The Light of All That Falls, page 43
He released the rope, leaving it there; it was at risk of discovery, but was also the only way out if he didn’t want to raise the alarm. This section of the crater was pitch-black thanks to the angle of the moon, but the dull red reflection off the opposite side allowed him enough light to navigate.
He slipped between buildings, resisting the urge to peer inside. Strange smells emanated from more than one, a stench that, the first time it caught his nose, came close to making him retch. The structures were largely made of stone, though clearly shored up in places with wood—whether the damage was from the recent tremors or had been there already, Davian didn’t know. Either way, it was even more obvious now that nothing around him had been constructed within the last few months. There was an age to everything here, a sense that these structures had been around for a long, long time before their current occupants. Before the rest of the city, in fact.
He reached the corner of a building, peering around it into the expanse of red-illuminated space beyond.
Creeping fear tightened his chest.
Al’goriat roamed everywhere here; there were perhaps a dozen within a hundred feet of Davian, and perhaps another twenty or thirty just beyond that. The creatures shambled, appearing to walk aimlessly from place to place and rarely even keeping to a straight line, although they did manage to avoid jostling each other. None of them seemed inclined to stray from the open area between the buildings and the metal tower, though, keeping firmly within the unsettling ocean of kan threads they were creating. Liquid dripped from their needle-like teeth, and their eyeless gazes seemed to encompass everything.
Davian shuddered, flinching back. In camp, even from his view above, this plan had made sense. Al’goriat clearly “saw” by using kan; therefore, he was able to make himself invisible to them. All he had to do was maintain his shield and walk right by them.
But now—seeing the impossibly muscular ten-foot forms dragging themselves ominously across the ground, panting softly, slavering mouths agape—the logic of it all suddenly mattered a whole lot less. Even knowing that he wasn’t going to die here didn’t help.
The two-hundred-foot stretch of open ground between him and the tower was, simply put, terrifying.
He stood there, back pressed against cold stone, for a full minute as he reconsidered. The tower into which he’d seen Devaed being led was in the absolute center of the crater, completely encircled by al’goriat-filled open space. There was no better way in. No other way in at all, in fact.
Davian peered around the corner again. The dark form of a dar’gaithin was slithering among the structures up ahead, but it wasn’t looking in his direction and soon disappeared from view.
He took a deep breath, then stepped out from the shadows and into the crimson light of the moon.
He flinched slightly as the eerie illumination hit him, feeling more exposed than he could ever remember. If a single one of the al’goriat did manage to detect him, he wouldn’t be able to escape, let alone fight them off.
The dozen or so creatures close by initially didn’t seem to react to his presence, and for a moment Davian started to relax.
Then the nearest one stopped its wandering. Turned its head.
Stared directly at him.
Then three more al’goriat did the same.
Davian felt the blood drain from his face as he checked his kan shield. Still up, though sweat already beaded on his forehead from maintaining it.
He watched the creatures, heart pounding and breath held. They didn’t move.
Then, as if at some unspoken signal, they turned and resumed their patrols.
Davian barely avoided exhaling loudly in relief, stilling his shaking hands and forcing himself to calm. They had sensed something, clearly, but it wasn’t enough to raise an alarm. He should try and avoid getting too close to any of them—something he had already intended to do anyway—but nothing had really changed.
He took one step forward. Then another.
The al’goriat continued to move, not reacting.
Davian braced himself, then began deliberately making his way across the vast, open space, resisting the urge to break into a sprint despite the risk of being seen by any dar’gaithin passing nearby. That tower had to be a prison of some kind; if Devaed was being kept there, it made sense that it was for the most important prisoners. The most dangerous. Which meant that if he made too much noise here, alerted the al’goriat that something was wrong, the creatures wouldn’t hesitate to tear him apart.
The journey seemed to last an eternity, though Davian knew that it had to have taken only a few minutes at most. At last he was stepping into shadow once again, past the edge of the circuit the al’goriat seemed intent on patrolling. The skin on the back of his neck crawled as he finally turned his focus away from the Banes and onto the structure up ahead.
Now that he was up close, Davian could see just how much metal had gone into its construction. His chest tightened.
The steel on it could keep a scavenging team fed for years.
He shook his head, stealing quietly toward the door he had seen Devaed being led through, then pressing back sharply as it abruptly opened and three people emerged. Two men and a woman, looking weary, albeit healthy enough. Their attire was dusty and worn, but didn’t have the ragged tears and frayed edges that marked those who worked on the scavenging teams.
Davian frowned as he watched. There didn’t appear to be a lock on the door, nor were the people themselves bound in any way. The al’goriat nearby didn’t react to their presence, either, though they were no more than fifty feet away.
The group made their way to a squat, square building not far from where they had appeared, entering as gloomily silent as they had emerged.
Davian watched from the shadows for a few seconds, then moved on to the glimmering tower, keeping one eye on the building into which the people had just disappeared. They might well be prisoners, but he was wary of revealing himself to anyone at this stage.
