The Light of All That Falls, page 26
She wouldn’t care about the cost, either. She never had. That thing had come through from the Darklands into his wife’s body, taken Elliavia’s memory of him—her love for him—and twisted it into something dark and fixated. And in all the years since that had happened, her pursuit, her belief that eventually he would end up with her, had never fallen anything short of obsession.
That should have been obvious to Scyner, too, by now. But whether his blindness was born of desperation, or whether Nethgalla had truly persuaded him, it didn’t matter. She would discard him as soon as he was no longer useful. That was simply her nature.
Caeden considered the amulet. If he took it from Scyner, then perhaps Davian could use it… but then, he would die soon after, unable to draw Essence from his surroundings. Not to mention that Caeden was fated to take his life anyway. There were others fighting for Andarra who could use this, though—who were almost certainly more deserving than this man, if he had been working for Nethgalla.
Still. If Caeden took it, he would be necessitating Scyner’s death. He didn’t like the man much from what he had seen thus far, but he wasn’t sure he was quite at that point.
“Why haven’t you used it yet?” he asked eventually.
Scyner shrugged, still looking tense. “There’s no reason to until everyone else is dead. This way, I can still be of use.” His eyes searched Caeden’s. “You have remembered much, then.”
“Almost everything.” Caeden left it at that.
His memories had mostly returned, and yet… since he’d remembered killing Davian, the vivid ones—the ones he relived, rather than simply recalled—had been rare. In fact, the memory he’d just seen of Alchesh had been one of only three over the past year. Instead, everything leaked back in a slow haze, now. Sometimes he would simply have facts at his fingertips that he hadn’t realized had returned until his mind needed to conjure them.
He knew why, too. His mind was shying away from the trauma, or potential trauma, of experiencing those things all over again. Of exposing him to the kind of man he had once been.
He still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
A distant boom shattered the silence.
Both men froze, then darted behind a low wall, looking toward the source of the noise. The sound had come from deep in the city, somewhere within the great haze of darkness caused by Isiliar’s broken Tributary. The noise echoed away into nothing, but there were no physical signs of anything untoward.
“What was that?” whispered Scyner.
Caeden shook his head, eyes still fixed on the darkness. “Not sure.”
It couldn’t be coincidence that someone was here: so far as he knew, nobody except Nethgalla had come to Alkathronen in the two millennia of Isiliar’s imprisonment. The city was a marvel, to be sure, but at the end of the day it was just… a city. There were no hidden treasures to be found, no unique wonders from which to learn.
He frowned to himself. When Scyner had first mentioned the presence of others, Caeden had assumed that it was someone reacting to his fight with Alaris—that his Trace had activated and one of the Venerate had come to look for clues to his whereabouts. Not ideal, but not especially dangerous so long as he and Scyner did nothing to attract their attention.
This, though… this was something else. Whatever was going on, it didn’t feel like a search.
“Are we safe here?” Scyner’s tone was uncertain.
“As I said. It’s a big city.” Caeden kept his own concern from his voice. Even if whoever it was did wander in their direction, the Essence flowing through Alkathronen should mask their presence from all but the most wary of passersby. But if it did not—if, somehow, they were discovered by one of the Venerate—Caeden was in no condition for a serious fight. Or flight, for that matter. “But we shouldn’t linger.”
Scyner indicated his agreement. “So… you’ll help Nethgalla?” he asked, sounding cautiously optimistic. “She only went to Ilshan Gathdel Teth for you, you know,” he added, seeing the hesitation in Caeden’s stance.
“She went there for her own purposes,” Caeden corrected him firmly. “Nethgalla is as afraid of Shammaeloth reaching the rift as you or I, but not because she fears the end of the world. It is because she doesn’t want to live in the Darklands again. She simply doesn’t want her time in this place—this paradise, by comparison—to come to an end.”
“It doesn’t matter why she is doing it,” Scyner pressed, somewhat nervously now. “Your goals are clearly aligned. She wants to help you retrieve Licanius, and that is your sole purpose right now.” He eyed Caeden’s tattered, bedraggled state. “Surely you need every ally you can get.”
