Guardians Watch

by Eric T Knight

  Jehu twitched and his mouth stretched open in a silent scream. The twitching grew stronger and his head snapped side to side. Elihu felt some of the strength leave him and knew Shakre had drawn on him. Then Jehu cried out and what looked like a puff of black smoke came out of his mouth and blew away. After that he went still, his face deathly pale.

  Shakre seemed to be wrestling with something and Elihu gripped her hand tightly, wishing she would draw more from him. All at once the wind returned, swirling around Shakre, tossing her hair. It died away and Shakre leaned over Jehu. Her eyes opened but she was not looking on the world. She tore her hands from Elihu’s grasp and put them on Jehu’s chest, a moan coming from her. A few seconds later a sigh came from her and she collapsed across Jehu.

  When Shakre woke up she had no idea where she was at first. She could see sunlight coming through the trees overhead, the limbs still bearing a dusting of ash. It looked peaceful and for a moment she simply lay there, comfortable in the emptiness. But then it came rushing back to her and she rolled onto her side. Jehu lay nearby. There were hands on her then and Elihu helped her sit up.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m…I will be fine.” In truth just sitting up was enough to make the day spin around her.

  “Again you push yourself too far,” Elihu said sternly. Shakre started to protest but he interrupted her. “You asked me to hold your hand in case you needed my strength, but when you did need it you used your own instead. You are too weak to do that. It was foolish of you.”

  Shakre leaned against him, knowing he was right. It had been a long time since she’d heard him so serious. It struck her that it came from the depths of his concern for her and she felt warmed inside. “I acted without thinking. I’m sorry.”

  Elihu tilted her head up and stared into her eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded. “I believe you.” He turned to Jehu. “He is weak, but his pulse is steady.”

  Shakre placed her fingers on Jehu’s throat. It was as Elihu said. He was pale and drawn, but the burn was gone from his forehead, leaving only an angry red blotch. Going beyond, she saw that his akirma, while brittle, seemed intact. She listened to his Song and relief filled her at the new purity of it. It was weak, but it was clean. “I think he will be all right,” she said.

  “Is it all gone?”

  Shakre focused, looking deeper, then nodded.

  “Then you have done it again, Windrider.” The smile she loved so much was back on his face. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  Shakre groaned. “I can’t walk back up the hill to the camp.” By the look of the sun, evening was coming on fast. She must have been out for hours.

  “I will go and get help…” Elihu paused. “…if you will try to not kill yourself while I am gone.”

  “I promise.”

  Elihu stood and looked down on Jehu. “If one can be healed, then there is hope for all who have taken the mark.”

  “Yes, I guess there is.”

  “This is a powerful thing you have done.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. She watched him disappear up the hill and she felt good, really good. It was only a small victory, no more than an ant bite to a bull shatren, but it seemed like much more. One life had been saved from the darkness. For now, that was enough.

  Jehu stirred and his eyes opened.

  “How do you feel?” she asked him, placing her hand on his arm.

  At first it seemed he did not hear her or he did not understand. His eyes focused on nothing and it seemed his breath stopped. He blinked twice. Then he started to cry soundlessly, the tears spilling down the sides of his face.

  Shakre gripped his arm more tightly, saying nothing. He turned his head and looked into her eyes. Wordlessly, she helped him sit up, though the effort started her world spinning again.

  He looked around him. “I forgot what it looks like. I forgot color.” He took a deep breath. “I forgot odor. I forgot everything.”

  Now Shakre felt the tears as well.

  “When Kasai was in my mind it was like there was a barrier between me and…and who I thought I was. I could feel some things, but they were not real. I can’t explain it. Who I had been was only a distant memory, and always the voice was there, telling me I never existed, that only it was real.” He put his head in his hands, pained by the memory. “You can’t imagine,” he whispered. “Everything was shrouded. I was so alone.”

  He turned on her suddenly and gripped her arm with both hands. “Thank you. You have no idea what you have done.”

  She could hardly see through the blur of tears.

  “I was alone behind that wall…except for it. Kasai was always there, whispering to me, speaking of death and killing. I had to stay away from everyone as much as I could. I didn’t know what I would do.”

  Shakre hugged him to her, a great weight falling off her. Melekath had not won yet. There was still hope.

  Thirty-two

  Rehobim’s party returned several days later, spilling into the meadow in a rush near the end of the day. Two had bandages, and Pinlir walked with a limp, but none were missing, for which Shakre breathed a sigh of relief. Rehobim had a fierce look on his face and over his shoulder he carried a rough sack that clanked as he walked. He swaggered over to the fire pit as the Takare looked on. Word had spread quickly when Rehobim’s party was sighted and most of the Takare had gathered before he set foot in the meadow. The camp held nearly a hundred of them by now, as more refugees trickled in every day.