He held his breath, then pushed open the door and slipped inside.
The interior was much like the outside, with gleaming steel plates lining the walls, though reflected torchlight made it seem positively bright by comparison. Similar to the Venerate’s underground complex in Ilshan Gathdel Teth, where the portal to Zvaelar had been housed. Was that significant? He quickly checked the metal and, sure enough, thin lines of kan ran through most of the plates—though just as back in his own time, it was far too complex for him to grasp its purpose.
A set of narrow stairs wound its way up around the outer edge of the tower, while there was a doorway to the center straight ahead that was ajar. Bright, pulsing light spilled through the slight opening, casting shadows in the hallway where he stood.
Davian took a breath, listening to the silence before creeping forward, hesitantly placing his hand against the door and inching it open farther.
He peered through, squinting against the blinding light.
The floor of the room beyond was glowing.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust; once they did, he could see that one edge of the floor—which was steel, just like everything else—had several rough-spun mats lying along it. Resting on each one was a figure, their features initially hard to make out, but clearly human.
Essence poured off those figures and into the polished metal below.
Davian stared. The steel plates on the ground pulsed a constant, clean white, not serving any purpose that he could see except storing Essence—more Essence than Davian had seen in what felt like forever. He licked his lips, looking at the floor longingly for a second. With even a modicum more control of kan, he would be able to refill his Reserve in its entirety here.
He cracked the door a little more, and his breath caught.
The portal was in the corner of the room, opposite to where the figures lay. The familiar gray, twisting void thrashed along its surface. It seemed more… violent than usual, menacing, as if the time stream were trying to break free and seep into the tower itself.
He watched, transfixed, for almost a full minute, not willing to step inside. None of the half dozen people in the room looked like the man whom he and Raeleth had seen. That made sense, he supposed; Devaed would be a special prisoner and surely wouldn’t be kept with any others.
He sighed, then pulled the door closed again and started nervously up the stairs.
The tension in his body built with each passing step; the stairway was walled with steel and without his ability to easily manipulate kan, there would be no way to hide from anyone if he encountered them here. And while he could always go back down, if he was trapped between someone ascending and someone descending, there would be no escaping.
He climbed for what felt like ages, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute. The tower gave an occasional crackle as energy seemed to dart through it, making Davian flinch, but there was no sign or sound of any movement up ahead.
He emerged onto the next level of the tower: a narrow hallway with a high ceiling, finishing at a closed door twenty feet away. The only other way forward was the continuation of the staircase.
Davian deliberated, then crept toward the door. There were no guards, but the steel made it look more than sturdy; smooth and rust-free, it glimmered in the dim light cast by the lit torches that lined the walls. Davian hesitated as he reached it, then braced himself and placed his hand against the metal, pushing gently.
It swung open silently.
Davian flinched back, pressing up against the cold wall and peering inside. A sole man occupied the room, his back to Davian. He was seated at a desk, a candle illuminating his work space. His head was bowed, and the scratching of quill upon paper filled the room.
The sound came to a slow stop.
“If you have come to kill me, you have wasted your time,” said the man tiredly, not turning.
Davian said nothing. Was it the same prisoner he’d seen? The hair color and build looked right, but it was hard to say with the stranger’s back turned.
He stepped inside. “I’m—”
Then something heavy struck him hard across the stomach and he was lurching sideways into the wall, the breath knocked out of him.
He braced himself against the metal plates and tried to rise, to recover and get into a position to defend himself, but froze immediately as something sharp and cold pressed at his throat.
“—not here to kill you,” he wheezed, directing the comment more to the diminutive olive-skinned woman at the other end of the half-length stone spear than to the man at the desk.
No one spoke for a second. The woman holding the weapon—the thin shaft stone as well, he noted, not just the point—was lean, perhaps a few years older than himself, brown eyes flashing beneath a mop of curly brown hair. She seemed entirely at ease with both the spear and the situation, plainly confident in her ability to stop Davian from retaliating.
Still, something changed in her expression as she examined his face; she seemed almost taken aback as the pressure on his throat decreased slightly. Her grip on the spear shifted, and Davian resisted the temptation to flood his body with Essence and fight.
“I’m looking for information. I just want to talk,” said Davian, as calmly as he could now that he was able to breathe properly again, eyes finally tearing away from the woman and traveling to the man at the desk.
The stranger cocked his head to the side. “Wait, Niha. I know that voice.”
He finally turned.
It was the man he and Raeleth had seen. Davian almost sagged with relief, forgetting for a moment that he still had something sharp pressed against his neck.
The man pushed back his chair as he stood abruptly, eyes wide. He was tall, with dark hair and a smile that split his features as recognition flooded his face.
“Davian?” He stepped forward, looking stunned. “Davian?” He waved his hand toward the woman excitedly. “Niha, it’s all right! Please let him go.”
The young woman—Niha—was still looking at him with a strange expression; she eventually lowered the spear, twirling it in a vaguely ostentatious display before calmly hanging it on her belt.