Caeden studied Scyner.
“The old saying is wrong, you know,” he said eventually. “A common enemy does not a friendship make. You can only ever be as good as the people you are willing to fight beside. And even ignoring her past, I am only in need of her help because she altered my plan for her own ends—she killed Asar, destroyed countless lives in Andarra to introduce her binding Vessel and make use of the Siphon, and then thrust the responsibility of maintaining the ilshara upon the shoulders of an innocent girl.” He held the man’s gaze steadily. “So… no. Alliances made from convenience only ever weaken a cause. I won’t refuse Licanius if she places it in my hand, but I am not going to join with her.”
Scyner paled; he gaped at Caeden, for the first time looking completely lost.
Caeden gave him a tight smile, only partly sympathetic. “You thought that I would be more pliable. More uncertain. You thought I would have enormous holes in my memory—that I wouldn’t entirely understand everything that’s happening, or who was a friend and who an enemy. Whether I was doing what I’d planned to do, or whether I was making a mess of things.” Caeden watched the Augur calmly. “I am clear now, Scyner—clearer than I have been in a very long time. I despise my past but I have to learn from it, not wallow in its misery. My confusion, my desperation, is not something that you or Nethgalla or anyone can take advantage of anymore.”
Scyner sat heavily. “She said that you would save her,” he muttered.
“I still might. I’m just not going to pretend that’s my goal.” Caeden leaned forward, lending his tone some urgency. “You want to help her? Make my job easier. I’m not going to work with her but the faster I get to Ilshan Gathdel Teth, the more likely she is to survive.”
Scyner looked up again. “How?”
“Two things.” Caeden drew in a breath. “The first is easy enough. Go to Ilin Illan, and talk to the sha’teth. Try to determine their purpose there. They delight in using Darecian, but they know and can use the common tongue if pressed.” He held Scyner’s gaze. “When you have extracted all that you can, kill them. I don’t know why those fools in Tol Athian are keeping them alive, but make certain they are dead before you leave.”
“Why me?”
“Because they might be bait for me,” said Caeden simply. “The Venerate haven’t attacked Ilin Illan directly yet—partly because they do not see Andarra as much of a threat, but I think also because they believe I’ll eventually try to contact my friends there. Add to that the sha’teth’s capture, and… it is hard for me to stay away.” He spoke honestly; if Scyner were not here, he wasn’t sure that he could stop himself from trying to sneak into the Andarran capital. “I cannot ignore them, Scyner. And the others know it.”
“So you’re sending me into a trap.”
“Which shouldn’t matter, seeing as you’re not the one for whom it’s set,” observed Caeden. He shrugged. “I didn’t say that it would be safe. But at the very least it will save me time. It might even be the difference between me making it to Talan Gol or not.”
Scyner’s face twisted, but he nodded reluctantly. “Perhaps it will be an opportunity to finally convince Prince Torin to actually use the power he’s been given,” he observed through gritted teeth. “We always knew it was possible that he might abuse it, but this… indecisiveness was not something we ever anticipated.”
“It’s not indecisiveness. It’s him being principled, and El knows that you and Nethgalla should both be grateful for it,” said Caeden sharply. He’d often thought that, ever since he’d remembered that the Mark was in fact Nethgalla’s symbol—the one he and the rest of the Venerate had bound her to use, all those years ago.
“Tell me,” he continued. “I see the purpose in a lot of what she has done, regardless of how I feel about it. Killing the Augurs to stop the Boundary from weakening, then using the Siphon to quietly accumulate enough power to restore it, all makes sense—and she knew that Is and I were the only two Venerate still alive who knew about the Siphon, so she was fairly safe in doing so.” He shook his head slowly. “But then the Tenets exposed her. They make sense, practically—it was the only way she could bring the law for creating Shadows into effect—but that symbol appearing on everyone’s wrists immediately meant that we knew who was responsible. She had to go into hiding for fifteen years because of that. So why risk it?”
