The Light of All That Falls, page 3
Asha and Breshada, along with the rest of their party, arrive at Deilannis to discover that the bridge is guarded by snakelike Banes known as dar’gaithin. They attempt to enter the city, but in the ensuing fight Asha falls from the bridge into the river Lantarche. She is miraculously saved by Breshada; together they find a way back up into the city and then to the Great Library, where Asha discovers an ancient account describing the Siphon and its connection to the Shadows.
As Wirr prepares for Geladra to officially challenge him for the position of Northwarden, he discovers that while holding an Oathstone, he is able to force anyone who has a Mark—either Gifted or Administrator—to follow his instructions. Despite Taeris’s urging him to use this newfound ability to consolidate his position, Wirr resists doing so, determined to find a way to remain the leader of Administration without resorting to such objectionable measures.
Davian, Ishelle, Fessi, and Erran reach the Boundary, dismayed to discover not only that it is steadily weakening, but also that the kan mechanisms governing it are complex beyond anything they could have imagined. To their surprise, they also find what appears to be a potential way through the massive barrier of energy and into Talan Gol.
Caeden arrives at Deilannis, reaching the Great Library and finding Asha and Breshada already there. Breshada immediately reveals herself to be Nethgalla; after handing Caeden the Siphon in order for him to bind the Lyth, she tricks Asha into using the sword Whisper on her, effectively transferring the power of the Siphon—and thus the responsibility of powering a Tributary—over to her.
Healed of being a Shadow but now condemned to a worse fate, Asha returns to Ilin Illan, intending to immediately use the Travel Stones to go north and find the Tributary that Caeden had once intended to use himself. Wirr, upon learning of this and seeing an opportunity to prove the threat of the failing Boundary to Administration, persuades Geladra to come north as well—agreeing that if she returns to Ilin Illan unconvinced, he will step down from his position voluntarily.
Caeden, now finally in possession of the Siphon, returns to Res Kartha and explains his plan for freeing the Lyth to Garadis. Though furious that they will be forced to give up their extraordinary strength, the Lyth reluctantly accept that Caeden’s proposal still upholds Andrael’s deal. They allow themselves to be bound, transferring their collective power to the Siphon, and thus to Asha. As part of the deal, now that they are able to once again leave Res Kartha safely, Caeden agrees to send them to their ancestral homeland of the Shining Lands.
At the Boundary, Davian, Asha, and Wirr are briefly reunited. Despite Geladra’s insistence that the Augurs remain under Gifted supervision, Ishelle, temporarily not in control of her own actions, uses the gateway they previously discovered in the Boundary to enter Talan Gol. Davian and Fessi follow her in an attempt to bring her back, only to have the entrance seal shut behind them, trapping them in enemy territory.
Asha and Erran also defy Geladra and leave to find the final Tributary, which Asha is able to locate thanks to her ability to sense the whereabouts of the Shadows. They find their way to an island that has been completely hidden by kan, just off the coast and within sight of the Boundary itself. There she and Erran again meet Scyner, who has been waiting for Asha to arrive. Erran recognizes that the amulet Scyner now possesses is the one they used in Tol Shen to subdue Rohin. Scyner admits to killing Rohin and taking the amulet from him.
An attack on the island by a group of tek’ryl—massive, scorpion-like Banes—is repelled when Asha intervenes, unleashing her full power for the first time and annihilating the threat. Meanwhile Erran returns to where they last saw Ishelle, Davian, and Fessi, hoping to uncover what happened to them before Asha uses the Tributary and potentially seals them in Talan Gol.
The three Augurs in Talan Gol find themselves in a nest of eletai, Ishelle’s strange behavior clearly driven by a link to the creatures resulting from the Banes’ previous attack on her. Discovering a set of Telesthaesia armor and realizing that one of them might be able to make it back to Andarra while wearing it, they return to the Boundary, reaching it just ahead of a large army.
