The Light of All That Falls, page 14
When he woke, his marginally less blurry vision picked out a dark, person-shaped shadow against the white.
“Fates,” muttered a voice through the howl of the wind, unfamiliar to him. “What a mess.”
Caeden cracked open his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a soft sigh. The stranger standing over him crouched, leaning in close. Coming more into focus, this time.
He didn’t recognize the angular, black-scarred face above the scruffy beard. A Shadow. That reminded him of something, but he couldn’t latch on to what.
Caeden’s gaze traveled downward to the dangling chain that had slipped from beneath the middle-aged man’s shirt. At its end was a distinctive golden eagle, its wings spread wide.
Warmth began to spread through his mind, a familiarity. That medallion. He did know that medallion.
He drifted again.
Caeden stared pensively ahead as they trudged the long, muddy, overgrown path to Ilshan Tereth Kal.
To his right, his companion glanced across at him. He was short but well muscled beneath the thick furs he was wearing, his brown eyes keen and sparkling with their usual barely contained mirth as they assessed Caeden’s expression. “You really need to stop brooding, Tal. Keep worrying like this and you’re going to start showing your age.”
Caeden gave a chuckle, the sound nervous despite his best efforts. “Sorry, my friend. I’ll be worried until all of this is done. Over for good, one way or another.”
Alchesh grunted. “Well it’s terribly unbecoming for an immortal. You’re just making the whole ‘live forever’ thing seem rather dour and unappealing.”
Caeden snorted, allowing himself a small smile at the friendly jibe, though it faded quickly.
There was just too much pain at the memories this journey brought back.
Silence ruled for a time as they leaned into the heavy rain and sharply biting wind, which whipped down off the snowy mountains and through the narrow pass.
“How long has it been since you made this climb?” Alchesh asked. Though his tone was conversational, there was an underlying mildness to it, a gentleness indicating that he knew the question was approaching sensitive ground.
For a long moment, Caeden considered not replying.
“A thousand years. Give or take,” he said quietly. “And before that, another several hundred.”
“Changed much?”
Caeden responded with an amused glare. “A little.”
“Good. I’d hate to think you were bored, on top of worried and sad and generally depressed.” Alchesh didn’t look at him, but his tone remained soft. “A thousand years is a long time for most of us, you know. Far too long to hold on to any mistakes we may have made.” Before Caeden could respond, the other man stretched. “So I saw you were talking with Sariette de la Teirs, just before we left.”
Caeden blinked at the abrupt switch in conversation. “I was.”
“She is very beautiful.”
“I suppose.”
“And witty. Terribly witty. Renowned for her wit.”
Caeden frowned. “True enough.”
“And extremely eligible.”
Caeden sighed, glancing across at Alchesh. “Fortunate, then, seeing as you appear so enamored of her.”
“I saw the two of you flirting. Don’t tell me there’s nothing there. You must have at least thought about it,” Alchesh wheedled.
Caeden glowered at him. “You know how I sometimes complain that dealing with mortals can be like dealing with children?”
“Honesty and innocence. Purity of intention. All just part of our charm,” replied Alchesh cheerfully.
Caeden shook his head, though this time a genuine grin slid onto his face. Alchesh was working hard to lighten his mood, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the effort. It wouldn’t make coming back here pleasant, but it might at least make it easier.
He allowed himself to relax, for a while pushing back the dark thoughts that had plagued him since they had arrived and allowing himself to participate in the more lively, cheerful conversation that Alchesh was trying to foster. They had been friends for decades, and for all his effervescent-to-the-point-of-rudeness demeanor, Alchesh was, beneath it all, a wise man. Wiser than most, in fact.
It was an hour later that their shared laughter at a joke died as they crested the final rise and the blackened, long-abandoned ruins of Ilshan Tereth Kal peered back up at them from the valley.