Scyner gave him a reproving look. “I thought that would be obvious, Tal’kamar,” he said gently. “She knew that the Venerate had been suspicious of you for some time, even back then. It was so that no blame could be placed on you.”
Caeden closed his eyes at that. It did make sense, from Nethgalla’s twisted point of view. The Venerate knew of their past, would never have believed that Caeden and she were working together.
“And choosing Torin’s father?” he pressed, eager to clarify some of the questions that had been lingering this past year. “I assume that there was some sort of an implied right of acceptance necessary for the mass binding to work?” Bindings always required some form of agreement between initiator and bound, but what constituted agreement was sometimes… murky. With the Northwarden given such far-reaching, officially recognized authority over the Gifted, Caeden’s best guess was that Nethgalla’s Vessel had taken advantage of that fact—allowing him to somehow accept on behalf of the Gifted.
“There was,” Scyner admitted. “And still is, as far as I know. If Torin was stripped of his position, or even stopped believing that he had a right to it, then his ability may well not work anymore.”
“But you foresaw that he would be Gifted? That he would get this ability?”
“Of course.”
Caeden scowled. “She certainly took a risk with him, then. He could have turned out to be a monster.”
“A monster might be what Andarra needs, right now,” said Scyner darkly.
Caeden snorted, then considered.
“That’s why you became a Shadow,” he said suddenly, another piece falling into place.
Scyner shook his head. “No. It was earlier than that.” The uneasy way he shifted showed Caeden that he had guessed right, though.
“But you knew what was coming with the Tenets—not that you would have wanted to restrict yourself to them originally anyway,” allowed Caeden. “You knew that if you wanted to use Essence, you would be bound; if you were bound, you would ultimately be at the mercy of Wirr’s decisions. But you’re an Augur—you get your Essence externally anyway. For you, being a Shadow is simply a shield from the Tenets. And a shield from Torin’s influence.”
Scyner looked displeased. “Something like that.” He squinted at Caeden. “As we’re on the topic. I’ve always been curious as to why the Venerate were not affected. When we discovered the binding had extended to countries other than Andarra, Nethgalla had hoped it would affect Gassandrid and the others, too.”
Tal shook his head.
“The Gifted in the Cyrarium were affected,” he said quietly. “But not us. Bindings require access to the mind, so our unique connection to the Forge would have interfered, the same way it does when someone tries to Read or Control us. The only bindings that have ever worked on us are those we’ve been willing to accept.”
Scyner looked dissatisfied, but waved his hand in reluctant acceptance. There was a short, thoughtful silence.
“So. You mentioned that there were two things you required?” the Augur said eventually.
Caeden grimaced.
“I need a memory of yours,” he admitted, a little sheepishly. “I need to know where Asha’s Tributary is.”
“You don’t know?” Scyner gave him a puzzled look. “Didn’t you create it?”
Caeden coughed. “I did. And I know enough that I could get within a few days’ walk of it. But I don’t have much time, and my memories… well. Try and picture somewhere you went for only an hour or two, say, thirty years ago—in enough detail that you could reliably call it ‘familiar,’ which is what is needed to form a Gate. Even if it was somewhere important, somewhere you wanted to remember. That’s what it’s like to recall a place where you spent a couple of weeks two millennia ago.”
Scyner held up his hands. “All right. No need to get defensive,” he said, sounding dangerously close to amused. “You can have the memory. Nothing else, though.”
“Agreed.”
Scyner stood. “Why do you need to go there, anyway?”
“It’s complicated.” Caeden kept his stare level, and Scyner looked away, nodding.
Caeden inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He would have explained his reasons if he’d had to, but he didn’t think Scyner would have liked them much.
Scyner eventually indicated his readiness, and Caeden stepped forward, placing two fingers against the Augur’s forehead. Physical contact wasn’t necessary for this, but it did make it much easier.