Wirr, Geladra, and Karaliene witness the Boundary beginning to fail, a terrifying horde of Banes breaking through. The three of them take shelter, assisted by Erran, as a devastating surprise attack by the eletai crushes the insufficient Andarran defenses. As they hide from the Banes, Geladra and Wirr realize that Erran is the one who had been Controlling Elocien over the past few years.
Through Erran, Asha is able to see that the Boundary needs reinforcing immediately, despite her now knowing that Davian will be trapped on the other side as a result. Ishelle is able to make it through the weakened wall of energy thanks to the protection of Telesthaesia, but Davian and Fessi are sealed in Talan Gol as Asha is forced to enter the Tributary and restore the full strength of the Boundary.
Despite having survived the initial attack by the Banes, Geladra is shockingly killed when the corpses left by the eletai eventually mutate and revive, becoming eletai themselves. Horrified and heartbroken, Wirr and Karaliene burn the remainder of the bodies, ensuring that no more eletai are created.
Caeden finally travels to Ilshan Gathdel Teth to confront the Venerate; a fight with Meldier and Isiliar results in Isiliar’s death, but Caeden is ultimately captured.
Davian and Fessi are brought to Ilshan Gathdel Teth as prisoners, having been seized after the Boundary was sealed. Fessi, panicking as she recognizes her surroundings, flees; Davian, forced to run as well, discovers that Caeden is being held nearby and is being tortured for information about Asha’s location by Meldier.
When Davian intervenes, Meldier tells him that Caeden was once Aarkein Devaed, which Caeden himself ashamedly confirms. Despite his shock at this news, Davian chooses to stand by Caeden; when Meldier attacks, Davian takes him by surprise and kills him with Licanius. Caeden then convinces Davian to behead him with a regular sword—the only way to guarantee his escape from Talan Gol. Caeden promises that he will return soon to set Davian free.
Having woken up in a new body and shape-shifted back into his preferred form, Caeden then relives a final, devastating memory—discovering that, in a fit of rage, he killed a time-traveling Davian almost two thousand years ago.
Prologue
The blizzard howled around Caeden, shading the world a merciless, freezing white.
He scraped icy flakes from his vision and bowed his head, trudging onward and downward against the ferocious gale that raged up the mountainside, each lungful sharp and every step sodden. He had been walking for what felt like hours; it couldn’t be far now. Impossible as it was to make a portal directly into Alkathronen—and though the Builders’ last city was hidden even to kan—he felt confident that he had opened his Gate close by.
Fairly confident, anyway.
He focused, filtering out the knifing cold and briefly extending a shield of Essence around himself, creating a bubble that sluiced through the snow ahead in a brief, hissing cloud of steam. Using even that much of his power was a risk. He needed as much time in Alkathronen as possible before anyone knew he was here, and the Venerate had taken a fresh Trace from him during his torture in Ilshan Gathdel Teth a year ago.
Caeden shook the grim memory from his mind, shrugging the heavy coil of rope more securely onto his shoulder and leaning hard into the cutting wind as he let his Essence shield drop again. A few more steps and a hazy glow began to reveal itself in the white; a minute later he was stumbling into the abrupt calm of the canyon, the sound of distantly crashing water finally reaching his ears as the flakes in the air became distinct, their movement easing from diagonal slash to gentle downward drift.
Two enormous, parallel waterfalls resolved themselves, one on either side of the path ahead, bolts of blue energy streaking along their perfectly sheer, shimmering facades. The road itself was mercifully dry, snow dissipating in tiny puffs of steam wherever it touched the stone surface. Caeden felt his body relax slightly as the reprieve of warmth began to press against his frozen cheeks.
He reached up and pushed back his tightly drawn hood, allowing the gentle heat in the air access to the rest of his face as he looked around warily. This was the central hub for the Builders’ works, the point from which they had built portals to each of their wonders. Alaris had needed to remind him of that, the last time he was here, but it was clear in his mind now as he studied the symbols inscribed on the edges of the road. Recognized them. Understood their purpose.
Knowledge like that didn’t surprise him anymore. He had recovered much during this past year of isolated observation and planning—almost all his memories, he thought—even if his mind still shied away from reliving the specifics of his history as clearly as it once had.