Only two of the nine towers were distinguishable within the remains, though even those poked feebly at the sky now, jagged tops cracked and crumbling where the crystal had shattered. The surrounding forest had reclaimed much of the structure over the past millennium, vines curling through gaping holes and entire trees sprouting in the courtyard where he had once trained. The walls were dark, the guardians’ streaking, flowing blue energy gone. Snuffed out forever.
“El’s name. You didn’t leave much to chance, did you,” murmured Alchesh, gazing down upon the ruins.
“It was…” Caeden stopped himself. “We thought it was necessary. Not that that is an excuse.”
“I know,” said Alchesh, his quiet tone indicating the response was to both statements. He gestured. “Shall we?”
They began picking their way down the treacherously steep path into the valley. Once they reached the floor, the thick forest murmured and rustled with life around them, a stark contrast to what poked through the tops of the trees ahead. Despite Alchesh’s efforts, now that they were here, Caeden’s feet dragged as the memories he had worked so hard to forget began to weigh him down.
They passed through the scorched entrance, where once he had knelt before the entirety of the Cluster and sworn never to reveal their secrets. The courtyard—where he had truly learned to use Essence, all those years ago—was achingly familiar, even with the layers of grime and overgrowth. They made their way down the stairs where—
“Agh!” Alchesh’s strangled grunt of surprise interrupted Caeden’s thoughts, making him flinch.
He spun, then gave a low chuckle as his gaze followed Alchesh’s to the image etched in the crystal wall. Eleven feet tall, the sinuous red-scaled shape rose majestically, her gaze determined and wise. Cracks ran through the etching but still, as the sunlight caught it it seemed to shimmer, coming alive and moving, looking as much like the real thing as any picture could.
“What is it?” murmured Alchesh, looking mildly abashed.
“Sarrin. First of the Shalis,” said Caeden, a touch of reverence in his tone.
“You knew her?”
“She was the one who let me in here.” He pushed past Alchesh, unable to look at the Shalis’s great leader any longer. “Both times.”
He assumed that his friend would follow, but instead Alchesh continued to stare at the etching, fascinated as the sunlight played off it. “Is the picture as accurate as it looks?”
Caeden shuffled his feet. “It is like she is here with us again,” he admitted softly, raising his gaze to meet Sarrin’s soulful eyes once more.
Alchesh was silent for a few seconds. “They look… different, than how I had imagined. More… personable,” he admitted. “How many of them were there?”
“One hundred and forty-four in the Cluster,” said Caeden. He gazed around the courtyard. “All of them here when it happened.”
Alchesh nodded, not really listening. “Amazing,” he said, still staring at Sarrin. “She looks so… wise.”
“She was.” Caeden’s jaw clenched. “The only mistake I believe she ever made was trusting me.”
He tore his eyes from the image and moved on before Alchesh could respond.
They came to the sloping ramp leading into the lower level and began the long descent, made all the harder by the severity of the smooth floor’s angle. Caeden found himself adjusting naturally; though it had been so long ago, he had been up and down here every day for months on end. Twice he had to reach out and steady Alchesh as the other man almost slipped, despite a hand firmly against the wall as they made their way downward.
“Not exactly practical,” the usually light-footed man muttered, taking another stuttering step.
“It wasn’t made for walking,” replied Caeden absently. “Nothing in this place was.”
Alchesh eyed the seamless white walls. “But it’s Builder-made.”
“It is.”
“So… it was made specifically for the Shalis?” Alchesh’s voice was thick with skepticism.
Caeden nodded. “Sarrin and Ordan never said so, but I believe they knew them.”
“The Shalis knew the Builders,” repeated Alchesh slowly.
“Sarrin and Ordan knew the Builders,” Caeden corrected him.
The other man stumbled and almost fell again as his focus strayed from the descent. “You cannot be serious. I’ve never heard anything to suggest that.”
“You hadn’t heard of the Forge before I told you about it, either,” observed Caeden. “What you know comes from our history books, and our history books come from us. The Venerate. They are… incomplete, at best. Filled only with what we want others to know.”
