The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 52

Wirr rolled his shoulders, sensing more than seeing Elder Eilinar’s glare.

There was a stony silence as the group walked deeper into the Tol, broken only by the occasional nervous cough from one member of the Council or another. Wirr scowled to himself. His arrival at the Tol, and his announcement that he was going to change the Tenets, had been met with open arms. His insistence that Davian accompany him to do so had not.

He glanced across at his friend, who was walking alongside, evidently lost in thought. The Council had been furious at Wirr’s obstinance, going so far as to call Davian a threat after what he’d done to Ilseth Tenvar. Eventually, though, Eilinar had relented - if not graciously.

Wirr could still feel the man’s anger emanating from him whenever they locked gazes, but he didn’t care. He was here for one purpose only: to fulfil his father’s dying wish. To make sure his sacrifice had not been in vain.

"I would have understood, you know," murmured Davian suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. "You didn’t have to rile them on my account."

Wirr shrugged. "I needed someone with me for this. Someone I can trust."

Davian inclined his head. "Still. I’m not sure that I blame Eilinar. I probably wouldn’t want me involved in this either, after what happened this morning."

Wirr gave him a stern sideways glance. "What you did to Tenvar was an accident, Dav," he said. "You were doing what needed to be done - and honestly, it’s not like the man didn’t deserve it."

Davian grimaced, but nodded. He watched his friend for a moment. "How are you holding up?"

Wirr gritted his teeth, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. He’d managed to push what had happened to the back of his mind for now, and he wanted it to stay there, to keep the emotions at bay until this was done. "There will be time for grief later. This is what my father wanted," he said grimly.

Davian gave him another nod, accepting the statement in silence.

After a while they came to a halt in front of a large, solid-looking steel door; Eilinar pressed his hand against its surface, releasing the wards that protected it. Once he was done, he produced a set of keys and opened it, holding it ajar so that everyone could pass through.

Wirr stared around the chamber within as he entered. It was entirely empty of furnishings except for a thick, squat table in the centre, which itself looked carved from the same black rock as the rest of the room. In all, it seemed unremarkable.

Nashrel waited until all the Elders were inside and then walked over to the table, placing a hand on it with something approaching reverence as he closed his eyes. He murmured a few words under his breath, and Essence began flowing from him into the stone.

Wirr watched, wide-eyed. The table turned a deeper shade of black; suddenly the torches on the walls were reflected on its now glistening dark surface. Then there was a rippling, a shimmering in its centre; it began to stretch and morph as something new rose out of the stone.

Wirr stared. It appeared to be an ornate shield – but too large, taller and wider than even the largest of men, impossible to wield.

“This is the Vessel through which you will need to rebind the Tenets, Your Grace,” Nashrel explained to Wirr, eyes not leaving the shield. “You must place your hand on it, keeping a steady stream of Essence flowing into it, and speak the vows that you want all the Gifted to be bound by.”

Wirr frowned at the shield. “That’s it?”

Nashrel nodded. “Your new vows should take the place of the old ones. Beyond that….” He shrugged. “The Tenets have never been successfully changed, and this Vessel was not made by us, so I cannot speak as to any other consequences.”

Davian and Wirr both stared at the shield. Its steel was almost as black as the table beneath, and as Wirr took a closer look, he saw that it was covered by hundreds of finely inscribed symbols.

“Who did make it?” Wirr asked abruptly. “Where did it come from?”

"Only the Loyalists know the answer to that question," said Nashrel. His glance flicked to Wirr, then away again.

“Why doesn’t someone just destroy it?” asked Davian.

Nashrel shook his head. “That is why it is left in Athian’s care, hidden, and not at the palace. If it were destroyed, we suspect that the Tenets could not be undone. Its terms would last forever.”

“Then perhaps that is what we must do,” came a deep voice from the entrance.

Wirr spun, heart sinking as soon as he saw the blue cloak. All the Administrators were supposed to have left, called to fight at Fedris Idri.

Then he grimaced as the man stepped forward into the light.

