadn’t had that luxury with Davian.

“So we find a boat,” said Davian.

Wirr shook his head. “The Devliss is all rapids and waterfalls. Wide, too. There’s a reason that Talmiel is the only crossing.”

There was silence as they both thought for a few seconds, then Wirr blinked in surprise as his stomach emitted a low growl. “Perhaps we can think on it further over dinner?”

Davian hesitated. “What if there are Administrators in the common room?”

“In a place like this? Unlikely. They’ll be out there, soaking up the attention.” Wirr gestured at the window as he spoke, through which the faint sounds of music and laughter were drifting up to them. “Besides, it would be suspicious if we stayed holed up in this room tonight. That innkeep may be friendly, but I doubt he’d be shy about mentioning unusual behaviour to a passing Administrator.”

Davian conceded the point, and they made their way back downstairs. The common room was crowded; a few tables here and there were unoccupied, but for the most part everything looked just as one would expect on the night of a festival.

Wirr nodded towards an empty table against the wall, slightly apart from the rest of the room. They gave their orders to a pretty serving girl with a put-upon expression on her face, then sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the proceedings, each lost in their own thoughts.

They ate with gusto when their food came; with their careful shunning of built-up areas over the past few weeks, hot meals had been a rarity. The fare was plain but filling, and it wasn’t until Davian was settling back with a sigh of contentment that he noticed the strange warmth emanating from his pocket.

Frowning, he surreptitiously reached down and took out the Vessel, still wrapped in its cloth. A gentle but palpable heat pulsed through the fabric.

“What are you doing?” murmured Wirr, noticing what was in Davian’s hand.

Davian hesitated, not taking his eyes from the cloth-covered bundle. “Something’s happening, Wirr,” he said softly. “It’s getting warmer.”

His friend looked at him uncertainly. Wirr had examined the Vessel on their first day out of the school and on several occasions since; each time he had denied being able to feel any unusual heat. “Give it to me,” he said eventually, holding out his hand. Davian passed it across; Wirr held it for a few seconds, brow furrowing in concentration. Then he shook his head.

“Still nothing. I believe you, Dav, but I don’t feel anything. You’re certain?”

Davian nodded. “I wouldn’t bring it up otherwise."

Wirr looked at the cloth-covered lump in his hand, his expression troubled. “Then it’s specific to you somehow. I don’t know how that’s possible, but… fates, I can’t say I like it.” Sighing, he handed the box back to Davian.

As he did so, a flap of the cloth slipped and the skin on Davian’s palm made contact with the bare metal beneath. The touch wasn’t hot enough to burn, but sharp and unexpected enough that Davian flinched. The cube slipped from his grasp, its covering falling away as it tumbled to the timber floor with a dull thud.

Davian moved swiftly to pick it up again, then froze as he looked at the now-exposed Vessel.

The faint outline of a symbol had appeared on one face of the box, superimposed over the writing. It was glowing – not brightly, but enough to be distinct. A wolf, he thought from his brief glimpse.

Opposite him, Wirr leaned down and collected the Vessel himself, grimacing in Davian’s direction before grabbing the cloth and calmly concealing it from view again. Davian recovered himself enough to glance around at the other patrons. None seemed to be taking any notice of them.

Wirr thrust the now-covered cube back into Davian’s hands. “Best put it in your pocket and leave it there, Dav,” he said after looking around too, exhaling. “The only thing I know about that box is that it’s valuable, regardless of what it actually does. Administration have a massive bounty out on Vessels. Flashing it around a place like this is just asking for trouble.”

Davian nodded and was about to say more when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up as a man he had never seen before stopped at their table and proceeded to sit, his smile friendly.

“Act like you know me, understand?” said the man, slapping a bemused-looking Wirr on the shoulder. “My name is Anaar. That Hunter in the corner has been staring at you two like a hawk at rabbits for the last few minutes. I hope you had not planned for a quiet evening.” He watched them, waiting for a response.

Davian’s mind raced. He had noted the woman in question earlier – an attractive girl, alone, but none of the men had gone anywhere near her. He’d thought it odd at the time.

Then he remembered the cloth-covered box, still in his hand. Was that why Anaar had come over? Davian slipped it back into his pocket. For a moment he thought Anaar’s eyes flicked towards him, but it was so fast it could have been his imagination.

Wirr gave a sudden laugh, leaning back in his chair. He waved over one of the serving girls. “A drink for my friend Anaar here,” he said, loud enough to be audible to anyone listening.

Davian forced himself to lean back too, though he doubted his effort to look relaxed would be convincing. He studied Anaar in silence. Approaching middle age, the swarthy, strongly-built man had a neatly trimmed beard and close-cropped, thick black hair. His voice was gravelly, and had the confident sound of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.

“So you think she’s a Hunter,” said Wirr, still smiling, though his tone was flat.

“I know she’s a Hunter,” replied the older man smoothly. “And she can’t stop staring at you two. There is usually a reason for that.”

“We’re handsome men,” said Wirr with a shrug.

Anaar chuckled. “No doubt. But even if it’s just because you’re easy on the eyes, I’d still suggest leaving Talmiel soon. Tonight, if you can; the festival should provide you with ample cover. People that Breshada takes an interest in have a tendency to… disappear… after a few days.” He shrugged. “And usually reappear in Thrindar with a noose around their neck.”

“She kidnaps Gifted for the Gil’shar?” Wirr’s tone was dark. “I thought the Sahdrelac and his people were steering clear of that sort of thing.”