Davian shook his head bemusedly and focused back on the man, who had paused a few steps away and was examining him dazedly. “You’re Aarkein Devaed.”
The man blanched. “Tal. Just… Tal, please,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“So you know me.” This version of Tal’kamar—Davian was fine with calling him that, as it was hard to think of him as Caeden—was from some time after he had beheaded Davian in Deilannis, then.
“Yes!” Tal’s expression suddenly cleared. “Oh. Of course. You knew me in other forms. And by a different name,” he conceded to himself wryly. “I called myself Malshash.” He peered at Davian expectantly.
Davian just looked at him in bafflement, mind freezing. “What?”
Tal grinned and to the side, Davian saw Niha smirk at his obviously shocked expression.
Davian’s mind raced. “So… you were the one who taught me…” He shook his head as he tried to order the sequence of events, stunned, a few things that had been puzzling him over the past couple of years finally coming together. “You tied me to the Portal Box so that I would bring it to you.” He’d always wondered about Malshash’s involvement in everything. Now, so many of the things he’d said and done made so much more sense.
Davian rubbed his bruised shoulder absently and then shot a glare at Niha, which only seemed to increase her amusement. He gnawed his lip as he thought back to those few weeks in Deilannis, when Malshash had taught him how to use kan.
“My ring,” he said suddenly, eyes going wide. “Fates. You said I dropped it, but…”
He swallowed, trailing off.
Tal’s smile faded. He nodded slowly as he examined Davian’s expression.
“Ah. So you know that, now, too,” he said. There was genuine remorse in his eyes.
“You were trying to save me.” Davian had figured out that much about Malshash already over the past year; after being shown his own death, he knew it had to have been the reason Malshash had tried to prevent him from going back. But now that he understood it had actually been Tal—Caeden—that made even more sense.
It helped, too. Caeden hadn’t just been trying to undo his wife’s death. He’d been trying to undo Davian’s as well.
“Unsuccessfully, of course,” Tal conceded heavily. “But that is a conversation for another time. How are you here? Why are you here? Did the dar’gaithin finally figure out where you’ve been hiding?” He rubbed his face. “Were you with the scavengers all this time, or have you found another source of food out in the wild? The dar’gaithin were looking everywhere for you. I thought you must have already escaped.”
“I’ve been with a scavenging team, but I only got here a few weeks ago,” Davian admitted.
Niha snorted, and Tal shook his head firmly. “Impossible.”
“Apparently not,” said Davian, somewhat defensively. “Because I got here three months after everyone else.” He scowled at Tal’s disbelieving expression. “I assume that my experience in Deilannis must have altered my path here, somehow. Though I don’t understand how all of this works. If what Malshash—you—told me back then is true, then everyone else here should have died the moment they entered the rift,” he observed.
“We survived it because it wasn’t the rift. Not like what you went through when we last met, anyway,” said Tal, studying Davian with a frown. “This is Zvaelar.”
He said the name as if it should be significant to Davian, but Davian had only ever heard it used by Raeleth and the others. He shrugged, indicating he was lost.
Tal searched for the words before shaking his head. “There will be time for a proper explanation later. But right now—are you truly telling me that the dar’gaithin don’t know that you’re here?” When Davian nodded, Tal exhaled. “Well. We have some time, then.” He cast a critical eye out the window at the red-soaked landscape, al’goriat below moving on their unpredictable patrols. “You’re safe enough in here for now.”
“How did you get past the al’goriat?” Niha asked abruptly, her eyes narrowed. “They should have torn you apart.” Her tone was vaguely accusatory.
“They can’t see him. No source,” realized Tal before Davian could respond, giving a low chuckle. “Well. There’s an advantage.”
“What does my not having a source have to do with anything?”
Tal’s smile faded. “You don’t know? Then how…” He trailed off, brow furrowing as something else occurred to him. “And how in El’s name are you surviving here without kan?”
Davian’s heart dropped. He’d been assuming that Zvaelar was somehow the cause of his difficulties with kan, rather than its being something wrong within himself—but part of him had still hoped that Tal would be able to use it.
“I made a Reserve of Essence for myself before I came here. It was close to full when I arrived, and it’s been enough. Until now,” he said heavily. “So you can’t manipulate it either? I can’t do much more than create a shield—that’s how I got past the al’goriat—and even that feels like I’m lifting a building with my mind.”
He glanced up again to see both Tal and Niha looking at him strangely.
“You… you think you touched it? Used it?” Tal asked, sounding nonplussed. “Davian, the al’goriat identify their prey through looking for a source. That’s how you got past them.”
“No—I definitely used a shield,” Davian said slowly. “Kan is just… different, here, somehow. Much harder to reach and use. It takes every ounce of my focus to do anything with it.”
“You’re sure?” There was a low, restrained confusion to Tal’s tone.
“Yes.” Davian felt his brow furrow. “Why?”