“Ionis. I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be,” Wirr said quietly. “We need the Gifted to be able to fight, else the city will fall, and we’ll all die.”

“Then we will all die, Your Grace,” replied Ionis, his tone calm. “An unpleasant fate, and yet preferable to having the Bleeders running things again. I lived through those times, Prince Torin. I’ll not return to them.”

Wirr turned back to the shield, away from the Administrator. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Actually, I do. Prince Torin, I command you by the Fourth Tenet. Do not use Essence unless I tell you to.”

Wirr gasped as his hand froze, only inches above the shield. He scowled, concentrating, willing his hand downward. Instead he found himself pulling back, away from the metallic surface.

He took a couple of steps away from the table, until it was well out of reach. Then, able to move freely again, he rounded on Ionis.

“Administrator, you must do as I tell you. Fates, man, I’m the prince; I’m the Northwarden now! Release me to do as I wish, or I’ll have you strung up for treason!”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I won’t be doing that.” Ionis looked… composed. Almost unconcerned. With good reason, too, Wirr realised dully. So long as the original Tenets remained in place, Ionis was safe. “And I suspect that of the two of us, once King Andras finds out what has happened here today, it might rather be you looking at the hangman’s noose,” the Administrator added.

Wirr grimaced, remembering his last conversation with his uncle. “What do you want?”

Ionis leaned forward, and Wirr shuddered as he caught the look in his eye. There was a hint of mania there, an unmistakably zealous fire. “I want you to create a new, single Tenet. That any man, woman or child who is Gifted must take their own life.”

Wirr felt himself pale, and there were gasps of horror from around the room, which had been utterly silent up until now. "You can’t," he said suddenly. "You’re an Administrator; you took the Oath. The Third Tenet binds you just as much as us - you cannot cause harm, physical or otherwise, to any of the Gifted."

Ionis inclined his head, looking unperturbed. "And perhaps if our positions were reversed, that would stop you. You may not realise it, but for some Administrators, their interpretation of harm means that they cannot act to even upset one of the Gifted deliberately." He took a step forward, eyes glittering in the torchlight. "But not me. This power, the Gift as you call it - it is a disease. I believe that, more deeply than I have ever believed anything. So you see, Prince Torin, doing this to the Gifted… it is not causing them harm. Far from it. It is putting them out of their misery. It is helping them. "

Wirr shivered under Ionis' gaze. He didn’t want to believe the man, and yet there was something in his eyes, a fearsome certainty that what he was doing was right. In that moment, Wirr knew that the Administrator truly thought that he was doing the Gifted a kind of twisted favour.

“You’re insane,” he said softly. "We could help, Ionis. We could fight the Blind."

"The long-term is the only thing that matters, Your Highness," said Ionis.

Wirr just stared at the blue-cloaked man, aghast. He tried to make his body move towards Ionis but it wouldn’t budge; subjective or not, the Third Tenet prevented him from taking any action with the intent to hurt an Administrator.

His jaw clenched in helpless frustration. He’d known this was a weakness; it had been one of the most pressing reasons to keep his abilities a secret in the first place. His father had always been concerned that an Administrator would find the temptation of having a prince under their control too hard to resist.

And apparently, Ionis was no exception. All that remained now was for him to give the order.

The Administrator leaned forward. “Prince Torin, by the Fourth Tenet I order you to -”

Suddenly Ionis’ smug expression faltered, and he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened, and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. He spun, looking directly at Davian as his body began to spasm.

“What are you doing?” he groaned, collapsing to the floor.

Wirr turned to Davian. His friend was making no outward appearance of effort, simply staring at the Administrator with a grim expression. There could be no doubt, though. Thin tendrils of light streamed from Ionis’ violently shaking form into Davian, vanishing as soon as they touched the boy’s skin.

Suddenly the stream halted.

"Release him," said Davian quietly. "Please. I have no wish to do this. Release him to change the Tenets, and I will let you live."

Ionis gave a wracking cough, looking twice the age he had a few moments ago. He stared at Davian in utter fear, and for an instant Wirr thought he was going to comply.