Anaar’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t think the Sahdrelac knows,” he said with amusement. He looked at Wirr consideringly. “Breshada and her ilk don’t have much opposition here. Half of Talmiel is full of Loyalists, the other half Administrators. It’s basically a province of Desriel.”

Wirr scowled; that notion clearly irked him. “And you? Why help us?” he asked in a low voice.

The man shrugged. “I’m a businessman, and Administrators and Hunters are good enough to deal with when they’re comfortable. A couple of Gifted caught trying to travel through their city, though… and on the Night of the Ravens, no less… well, suddenly they are less comfortable. Increased patrols and more questions in the days to come. Generally bad for business, if you get my drift.” Anaar pushed his chair back, giving them a brief nod. “Still, heed my warning or not. It’s your choice.”

“Wait.” Wirr wore a thoughtful expression. “You seem like a man who… understands how things work around here.” He bit at a fingernail. “How would one go about getting across the river - quietly?”

Anaar paused in the act of rising, then sat again with a frown. “Into Desriel? Without using the bridge?” He stared at Wirr as if reevaluating him. “I can’t say as that’s a request I’ve heard before.”

Wirr shrugged. “Is it possible?”

Anaar rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I can safely say that it could be done. It is a little more expensive than using the bridge, though.”

Wirr dug into the pouch on his belt, bringing out a couple of gold coins and surreptitiously showing them to Anaar.

The dark-skinned man smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “Perhaps I misspoke. A lot more expensive than using the bridge.”

Sighing, Wirr fished a few more coins out of the pouch. It was more than half of what they had left, enough to feed and house a family for a year. Davian was about to protest, but a quick glance from Wirr made him snap his mouth shut.

Finally Anaar nodded. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “You have rooms here?”

Wirr hesitated. “Up the stairs, third on the right.” He held up a hand. "Before we agree to anything, though, I need your word that you’ll not harm us or turn us in."

Anaar gave him a wide, vaguely incredulous smile. "My word? If it will ease your mind, then you have it," he said with a chuckle. "As I said, I’m a businessman. So long as I get paid, you’ll be in no danger from me."

Wirr glanced at Davian, who gave him the slightest of nods in response. Anaar wasn’t lying.

"Good enough," said Wirr.

Anaar rubbed his chin, still looking amused. “Go back to your rooms for now, and wait there for me until later this evening. Do not leave for any reason, and do not open the door for anyone except me. Be prepared to depart as soon as I arrive.” He plucked a couple of the coins from Wirr’s palm. “I will collect the rest once you are in Desriel,” he concluded.

Wirr inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Anaar rose and walked away without another word.

Davian and Wirr sat in silence for a few moments. Then Davian turned to his friend.

“What was that?”

Wirr stood, stretching. “He’s a smuggler, Dav. ”

“I guessed as much,” said Davian dryly. “But why are we trusting him?”

“Did he lie to us?”

Davian made a face. “No, but that is hardly the same thing as being trustworthy. He could change his mind in the next few hours, and we wouldn’t know until the moment he’s stabbed us in the back.”

Wirr shook his head. “He already knows what we are; if he’d been able to profit from turning us in to Administration, he would have done so already. This way, he gets to keep the streets of Talmiel quiet and earns some coin at the same time. We get into Desriel. Everyone wins.” He paused, frowning as he considered the last part of his statement. “Well. As far as these things go.”

“I think he saw the Vessel,” said Davian, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

Wirr grimaced. “I wondered about that too, given the timing, but what’s done is done. If he did see it, we can only hope he doesn’t know what it is.”

They made their way back through the common room. From the corner of his eye Davian could see the woman Anaar had pointed out watching them thoughtfully, but she made no move to stop or pursue them as they left.

He breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight. She was so young, barely older than he and Wirr. Could she really be a Hunter – someone who tracked and killed the Gifted for profit?

“I haven’t used Essence since we left Caladel,” murmured Wirr, his thoughts obviously running along similar lines. “And she never got close enough for skin contact. She can’t have noticed us with a Finder.”

That hadn’t occurred to Davian. “Then how….”

“Exactly.”

They walked the rest of the way to their room in uneasy silence, Wirr latching the door as soon as they were inside.

Davian gathered his belongings – which had barely been unpacked – and lay back on the bed, determined to get some rest before they had to leave. He was uncomfortable placing so much trust in Anaar, but he knew it was a chance they’d had to take. If the bridge was as heavily guarded as Wirr seemed to think, the smuggler was probably their best chance of getting across the border.

Still, he touched the Vessel in his pocket again, unable to shake the impression that Anaar had seen it. He could only hope the man hadn’t recognised it for what it was.

Suddenly remembering what had happened in the common room, Davian took the Vessel out, removing its cloth and studying it closely. The glow he’d seen earlier had vanished, and its metallic surface wasn’t even particularly warm any more.

“What are you looking for, Dav?” asked Wirr.

Davian hesitated. “There was… some kind of symbol on it, when I dropped it downstairs. A wolf, I think. You didn’t see it when you picked it up?”

Wirr shook his head.

Davian sighed but nodded, unsurprised. "It’s gone now, anyway." He stared at the cube intently for a few more seconds, then wrapped it again and slipped it back into his pocket.

Wirr watched him with a worried frown. "Let me know if it comes back," he said eventually.

Davian just inclined his head in acknowledgement, and they lapsed into a companionable silence.

He puzzled over what he’d seen for a few more minutes before deciding to put the issue from his mind, at least for now. Worrying about it, or the impending journey into Desriel for that matter, gained him nothing. He had to trust that Ilseth and the sig’nari had known what they were doing when they’d sent him here.

He closed his eyes with a deep sigh and settled down to wait.