The latter, he had to admit, pleased him almost as much as the former.
He pressed forward, quick now that the deep drifts no longer hampered his progress, sensation returning to his limbs with a sharp prickling as he walked. The glow of Alkathronen up ahead formed a shielding dome against the blizzard, even as it exposed the city’s utter emptiness.
Caeden slowed as he passed the symbol marking the portal to Ilin Illan, pushing down another shudder of doubt over his decision to come here. It was a risk to expose himself like this, rash, even, and yet… it was time. Davian had been a prisoner for a year now. That meant he was about to be sent to Zvaelar.
Which, by all estimates, gave Caeden less than a month to prepare.
He pressed on. The remaining Venerate had not been idle since his escape: Davian had warned him of Gassandrid’s idle boast, so as soon as he’d remembered, Caeden had chanced sneaking into the Andarran capital to see if it was true. Sure enough, a disturbing number of the people he had observed there were showing the subtle mental markers. Hundreds had been Read, now. Maybe thousands.
Gassandrid, Alaris, and Diara were leaving no stone unturned in their scouring the country for him—or, more to the point, for Ashalia’s whereabouts.
He’d anticipated that, of course, and had done what he could to make sure that there were no clues to find, removing even the memories of his presence whenever he did have to venture away from the Wells. Unfortunately, it had also meant not risking any contact with his friends in Andarra. The Venerate almost certainly knew of them now, would be watching them closely.
He cast another longing glance back at the Builders’ symbol for Ilin Illan. That enforced isolation, in the face of what he knew was coming, had been hard… but it also meant that Karaliene, Wirr, and the others were relatively safe. The Venerate might have come within a breath of breaching the ilshara, but they were nothing if not patient—and would be even more so now that Caeden’s brief capture a year ago had handed them Licanius. They would not attack their own bait.
Not so long as it was bait that they believed served a purpose, anyway.
The uneasiness of that thought clung to him as he came to a halt in front of the massive white archway that marked access to Alkathronen itself. He closed his eyes and focused on it. Sure enough, the subtle, crisscrossing lines of kan were there, blocking the only path inside.
He stood for a moment longer, hesitating.
Then he stepped beneath the towering stone, disrupting the near-invisible strands, the air shivering around him in response. Alaris would know that he was here, now.
The only real question was whether he would tell the others.
He stared in absent worry at the burbling fountains that adorned Alkathronen’s entrance, then shook his head and started toward the east-facing cliff.
Either way, he had little time remaining and much still to do.
Caeden fed more Essence into the heatstone, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering.
He held his hands out toward the waist-high cylindrical Vessel and seated himself atop a low white wall, finally allowing himself to rest. Several of these heatstones dotted the city, perfectly integrated into the aesthetics and yet somehow always easy to spot. Stoked with a little Essence, they emitted warmth well beyond that which Alkathronen already provided—an especially welcome function right now, given Caeden’s groaning muscles, rope-burned hands, and snow-sodden clothes.
He could have fixed all of that quite easily, of course, but he also knew that he would need every bit of Essence in his Reserve soon enough.
He stared absently over at the eastward edge of the city, where the soft glow of Essence held back the thrashing white that raged just beyond. The storm had worsened since he’d arrived. That hadn’t made his work over the past five hours any easier, but it would be to his advantage if it kept up now.
He shifted to warm the other side of his body, switching his gaze to the arrow-straight road leading into Alkathronen’s center. He could see where the snow failed to melt, the flickering and waning Essence in the distance revealing a steadily deepening white.
He shivered as he watched that unsteady illumination, not wanting to think about the last time he’d been here. It was rarely far from his mind, though—still impossible to ignore both what he had learned then, and what he had done since.
Isiliar had been his friend, and he had knowingly left her to be driven insane.
And then—after she had finally been set free—he had killed her.
“You look unhappy, Tal’kamar.”
Caeden started at the voice. Then he steeled himself and stood, turning and nodding a greeting to the tall, chiseled man who was standing across the street from him.
