The Light of All That Falls, page 27
It was time to talk to Asha.
Chapter 15
Caeden stepped through the Gate and onto the plateau.
He pulled in a lungful of fresh sea air, shaking the snow from himself and then shedding his heavy coat, immediately struck by the change in climate. Even though it was late night here, with the moon almost at its zenith, the atmosphere was oven-like in comparison to Alkathronen. He draped the damp coat on a nearby rock and gazed around.
The pavilion on the far side of the open space glowed a faint blue; it would have been a beacon for miles around, had the entire island on which this mountain sat not been perfectly veiled by a complex screen of kan. He’d been involved in the construction of that veil, not long after the Jha’vett had exploded in Deilannis. Before the island had even existed, in fact.
It had been a great work to raise the land from the ocean once the veil was in place, but the Venerate had mapped Andarra long before invading, and he and Andrael had needed somewhere entirely unknown. Its position, so close to the Boundary itself, had been risky—the Cyrarium it connected to was hidden hundreds of miles away in the Menaath Mountains, after all—but keeping it physically close had made for easier access. Especially when the other Venerate had started paying so much more attention to his movements after Deilannis.
He shook his head, the information somehow both familiar and new as he accessed it. Cyrarium. A massive store of Essence fed by multiple sources, used to power Vessels that needed to last through hundreds of years of constant use. Named in typically mock-arrogant fashion by Cyr, who had first come up with the idea. And the name had stuck, even after they’d discovered that the Builders had figured out how to construct something almost identical millennia earlier.
Cyr was in the south, now. In Nesk, inside another Tributary, hidden deep in the ice and snow where the Venerate would never think to look for him. Just as with Meldier’s Tributary, the distance to the Cyrarium meant that a significant amount of the Essence he provided was lost along the way, but the effectiveness of his concealment more than made up for it.
Caeden would have to kill him, too, once he had Licanius back.
He sighed. Beyond the plateau’s edges, he could see the gently rolling waves stretching out, highlighted by the strong, healthy light of the ilshara. It calmed him, seeing the barrier that way. There was something eminently comforting about the solid wall of light. He knew that this was how he and Andrael had designed it, the way it was meant to be.
It also, very briefly, made him reconsider what he was about to do. This wasn’t like the other Tributaries. It was directly connected to the Cyrarium, and thus was also able to draw from the Cyrarium to power its defenses if need be. Even if the Venerate did manage to figure out where it was—a difficult task, despite their knowing what they were looking for now—they could throw armies against it without getting inside.
So long as he didn’t inadvertently let them in, anyway.
He stared over the expanse and then closed his eyes, feeling the soft breeze against his face and the gentle silence of the night. These quiet moments were too rare, and went unappreciated too often. How long had it been since he had just stopped and breathed? The past year had been a blur of pressing forward, of learning and planning and obsessing over all the different things he could try, going through every potential strategy and how likely it was to succeed or fail. In all that time, it hadn’t felt like he had once just… paused.
But there were good reasons for that.
He squared his shoulders and walked over to the pavilion, gazing at the sealed entrance pensively.
A sliver of blue Essence-light tinged the edges of the stone entrance, which was sealed shut. He focused, examining the intricate web of kan that sat layered over the top, following the lines from endpoint to endpoint, studying their functions. He had been involved in the construction of the defenses, but it had largely been Andrael’s job. That had been a deliberate choice. Harder to find a way around such security measures when the maker was dead.
He walked closer, though he hesitated as the strangely curved structure glowed red in warning at the motion. Pushing carefully past the loose outer mesh of hardened kan, he extended his senses and examined the series of endpoints clustered in a circular pattern over the door itself. Impossible to spot if you didn’t know where to look, and difficult to see them all even if you did.
He gnawed his lip as he studied them. There were more than a hundred, all told. They looked identical to one another, the kan lines to which they were attached vanishing into a complex web beyond, impossible to follow.
It was familiar, though. Sparked another memory.
Caeden carefully funneled Essence into one endpoint, then another, and then another. There was no significance or pattern to which ones needed to be activated and which ones did not; he had not wanted to risk one of the other Venerate somehow guessing the combination. Points on the ring began to glow red, then yellow as more endpoints were activated, and finally changed to a deep-blue hue. It was odd, the things he remembered sometimes. He hadn’t been able to bring to mind a mental image of this place, yet he remembered this sequence well enough.
He activated the final endpoint, and the stone door slid away with a rasping groan.
Caeden exhaled and entered, the interior lighting up as he took his first step inside.
He examined the mass of steel and glass and black stone in front of him with a mixture of horror and fascination. It had been a surprise to him, that first time they had tested it, when he’d realized that it had shaped itself into a jagged wolf’s head. A funny thing, really. He’d tried so hard to avoid placing his signature on the Tributaries themselves, done everything he could to avoid fulfilling the oath he’d Bound himself to centuries earlier. And then it had been completed, and it had slid into place, and that had stared back at him.
Andrael had laughed and laughed, though Caeden had been less than amused at the time.