Then he twisted away with an effort of will, shouting the words.

"Prince Torin, by the Fourth Tenet I -"

He cut off in a desperate, rage-filled shriek.

Ionis’ body began to age, wrinkles appearing on his face, his skin sagging and creasing, his features becoming gaunt. Then his skin and muscles began to wither and decay, slowly at first but with increasing speed, until the white of the bone underneath began to show through.

As the last wisps of light were sucked from the corpse, even the skeleton itself collapsed in a slight puff of powdery-white dust.

Wirr stared at the small pile of grime on the floor, a chill running down his spine.

"I had to," said Davian softly. He shook his head, his hands and arms glowing with the light of the Essence he had drained from Ionis. "I had to be sure he didn’t say it."

Wirr looked up at his friend, for the first time really seeing how much Davian had changed since Deilannis. He was… harder, now. As if whatever he’d gone through over the last couple of months had sucked the innocence out of him. The changes were subtle, but they were there. It was still his old friend, but a bleaker version. A more world-weary version.

A moment later, the full consequences of what had just happened hit home, and the pain of how close he’d come became sharp in his chest.

“I can’t change the Tenets, now,” he realised, shaking his head in steadily growing dismay. “Ionis is dead; he can’t rescind the order. I can’t use Essence."

There was silence for several seconds, then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “What if we remove the Fourth Tenet?” Davian asked.

“What do you mean?”

Davian gestured towards the shield on the table. “Ionis only stopped you from using Essence, not from altering the Tenets,” he observed. “You said you needed someone here that you trusted. Trust me now, Wirr. If you’ll let me, I’ll change the Tenets exactly as you ask - word for word. From what you told me, all you need to do is stand there. I do the rest.”

Wirr found himself suddenly, unexpectedly smiling. He hadn’t been called ‘Wirr' in weeks, now. It felt good to hear the name aloud again.

He inclined his head. Whatever he’d been through… Davian was his friend. He could trust him.

“Then let’s get started before there are any other complications,” he said, glancing again at the pile of dust on the floor where Ionis had been standing.

Davian nodded. “Good idea. What I took from Ionis should be enough, but we do need to be fast. I have to hold Essence outside my body if I want to use it, and I can’t stop it decaying any more than you could.”

Wirr strode over to the shield, hesitantly placing his hand against it. As Davian had suspected, now his intent was not to use Essence, he was able to touch the Vessel. Davian gave him a tight smile, then placed a hand on the shield too.

“Your Grace, if I may interject.” It was Nashrel, looking on with a worried expression. “I mean no offense to young Davian here” – he nodded politely at Davian – “ but if you need someone else to assist you after all, I would… feel more comfortable if you used one of the Elders instead. After what happened to Ilseth Tenvar, one of the Gifted and a man ostensibly under our protection…." He shook his head. "At the very least, perhaps you should be writing down the exact wording of the Tenets you are going to create. The current ones took months of discussion and negotiation before they were settled upon. Let us take a few minute to go over them with you, advise you on how best to -”

Wirr shook his head. “I’ve known these words for years, Elder Eilinar,” he interrupted gently. “And I mean no offense to the Council, but I don’t trust anyone else to help me. It’s that simple.” He turned back to Davian. “Now. All you need to do is repeat after me, and keep a steady flow of Essence going into the shield. The Vessel should do the rest.”

Davian nodded, taking a deep breath and glancing around at the Elders, who were all watching with keen interest. “I’m ready.”

Wirr closed his eyes, remembering the words.

“I swear I shall not use Essence to harm or hinder non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

Davian hesitated.

“I swear I shall not use Essence to harm or hinder non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra,” he repeated, a thin line of Essence flowing from him into the shield.

Wirr released a breath he’d been unconsciously holding. He did trust his friend, but if Davian had chosen to alter the wording, there would have been nothing Wirr could have done about it.

The symbols on the shield had begun to glow with an intense blue light. It was working.

