The Shadow Of What Was Lost (8 page)

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.”