Alchesh looked across at Caeden. “I try not to press you about this time in your life, Tal—you know that—but… why did you keep the whereabouts of the Forge from everyone? You stood against the Shalis with the others, so if there is a Vessel of such immense power hidden away down here, why not—”
“Because sometimes we know that the things we do are wrong,” interrupted Caeden quietly. “Even after so long away, even after hearing all of the reasoning, I hated betraying Sarrin and her kin. They saw something in me, taught me, and I repaid them with death. And this…” He sighed. “The Forge was a secret that, even after they let me in, I was not supposed to know. Ordan revealed it to me and when the Cluster found out, there was a vote on what to do with me. It was a tie, and Sarrin held the deciding vote.” He licked his lips. “I was made to swear never to reveal its existence. Even as we burned this place down, I could not bring myself to break that vow.”
Alchesh frowned. “But you told me,” he observed. “If it was such a secret, why didn’t they just bind you?”
“They would have found the very concept repugnant.” They finally reached the bottom of the twisting ramp, Alchesh breathing out a sigh of relief. “The Shalis believed that kan was the source of all death and destruction in this world. The reason we feel pain, and loss, and hunger for the things that are not healthy for us. Power. Unlimited freedom.”
“Cake,” added Alchesh.
Caeden barked a soft laugh. “The point being, they refused to use it. They could have, but to them it was a power never meant to be touched.”
“But the Forge…”
Caeden glanced across at him. “One of the reasons its knowledge was forbidden to outsiders.” He shook his head. “I do not believe it was the Shalis’s choice, being linked to it—no more than it was ours. But if people had known that their rebirth was tied to kan, after all they preached against it…” He shook his head. “They would not have understood. They would have jumped to conclusions and assumed the worst, just as they always do. Just as Gassandrid did.”
A passageway stretched out before them, the ground uncomfortably curving upward at both sides so that the center was the only place that was truly flat. They walked for a while until dark holes—no more than three feet wide—began to appear at regular intervals, just a few at first but then more and more, until the wall itself seemed to be little more than a latticework separating the circular entrances.
“It’s where they slept,” said Caeden absently in response to Alchesh’s wondering look. He trailed a hand along the stone. Warm and dry, just as he remembered it.
“Looks uncomfortable.”
“It definitely was for a human.”
Alchesh smirked. “You actually slept in one?”
“Not much choice in the matter. You live with the Cluster, you do what they tell you to do.” Caeden allowed himself a small smile at the memory. “It wasn’t so bad. You would be surprised at how much less intimidating they were after I had to listen to some of them snore for a few weeks.”
Alchesh chuckled. “That, I can relate to.”
Caeden shot him a mock glare, though once again conceding to himself how glad he was to have chosen his friend for this task. Alchesh had manned the first of the new Ironsails with him from the Shining Lands, had fought alongside him almost since he’d been old enough to wield Essence. Most of the men were terrified of Caeden, obeyed him without pause—without thought—but Alchesh, intensely loyal though he was, had never feared speaking up. Never feared questioning what they were doing or why they were doing it.
People like that were harder and harder to find, since Dareci.
They walked for a while longer. Though Ilshan Tereth Kal had held only the hundred and forty-four, the curving hallway was long; with each new gaping, empty hole they passed, the significance of what had been lost here became heavier and heavier, even Alchesh for once seemingly content to settle into contemplative silence.
“If we go through with this,” the other man said after a while, “and the worst eventuates. We find… something. Evidence that this man you killed was truly from the future, and that everything we’ve been fighting for is a lie. Are you really going to let Andrael and the Darecians activate this ilshara you’ve built?”
Caeden grunted. “Depends on the strength of the proof, I suppose. Let us hope it’s something that can convince the others—because if it isn’t, I cannot think of anything else I can do to make them question El’s divinity.”
