The Light of All That Falls (The Licanius Trilogy, #3)

by James Islington

“Asar once told me that they did it because nothing is truly beautiful unless it can be lost,” said Caeden idly as he gazed out over the rubble. “We

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.”

“He is a zealot, Tal’kamar—misled about Zvaelar and so much more—and as I have told you before: your god is outright lying to you if he claims your immortality is a gift from him.” Ordan’s voice dripped with disdain. “The Forge was made by the Builders. By men. I do not know how this creature you serve tied you to it—or how he did it without our knowledge—but there is no doubt that he did.”

Ordan shook his head. “I still remember the man who feared what he would become,” he said softly. “If he had seen who you are now, Tal’kamar, he would have torn out his eyes from grief.”

Gassandrid leaned forward, his dozen faces darkening as one. “If you think we are to blame, then perhaps you would like me to explain how when your friend sealed us behind the ilshara, it began sapping the very life from the earth.”

The trick, currently, was training herself—her mind and her muscles—to respond in that single moment. To see and react without needing to think in between. To make adapting to the time manipulation a reflex.

Alchesh’s years-long battle with the being from the Darklands as it began seeping through his connections—learning from it, at first, seeing more and more of the future, every time closer to the edge but every time promising that he had it under control. Promising that he could find out more about Davian, constantly convincing Caeden to wait just a bit longer. And then Caeden’s blindness to the sha’teth finally wresting control. Alchesh’s rapid descent into madness as the creature began giving him glimpses into the Darklands, until finally Caeden, realizing the truth too late, tried to use the Sever. The way it had taken such pleasure in killing Caeden’s friend while Caeden was forced to watch. It had taken Caeden years to fully grasp why the sha’teth had destroyed the body it had managed to take, sending itself back to the Darklands in the process. Years until the group of young men and women in Andarra had started showing signs of being able to use kan, and Caeden had finally understood that Alchesh’s connections to the Forge had been released upon his death. Each one breaking off, attaching to a new individual. Making it even harder to close the Rift.

“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.”

“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.

He spent the next hour summarizing the situation. How he had once believed that the force now contained within the Boundary was El Himself. How he had fought alongside the other Venerate—at first for causes that seemed good and just, but increasingly focused on ends rather than means, until he’d finally accepted the task of destroying Dareci in order to force the creation of Deilannis. The creation of the device that had subsequently torn wide the rift between here and the Darklands, giving Shammaeloth a chance to escape time and bring the horror of the Darklands to this world.

Elder Olin had not only taught him much of what he knew about being Gifted, but had been the one to keep his secret so faithfully over the years. It had cost the man his life.

Faithful people suffer and evil people prosper all the time, Davian—you must know that is true. Besides, if our actions are driven only by reward or punishment—eternal or otherwise—then they are motivated by greed and selfishness, not faith or love. That is where so many people go wrong, even those who say they believe in El. They obey because they think it will make their lives better, rather than themselves. And that is very much the wrong reason.”

It would become a place where all the things we value, all things that have beauty and life and meaning, are simply not possible. His absence wouldn’t mean a lack of authority—it would mean complete and utter desolation.”

“Sometimes not wanting to share the burden is a form of selfishness, too,” she said quietly. “You are strong, Asha, but so are others. You are the only one who has the sort of power that Tal needs. You need to trust that you are not the only one who can do this part.”

“I still think we should try to uphold the law, but I also understand now that what’s right isn’t always what’s legal. And that the opposite can be true, too.” “Law is about order, not right and wrong,” Taeris agreed. “And the latter should always trump the former.” He gave a soft laugh. “You’ve come a long way since we met.”

“Because hurting someone is not teaching them a lesson, Davian. As you pointed out earlier—we can hate what they do, but we should never hate them.” He shifted. “And I’m not ‘better’ than you. That’s not how it works. Believing in El, trying to follow His rules, doesn’t make you in some way superior. If anything, it makes you more aware that none of us can claim to be truly good. That’s why forgiveness is so important.”

“So instead I should just listen to you and give up. Just… die,” said Asha with a snort. Diara sighed. “This version of you would end, Ashalia—but this version of you isn’t you. All beings are made up of a series of choices; if those choices are not our own, then who are we? Why fight to keep a version of yourself that is nothing more than a character in a play, reciting lines written by someone else?”

Think back on the worst decision you have ever made. Now—imagine that I revealed to you that I had manipulated you into it. Not Controlled you, but Read you so thoroughly that I knew exactly how you would react to things, and then tailored everything to lead you into that choice—which, if I had that much power, is the equivalent of Controlling you.” Diara locked eyes with Asha. “What would you do to get away from that? To try and free yourself, and others, from such terrible tyranny?”

She pulled in a breath. She’d never been good at this sort of debate. Give her time to think it through, privately—perhaps put down her rebuttals on paper—and she could do so quite cogently. But in conversation, her mind simply didn’t work that way. Not to mention that the Venerate no doubt had centuries of experience debating this exact issue.

“Imagine if Davian and Wirr believed the Venerate’s arguments, became convinced and joined their attack on this world. You would be angry with them, yes—argue with them, do everything that you could to bring them back, maybe even fight them if you had to—but would you stop loving them?” His voice was soft. “I am frustrated by them, Ashalia. Angry with them and hurt by them. And they by me. None of that erases centuries of friendship. It does not change the fact that they are my family, constants in my life in a way that no one could ever replicate.” To Asha’s surprise, a couple of tears began the slow journey down his cheeks, though Caeden didn’t seem to notice. “I will kill them, Ashalia, because this world will end if I do not. But never imagine that it means I do not love them.”

She looked at him, meeting his gaze. For the first time since he had met her, she seemed… at peace. Completely clear, in control. “Tell Davian he missed out,” she said, the sadness in her eyes belying her lightness of tone. She hesitated. “And that I died a hero, of course. Don’t forget that part.” “What are you talking about?” Wirr asked in bewilderment. Ishelle closed her eyes, a tear leaking out of the left one. Her brow furrowed in concentration. She crumpled to the ground. For a second Wirr stood frozen. Then he threw himself forward, skidding to his knees beside Ishelle’s limp form, rolling her over onto her back. Sightless eyes gazed up at the steadily lightening sky, and her chest didn’t move. He funneled Essence—what little he could still afford—into her, but there was nothing to fix. It was as if she had simply… given up.

“Even saying that I believe that’s possible. Which I don’t,” Davian added, wondering if he was pushing the idea of his ignorance too far, “there is nothing you can threaten me with. I know you cannot kill me.” “Cannot?” Though only one of them spoke, all of them sneered. “Your head will be on a pike soon enough. Do not mistake prudence for inability, traitor.” Davian blinked; he’d forgotten that jibe. Far more unsettling, this time.