“You’re not wrong,” he conceded to Alaris, the quiet words carrying easily in the dead hush. He didn’t smile, but he made certain not to appear hostile, either. “I am glad you came, though.”
Alaris’s blue eyes were locked on him. The other man at first glance looked relaxed, but there was discomfort to his stance. Wariness.
“A promise to a friend is a promise that cannot be broken,” said Alaris. He studied Caeden. “And I want very much to believe that we are still friends, Tal. Despite.”
“As do I.” Caeden meant the words. Still, he couldn’t help but let his gaze flick to the silent streets behind Alaris, processing just how quickly the other man had come. “I wasn’t expecting you for a while yet.”
Gassandrid was the only one of the remaining Venerate who could make a Gate, and there was a strict code of accountability for all trips outside the ilshara. For Alaris to have kept his word to Caeden and not told the others about this meeting, he would have needed an excuse to leave—a very convenient one, to have employed it at such short notice. Caeden had planned for having mere hours before Alaris’s arrival, but in truth had expected days.
“I am alone,” Alaris assured him, noting the glance. “Gass was already expecting to send me out for… something else. The timing simply matched up.”
Caeden frowned at that—what business did Alaris have that would bring him so close to an Alkathronen portal?—but he knew the other man well enough to believe him. He slowly, carefully unbuckled the blade at his side, then tossed it onto the ground between them. “Good. Because I am here to talk.”
Alaris nodded as he eyed the steel thoughtfully, but did not discard his own weapon.
Caeden gestured to the bench on the opposite side of the heatstone; when Alaris was seated, the two watched each other mutely before Caeden finally blew out his cheeks, trying to find the right way to start this conversation.
“The last time we were here,” he began, “you said to come back when the Lyth had been dealt with. You said that if I wanted to understand both sides of this fight, you would be willing to have that discussion.” Alaris leaned forward with something like hope in his eyes, but Caeden quickly shook his head. “I wish to be up front, my friend. I have remembered enough now to make that discussion unnecessary. I am not on your master’s side of this, and I never will be again.”
Alaris’s expression twisted. “I am… saddened to hear that. Unsurprised, but… still.” His shoulders slumped, a bitter note entering his tone. “If you are no longer interested in my perspective, Tal, then what is this about?”
The disappointment in his friend’s voice hurt, but Caeden pressed on. “An offer. An exchange.”
Alaris snorted. “If you are talking about Licanius—”
“Of course I’m not.” Caeden spoke the words softly. He already knew exactly where Licanius was, anyway. “I want you to free Davian. In exchange, I will tell you where Cyr’s Tributary is, and I will not stop you retrieving him from it.”
Silence greeted the statement, Alaris’s brow furrowing as he considered what Caeden had said.
“Why?” He shook his head bemusedly. “I know you need both Cyr and Davian dead to close the rift, and Cyr is by far the harder of the two to kill. Even more so if you set him free.”
Caeden kept his expression smooth. Cyr had gone to his Tributary willingly—had been convinced of the truth about Shammaeloth and had volunteered—but the other Venerate didn’t know that. They assumed that he was a prisoner, as Meldier and Isiliar had been.
“Because I made a promise to Davian,” Caeden replied firmly. “And I cannot rescue him—not from Ilshan Gathdel Teth, not with you standing against me. I am not as strong as you. I never was.” He said the words simply, without self-pity or false modesty.
Alaris gazed at him. “A smart man might take this to mean that Davian is more important than Cyr, in some way that we are not currently aware.”
“A smart man would realize that I would never have proposed such a trade if that were the case. This is about me trying to keep my word, Alaris—that is all. I’m trying to be the man I aspire to be, rather than the man you knew.” Caeden leaned forward. “We both know that I kill Davian—that is not something that can be undone, regardless of how long you hold him.” The thought still turned his stomach, even a year after his learning the fact, but he made sure not to show it. “On the other hand, neither of us knows Cyr’s fate. So it is a good offer, Alaris. One that I will not make again.”