Alchesh shivered, looking uncomfortable at the mere thought. “Andrael and Asar were obviously willing to. And you convinced Cyr—enough for him to volunteer for a Tributary, of all things. That has to mean there’s hope for the rest of them, surely.”
“Cyr agreed to it because he’s endlessly curious. He’s as much fascinated by the idea, the logic and the mechanics, as he is by the cause.” He waved away Alchesh’s expression. “I’m not suggesting that he’s doing it purely as an experiment, or that he doesn’t want to know the truth as much as the rest of us. In fact, his being on board might be one of the most convincing proofs I’ve had that this is worth doing. If he felt that El’s story was indisputable, he would never have agreed to help power the ilshara.” He rubbed his forehead. “I still despise the need, though. I worry for him in that thing.”
Alchesh raised an eyebrow. “He will be in the dok’en. From what he told me, he’s set aside all of his knowledge, arranged it so that he will be able to spend his days focusing on study and reflection. No need to feel bad, Tal. As far as he’s concerned, he’s in paradise for the next decade.”
Caeden rolled his shoulders. “Except during the Shifts.”
“He’ll probably enjoy those, too, in his own sick way. He’ll be fascinated by the entire process. And it’s not as if he can’t get out if he wants to.” He shrugged. “Ten years sounds like a long time to me, but I know it’s nothing to you. My equivalent of a month or two, perhaps.”
Caeden acceded with a nod. “And I do think that will be long enough. If the ilshara can contain El for such an extended period, then that should surely be proof that investigation is needed into why.” He gnawed his lip nervously at the thought. Ten years. Nothing, compared to how long they had worked toward this goal, and yet… was it still too much? The others hadn’t even been able to countenance the thought of testing El, of seeing whether their understanding of Him was all it could be.
But no. There were too many questions now, after Deilannis. Too many uncertainties after the Jha’vett had exploded and the mysterious stranger had appeared. If the young man calling himself Davian had been telling the truth, then El’s claim that they could break Shammaeloth’s hold over time—change things, destroy fate itself by going back—was false.
The thought was close to inconceivable, even after he had at first ignored it, then denied it, and finally wrestled with it each day for the past seven years. He had done everything he could to raise the question with the others as their armies had pushed farther and farther south against the Darecian defenses, going so far as to show them the memory itself—not his part in the destruction of the Jha’vett or his saving of the High Darecians, of course, as the repercussions of that would have been severe—but he had shown them Davian.
It hadn’t made a difference. Still they remained resistant to investigating, confident that the question he was asking had been answered long ago. They thought it was simply jitters, brought on by a combination of Andrael’s betrayal and being so close to the end.
“Any word on Isiliar?” Alchesh’s voice cut through his thoughts.
A fresh fist of guilt hit Caeden in the gut. “No,” he said. “Already the others are wondering if she was killed somehow. Postulating that Andrael has created another weapon like Licanius. We are keeping watch over one another now, with Traces to ensure that no one else is lost. If I go to visit her—or Cyr, for that matter—it would risk too much.”
“Won’t they know you’re here, then?”
“Probably. Certainly if Gassandrid notices where I am, he will ask.” Caeden shrugged. “But he also believes that we are nearing the end of this journey. I will tell him that I am revisiting the past, reminding myself of sacrifices made. He knows destroying the Shalis was one of my great regrets. He will not question it—and even if he does and decides to come here himself, he will find exactly what he found a thousand years ago. Which is to say, nothing.”
Alchesh frowned. “How can you be so sure?”
Caeden gave a grim smile as they turned the final corner. “You are about to find out.”
The other man started as he spotted the figure of a Shalis, eyes closed, sleeping against what appeared to be a solid wall at the end of the hallway. Alchesh shuffled closer, studying it curiously. “Another etching? Amazing,” he said in wonder. “It is truly like they are here.” He poked at the Shalis’s chest, brow furrowing at what was clearly an unexpected sensation.