The memory transfer took mere moments, Caeden reliving the events just as Scyner had. Even that small glimpse into the man’s mind reassured Caeden that his decision not to trust Nethgalla, and by extension Scyner, had been the right one. He had felt… nothing, as Asha had allowed herself to be consumed by that terrible device. He’d known what it would do to her, and there had been not even a sliver of pity, or remorse, or wondering if there was somehow a better way. Scyner was focused, driven, and completely untouched by the plight of those he had no care for.
Just the kind of man Nethgalla would choose.
Scyner shivered as Caeden lifted his hand again, then stepped back, looking questioningly at him.
“That is enough,” Caeden confirmed. The island to the east, cloaked in so many kan wards that not even he could have found it again without help. He could make a Gate straight there now.
All that was left was to see whether he could save Ashalia.
“You know how to return to Ilin Illan from here?” he asked Scyner.
“The Builders’ portal,” said Scyner. “Then back up through the Sanctuary and into Tol Athian. It’s not too far.”
“Good.” Caeden stretched. “Before you go, I’ll be needing those Travel Stones.” He held out his hand expectantly.
Scyner glared, moving slightly away. “Why? Can’t you just make a Gate to wherever you need to go, like Ell… like Nethgalla?”
“Gates take time. These are a tool that I can almost certainly use.” He already had an idea of how he might be able to make use of them, in fact. “But even if they were not, this isn’t a discussion.”
Scyner’s expression didn’t change, and for a moment Caeden thought that he might try to refuse. Then the black-veined man reluctantly dipped into his pocket, pulling the two parts of the Vessel out and pressing them into Caeden’s outstretched hand, his anger evident in the motion.
Caeden pocketed the stones, casting another wary glance toward the center of Alkathronen. “Time to get out of here.”
“I have questions of my own,” Scyner immediately protested, clearly displeased at the dismissal.
“And I will help you with those when we next meet, if there is time,” said Caeden firmly. “There’s not a high chance of our being discovered here—but should it happen, the danger would be immense. And I’m about to be out in a howling blizzard, using all of my concentration on making a Gate for the next couple of hours.”
“I will hold you to that,” Scyner growled. He made to start toward Alkathronen’s entrance, then paused. “At least answer me one thing.”
Caeden sighed. “What?”
“Licanius—can it truly not be destroyed?”
Caeden cocked his head to the side. “Gassandrid tried it, once. He cast it into the Molten Sea—a massive lake of lava, far to the north,” he clarified for Scyner. “Andrael retrieved it within a day. So… no. It cannot be destroyed, and it cannot be hidden. Only protected.” He shrugged. “If the Lyth had not been such a threat, I believe the others would have happily left it in their possession forever.”
“They were a threat?”
“They were capable of opening a portal to anywhere—except through the ilshara—and they had Licanius,” said Caeden impatiently. “Andrael’s deal let them use it, too, as long as it was outside of Res Kartha. Not long after the ilshara went up, they took Gassandrid by surprise when he tried to leave Talan Gol. Almost killed him. Being away from the lava pits ended up costing the would-be assassin her life, but it sent a message—showed us just how big a risk leaving the north, even briefly, was going to be.” He gestured. “And that is your question, plus another. Now go.”
Scyner glared, but slipped away without another word.
Caeden waited a few minutes and then moved as well, gazing down the long street toward the ominous darkness of the city’s center. No more sounds had emanated from that direction. He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.
He hurried out to the city’s entrance, marching through the long canyon of portals and then wrapping himself as warmly as possible before braving the softly falling snow beyond. It would take longer to make a Gate out here—a few hours, probably—but it was too risky to do it too close to Alkathronen. The kan construct itself wouldn’t be detected, but the Essence it used when he activated it could well be.
Another distant, booming echo from the city made him flinch as he trudged upward, somehow audible even through the dampening field of snow that surrounded him. He resisted the urge to turn back, to go and find out what was going on. Even if it was something he’d want to stop, he was far too weak for a confrontation right now. He needed to stick to the plan.