Wirr continued, “I swear I will not use Essence with the intent to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

“I swear I will not use Essence with the intent to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

Wirr smiled as the symbols glowed blue again. “I swear that as no Administrator may kill or bring harm of any kind to me, I shall not kill or bring harm of any kind to an Administrator.” After Ionis, Wirr had decided to tweak that Tenet a little.

Davian repeated the phrase word-for-word. When he was done, Wirr took a deep breath, then gave Davian a shaky grin.

“That’s it,” he said softly.

Davian let out a long breath as the symbols on the shield began to fade.

He should have felt ecstatic at changing the Tenets – felt something – but instead his gaze was drawn to the pile of dust that had once been Ionis.

Leaving the Administrator alive had been too great a risk. If Ionis had had even a few more seconds, managed to finish his sentence, then Davian’s only option would have been to stop Wirr in the same manner. Even with so many lives at stake, he wasn’t sure he could have done that.

He frowned as he thought about what he’d done. A detached part of him understood, perhaps for the first time, how deeply experiencing Malshash’s memory had affected him. Killing a man in cold blood – even a man such as Ionis, even in defence of something far greater than himself – should have shaken him to his core.

It hadn’t.

He rubbed his forehead, glancing down at the smooth skin on his forearm. After all of that, had it been worth it? He exchanged glances with Wirr. Nothing seemed to be happening.

“I did everything I was supposed to do,” Davian said worriedly. “Did it –“

Wirr’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

Davian dashed forward to help him, but a sudden flash of pain – mild, but noticeable – on his exposed forearm made him hesitate. He glanced down to see the familiar tattoo forming, glowing slightly, just as the symbols on the shield had a moment ago. He’d bound himself to the Tenets again, even if they were different this time. Bound all of the Gifted, in fact.

He felt a stab of concern, of doubt. Had he done the right thing? He turned his attention to the Council members, watching as they each examined their own forearms in fascination.

As quickly as it had come, the pain and the light faded.

“Is it done?” asked one of the Council members.

Nashrel stared at his arm, then at Wirr’s prostrate form. “I believe it is,” he said slowly. “There is only one way to find out, though. Marshal everyone.” The other Council members began filing out, whispering amongst themselves.

Davian knelt by Wirr. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was regular and deep.

“He’s alive,” said Davian with relief. He took off his well-worn cloak, creating a makeshift pillow. Wirr’s head had hit the stone floor hard when he’d fallen, but there was no blood.

Nashrel nodded his acknowledgement. He crouched down on the other side of Wirr and placed his hand on the prince’s forehead, a small stream of Essence trickling out of him.

"He’s fine," said Nashrel after a moment. "We’re a long way from any beds here, though. It’s probably safer if we wait until he wakes up before moving him."

Davian nodded. "I’ll stay," he said. "I’m sure you have other things to attend to."

Nashrel inclined his head, turning to go. Then he hesitated.

"Nobody would have blamed you, you know," the Elder said quietly. "I saw your expression. You were tempted to change what he said, at least a little."

Davian shook his head. "No. He trusted me, and he’s thought about this a lot longer than I have. It wouldn’t have been right."

Nashrel gave a thoughtful nod. "I’m not sure any of us would have felt the same," he admitted. "But maybe it’s for the best. And those new Tenets may still be restricting, but fates take me if they aren’t an improvement."

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity at the door, and a younger man in a red cloak hurried inside.

"Elder Eilinar," he said, out of breath. "We’re getting reports that some of the Blind are inside the Tol."

Nashrel stared for a moment, then snorted. "In the Tol? How? They cannot have breached the Resolute Door," he said dismissively. "Someone is seeing things, Ralyse. The Blind haven’t even made it past Fedris Idri yet, else we would have heard. And there is no other way…."

He trailed off, paling.

"Most of our people are already on their way to the Shields?" he asked. Ralyse nodded, and Nashrel bit his lip. "Warn everyone else to be wary, then. And have someone watch the El-cursed stairwells to the lower levels." He turned to Davian. "Can you carry him?"

Davian grimaced. "I think so."

"Then we need to seal this room, and get moving."

Davian grabbed Wirr by the waist, slinging him awkwardly over his shoulder. His friend was heavy, but not so much so that Davian couldn’t manage the weight.