He stared at it now, stomach churning. This was it. This was the device within which he’d intended to seal himself, the one in which he’d decided to spend his last days while he waited for Asar to kill the remaining Venerate, the Augurs, and then finally him.
He shivered. Even now, even with his memories all but intact and his understanding of the situation firm, he still found that hard to comprehend.
He peered through the small window and winced as he saw Asha. She could have been merely sleeping, were it not for the hundreds of needles piercing her. Caeden instinctively pushed through kan, checking her source. All was well, though. While Essence drained away at a steady rate, sucked downward through the kan mechanism and drawn off to the Cyrarium, there was more than enough remaining for Asha to survive.
She was asleep, though—which meant she was in the dok’en. That was a relief.
He swallowed as his thoughts drifted, briefly and unwillingly, to Isiliar.
He pushed the dark memory aside, turning and reactivating the outer Tributary defenses, nodding in satisfaction as the shell ground back into place. There was little reason to believe he would be disturbed, and having the pavilion open would not increase the chance of discovery—but there was no reason not to take the precaution.
He pulled in a breath, then walked around to the side of the Tributary, searching for the shelf upon which he knew the iron ring would rest. Rings were the best Vessels for most things: portable, wearable, distinctive when they needed to be. Their size disallowed using them for more complex purposes—even before he’d lost his memories, he’d been dumbfounded that Garadis and the Lyth had somehow managed to fit the entire machinery of a flexible Gate into a small bronze cube—but for something simple like entry into an existing dok’en, rings were perfect.
The small band of iron was there, just where it should be. He stared at it, considering. What would he find in there? Would Asha have recovered from the trauma of the Shifts enough to have even stabilized a small section of the dok’en? That it could still be in a state of flux had occurred to him—such a scenario shouldn’t stop him from entering, but it could make things more difficult. He needed to be prepared to act quickly either way; it was unlikely that Ashalia would have been able to steady the illusion much beyond a small space. At least while he was in there, he would be able to teach her. Show her how to expand the dok’en to its fullest potential and live more comfortably.
He took a deep breath, and slipped the ring on his finger. The Tributary and the inside of the pavilion immediately vanished; sunlit trees and grass snapped into view all around him, and—
Fire.
Caeden gave a panicked yell, instinctively enhancing his legs with Essence and leaping to the side as searing flame screamed down from some unseen source above; he landed and rolled, his clothes alight from the sheer heat. Pain flooded through him from scorched skin; he quickly forced his mind to calm and directed Essence to the injury.
Before the cracked skin had even smoothed there was a warning flash from the corner of his eye; he dove again, propelled forward by a massive blast of pure energy where he’d just been standing. He stepped outside of time and moved, watching almost dazedly as impossibly thick beams of Essence seared through the air, slicing dangerously close to his head despite his increased speed.
What was this? Where was all this Essence coming from? He hastily erected an ilshara and scanned the now-blazing forest for the source of the attacks, but there was nothing—no one, and no Vessels that he could see, either. Just… Essence, coiled and waiting to be unleashed.
How was that possible?
Another streak of white-hot energy crashed against his newly formed shield, and to his astonishment it actually shivered.
He scowled, shaking his head and closing his eyes. This was supposed to be his dok’en.
He focused.
When he opened his eyes again, the raging storm of power outside his ilshara had vanished, and the forest was calm once again.
Caeden glared down at his burned leg, which was not crippled but still ached terribly. This was a preconstructed space, deliberately cordoned off in his mind; he could reset it, but there were still limits to what he could do with his own body. He funneled Essence to the wound, breathing out as the pain seeped away and flesh knitted together once again.
His drumming heart finally slowing, he took the time to assess. The forest around him was calm, peaceful; the sun was yellow white in the east where it had just risen. Dappled light penetrated the foliage overhead, and a warm breeze caressed him, belying the violence of only a minute earlier.
He frowned as he recognized where he was. This was the edge of the dok’en, quite some distance from the palace itself.
The very edge of to where he had created it to extend.
He inhaled, still confused, and started walking.
Vague memory told him the correct path to take; soon enough he could see the sparkling of a water garden flashing through the trees. His brow furrowed as more memories flickered. He knew this place—of course he did—but on his seeing it, the familiarity became deeper, something in his bones. The fountains he could see weren’t just fountains; they were masterworks of Essence and engineering both, the Water Garden of Om.
He took the final step to the base of the hill, and something changed in the air. Before he could move, impossibly thick strands of Essence wrapped themselves tightly around him, immobilizing him. He almost lashed out to cut them with kan, then held off when the young woman appeared from behind a fountain in front of him.
“Ashalia,” he said, relief thick in his voice. “It’s me. I am glad to see you.”
“Tal’kamar,” said Asha, and her voice as much as the name itself told Caeden that this was not going to be a warm welcome. “How do I know that this is really you?”
“Last I saw you, we were in Deilannis. You stabbed Nethgalla with Whisper, which transferred her Reserve to you—along with the Reserves of everyone connected to the Siphon. We left the city, and I made a Gate for you to return to Ilin Illan.”