"Taeris warned us," Nashrel muttered to himself as they hurried along the tunnels, back towards the main part of the Tol. "He said the sha’teth had turned, and we didn’t listen."

"Probably the one thing he didn’t lie about," murmured Davian under his breath.

Soon enough they reached a part of the Tol Davian recognised. The passageways, normally full of red cloaks, were completely empty. Nashrel frowned at the deserted corridors but said nothing, pressing on.

Just as Wirr was becoming too heavy a burden for Davian to bear, Nashrel gestured to a nearby room.

"There’s a bed. Set him down in there and rest for a few moments; I’ll return when I find out what in fates is going on."

Davian did as Nashrel suggested, closing the door behind him. The silence of the Tol was making him nervous, as it obviously had been for the Elder, too. The Gifted had sent on several of their people to the Shields already; Wirr had insisted that happen before he changed the Tenets. Even so… there still should have been someone left in this section.

Davian waited for a while, occasionally checking on Wirr, trying to stay calm. Ten minutes passed. Thirty. An hour.

Then the shouting began.

Davian’s first reaction was to open the door to see what was going on, but suddenly a scream of pain broke through the commotion, cut short as abruptly as it had begun.

Then a brief silence, followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside.

Davian hurried over to where Wirr lay on the bed, looking around and trying not to panic. There was nothing in here he could use as a weapon, and he knew that neither kan nor Essence would be effective against the Blind, even if he was willing to risk a close-quarters fight in the same room as his unconscious friend.

Clenching his fists to stop them from shaking, he carefully drew a mesh of kan around both himself and Wirr.

There was a scratching at the door, and the handle turned. Davian hardened the layer of kan, praying fervently he was remembering how to do it correctly.

He turned, holding his breath as the door swung open to reveal the Blind soldier.

The man had removed his helmet, but the black-plated armour was the same as Davian had seen in his vision. The soldier’s eyes swept the room, and for an instant they paused on the bed, as if he’d noticed something amiss. Davian held completely motionless, willing Wirr not to choose this moment to stir in his sleep.

Then the man was shutting the door again, apparently satisfied the room was empty.

Davian waited a few seconds, then took several shaky lungfuls of air. He slumped onto the bed next to Wirr, putting his heads between his knees as he tried to slow the pounding of his heart.

A few long minutes later, Wirr gave a small moan, then stirred.

"What’s going on?" he asked Davian, rubbing his eyes as he propped himself up. "Where are we?" He winced. "Fates, my head hurts."

"Still in the Tol," said Davian. He recounted the events of the past hour to Wirr.

Wirr shivered once Davian had finished, looking nauseous. He took a deep breath, staring at the tattoo on his forearm. "So we need to get out of here," he said. "The Tenets are definitely changed?"

Davian nodded. "I think so. The Council certainly did, too."

Wirr levered himself out of bed. "Then we should get moving."

He was halfway to the door when it swung open.

"Taeris!" Wirr exclaimed.

Taeris winced, limping inside and putting his fingers to his lips.

"Not so loud, Wirr," he muttered as he shut the door.

Davian stared at Taeris for a long moment. He still felt a deep, burning anger towards the man, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up. The issues between them would have to wait.

"What’s going on, Taeris?" he asked, tone grim. "I thought you were locked up."

"I was." Taeris gave the door a nervous glance. "Nashrel came to let me out when he realised what was happening. He told me where you were before he…." He grimaced, looking at the ground. "He didn’t make it."

"He’s dead?" Wirr paled. "Fates. What’s happening out there?"

"Most of the Gifted that didn’t head for the Shields are dead. The Blind have mostly moved on into the city, but there are a few groups sweeping the Tol, looking for survivors." Taeris spoke quietly, but Davian could hear the anxiety in his voice. "The new Tenets do let us use Essence in combat, but the Blind’s armour is still making it hard to fight them, especially in enclosed spaces."

"How did they even get in here?" asked Davian.

"Nashrel thought they were coming through the catacombs." Taeris looked sick. "There’s a network of old tunnels, deep beneath the Tol, that supposedly have an exit out past Ilin Tora. No-one knows where that exit is, though." He rubbed his forehead. "Those roads are a labyrinth, but Nashrel said the sha’teth have been using them. It’s how they get in and out of the city unseen when they go about their… business."

Davian felt a chill. "So the sha’teth are here? Helping the Blind?"

Taeris nodded. "It would seem so."

Wirr grimaced. "And the Tol didn’t guard this entrance, I take it?"

"They didn’t think they needed to, and I don’t blame them," said Taeris. "The catacombs come out next to the Conduit, something the Builders created to help power the Tol. Any living thing coming that close to it should have died within seconds." He made a face. "The Blind’s armour must have protected them against it, somehow."

There was silence for a few moments, then Davian shifted nervously. "So what do we do now?"

Taeris chewed at his lip, expression thoughtful. "There’s nothing more we can do here. If we want to help, we need to get back to the fight."

Davian and Wirr both nodded; Davian helped his friend to his feet, glad to see that Wirr’s strength seemed to be returning.

Taeris opened the door a crack, peering through cautiously before beckoning for the boys to follow.

They started out through the Tol in a silent half-jog, Taeris going ahead and checking around each new corner. After a minute, they entered a new hallway and Davian faltered.

Crumpled, lifeless bodies littered the way ahead. They were all Gifted, from their red robes. He knelt by the closest one – a young man, no older than Davian – but the Gifted’s chest was still, and his eyes were glassy as they stared at the roof. Davian stood unsteadily.

"It’s like this everywhere," Taeris warned him.

They moved on; every new corridor greeted them with eerie, unsettling silence – and in a few cases, more bodies. A couple of the corpses were holding daggers, which Wirr collected as he went. Davian wasn’t sure how much use they would be against swords; even so, he didn’t refuse the one that Wirr offered him.

A few tense minutes passed. Davian’s eyes and ears strained for any hint of danger, but it was still without warning that the two black-armoured men wandered into the passageway up ahead.

Though they were not wearing the distinctive helmets, there was no doubting who they were.

Before anyone could move, Davian felt Wirr gathering Essence; his friend threw it at the soldiers, aiming for their exposed heads. To Davian’s dismay, the bolts seemed to simply evaporate just before they made contact.

“Looks like we missed a couple,” snarled the man on the left.

Wirr and Davian both took a faltering step back and drew their daggers as the men began walking towards them; though they started more than thirty feet away and appeared to be moving at an almost casual pace, they were covering the space between unnaturally fast.

"Your knives, boys. Throw them now," said Taeris urgently.

Davian and Wirr both hesitated for a split second, then did as Taeris instructed, throwing the blades wildly at the oncoming soldiers.

Taeris stretched out his hand.

The daggers stopped for a second in mid-air as if frozen in time, then spun, their blades pointing straight at the approaching men.

The soldiers were fast, but Taeris was faster. The daggers blurred forward; the Blind may not have needed their helmets to stop Essence, but steel was another matter. They yelled something incomprehensible as they saw the danger too late.

Taeris sunk a dagger into each man’s left eye.

The soldiers crumpled to the ground, pools of scarlet forming on the stone around their heads. Davian leaned weakly against the wall, staring at Taeris, who was busy reclaiming their blades from the bodies.

"So the new Tenets really are working," he said eventually.

Taeris gave a tired nod. "We were just lucky they weren’t wearing their helmets. Fully armoured, we would have had to run." He handed both boys a dagger each, the blades now smeared with red. "We should get moving. We’re not far from the gate."

Davian nodded, accepting the dagger and trying not to look at the corpse it had come from. His stomach churned. Fighting the Blind with their helmets on, without the advantage of the Shields… Tenets changed or not, he shuddered to think of how the Andarrans were going to fare. For the first time, he couldn’t see how this was a fight they could win.

Still, they had to try. He took a deep breath to steady himself, nodding to Taeris.

"Lead the way," he said quietly.

They headed down the corridor at a jog.