Asha didn’t react. “And what did you tell me, just before I left?”
Caeden licked his lips, thinking back.
“That it was a risk, you going back there.”
Asha waved her hand, and the thick, vine-like Essence unwrapped itself from Caeden’s legs. Caeden watched it go with fascination. He could have dispelled the Essence, but there was simply so much of it that it wouldn’t have been easy.
“So. Care to explain why I was nearly killed entering my own dok’en?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“Wards. Against intruders.”
“Wards without containing Vessels, though,” Caeden observed slowly. “You would need to be replenishing them every couple of days. Everywhere. And those are complex. You would need…”
He trailed off as he watched Asha’s face, then looked around again, reassessing the perfectly formed dok’en.
“Well,” he said, sitting against the edge of a nearby fountain. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I wish I could say the same.” There was a cold light in Asha’s eyes. In control though she appeared to be, this was not the Ashalia whom Caeden had met a little over a year earlier in Deilannis. She seemed more confident now, but much older than her seventeen years, too. Wearier. Harder.
And very clearly not pleased to see him.
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly.
“I need your help.”
“You need…” Asha trailed off with a humorless laugh. “Of course you do.” She looked him in the eye. “The thing is, Tal’kamar, I’m not sure that I want anything to do with you.”
Caeden flinched.
“Tal’kamar,” he repeated, shaking his head. “That’s not my name now.”
Asha’s lip curled. “How about Aarkein Devaed?”
Caeden swallowed. It wasn’t a guess—she knew. He could tell from her stance, from the dead, icy certainty in her eyes.
Asha’s voice built, emotion flooding her words. “I saw what you did, too. I know you killed…” She choked off, then took a steadying breath, her gaze full of resolve. “I know that you killed Davian. Or will kill him. So do not imagine that we are friends. I will listen to what you have to say—mostly because I need your help. Diara has already been here, and she is intending to return soon.” She paused to let that sink in, then continued, “But if you think that I’m going to help you simply because you ask, then you are sorely mistaken. Now—I am going to repair the damage you just did in removing my wards, before someone who wants both of us dead gets back in. I’ll find you in the palace when I’m ready.”
Caeden gaped at her, a flood of shame filling his gut. He wanted so badly to tell her that she was wrong. That hurting Davian was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Fair enough,” he all but whispered.
Asha threw a hate-filled glare in his direction, then turned and walked stiffly away.
There was nothing but the burbling of fountains, and then, suddenly, movement to his right. Still reeling, he turned.
His breath caught in his throat.
“I’ve missed you, Tal,” said Elliavia.
Chapter 16
Asha watched Caeden and Elli from the library window, their heads bent low as they spoke to one another.
Caeden suddenly leaned back and laughed at something Elli had said, a genuine sound. Asha sighed, putting down the book she’d unsuccessfully been trying to distract herself with, steeling herself. She had returned from repairing the wards—and strengthening them a touch, given Caeden’s ability to survive them—to find the two in deep conversation. She’d felt an irritating spark of jealousy, though it only stood to reason that Elli would like the man. Still.
Caeden had seen Asha enter the palace but hadn’t come to find her, hadn’t approached her or tried to encroach upon her space in the hours since his arrival. At first, she’d thought it was because he wanted to spend time with Elli.
The occasional sidelong glances he cast toward the palace, though, said otherwise. The longer he went without pursuing her, the more she realized that he was giving her time. Giving her space to come to the right decision.
It irked her, but mostly because she knew that he was trying to do the right thing. She still hated him for what he’d done—what he would do—to Davian, still stewed over it, even setting aside the knowledge of who he truly was. Every time she saw his face, she felt a seething anger at his presence, a desire to go and physically attack him. As if that could somehow stop what had already happened.
He’d done it before he’d come to know Davian, before he’d switched sides, before any of this. On some level, Asha understood that. Logically, now, he was on her side. He wanted to work with her toward their common goal.
Her helping him might somehow result in Davian going back, might speed the death of the one she loved.
Not helping him could do exactly the same.
She stood, exiting the library and reluctantly navigating her way to the front of the palace. Caeden looked up when he heard footsteps.
“Ashalia,” he said when he saw her, scrambling to his feet and moving to meet her, out of Elli’s earshot. He looked… awkward. Nervous.
Asha watched him, then glanced at Elli before looking back at him, her tone cold despite the decision she had reached. “Who is she?”
“My wife.” Caeden’s face twisted. “The memory of her, anyway.”
“Oh.” Asha paused, thrown. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “I like her.”
“Me too,” murmured Caeden. He turned and shot a smile at Elli, but there was a depth of grief to the expression that, just for a moment, made Asha’s heart swell with sympathy.
Then Caeden swallowed and straightened, as if remembering the situation. “You and I need to talk.” He glanced over at Elli again, raising his voice so that she could hear. “I’ll… find you a little later?” There was a conflicted reluctance behind his words.