  Rehobim dumped the contents of the sack on the ground and a variety of weapons—swords, axes, maces, daggers—spilled out. Then he turned to face his people. He was shirtless and a necklace of animal teeth was clearly visible around his neck, the long, curved tani canine prominent in the center. Sweat glistened on his chest. He looked strong, primeval, and fierce.

  “We have brought the war to our enemies,” he said, baring his teeth, a sword gripped in one hand. “Pinlir.”

  That was when Shakre noticed that Pinlir was also carrying a sack. There was a savage light in his eyes as the broad-shouldered man stumped forward to stand beside his leader. Wordlessly, he upended the sack and a dozen or so heads fell out. There were gasps from some of those gathered and Shakre felt her stomach turn. She felt eyes on her and tore her gaze from the grisly scene to see Rehobim staring at her, a predatory look in his eyes.

  “We found them two nights ago,” Rehobim said, his stare not leaving Shakre. “None of them survived.”

  Shakre reached out and found Elihu’s hand. She squeezed it tight, trying to right a world that was tilting crazily.

  “This is only the beginning,” Rehobim continued, freeing Shakre from his gaze to look out over his people. “We will go after them again tomorrow, and every day. We will not rest until we have killed them all. They will learn that killing the Takare leads only to death.” He raised his sword. “The world will once again fear our name.”

  A roar answered his words as the people gathered there gave voice to the fear and grief and exhaustion of the past days, as they cried out their rage at the violence and death that had found their loved ones. There were some who did not cry out, but they were few and mostly the old and the very young. Shakre gripped Elihu’s hand so hard she thought his bones must break.

  “Who will stand with me?” Rehobim cried, thrusting his sword into the air.

  They roared again and there was a general rush forward. Severed heads were kicked aside as those without weapons jostled to grab from those on the ground. Shakre thought she was going to be ill but she was cognizant of Rehobim’s gaze on her once again so she fought to appear outwardly calm. She waited for the uproar to die down, then let go of Elihu’s hand and made her way forward.

  It was hard to do. She didn’t want to do it. She wanted to stay with Elihu and say nothing. She knew what awaited her, how her words would be taken by most of those present, and inwardly she quailed. The easy thing, the thing she most wanted to do, was nothing. But she also
knew she could not do that.

  “I would like to speak.”

  Voice stilled and faces turned toward her.

  “You have nothing to say, Outsider,” Rehobim sneered. Some of those who had gone with him added their voices to his. “She would have us bow to the invaders!” he yelled. “She is not to be trusted. She speaks for them.”

  Many of the Takare stared at Shakre with hard, suspicious eyes and she was suddenly aware of the fact that she did not know most of them. The Takare from the other Shelters had heard of her, surely, but they did not know her. They saw her only as an outsider, and after what they had been through they would have no reason to trust her.

  All at once Elihu was by her side, his eyes fixed on Rehobim. He did not raise his voice and his posture remained completely nonthreatening, but when he spoke every eye went to him. “You do not decide who speaks and who does not. That right is reserved for the Walkers and I am Elihu, Plantwalker for Bent Tree Shelter.” He barely came up to Rehobim’s shoulder, but all at once he seemed the taller of the two. Rehobim’s face darkened but he could not hold Elihu’s gaze for very long before he looked away.

  Elihu’s gaze passed over the Takare and when his next words came it seemed to every person there as if he was speaking to them.

  “It is not true that she is an outsider. She was an outsider. Nearly twenty years she has lived among us and for all those years she has never been anything but one of us. She is Shakre Windrider and I am proud to call her friend, not just to me, but to all Takare. Hear her and judge her words for yourself, but never doubt that she is one of us.”

  Shakre had never loved Elihu as much as she loved him then. She wanted to hold him as tightly as she could and never let him go. Swallowing, she drew a breath to speak, conscious of the way her hands were shaking. She looked at the Takare. Despite Elihu’s words, most stared at her stonily.

  “I am not standing here to speak against this war. Violence and death grieve me, but it seems we have no choice.” Now some of them looked confused. This was not what they expected. Shakre looked down at the heads on the ground at her feet and let the sadness in her heart envelop her. Not long ago such a scene would have been unthinkable. She took another deep breath and briefly touched Elihu’s shoulder before continuing on.

  “I stand here because I love the warm, kind-hearted people who adopted me when I had nowhere else to go. I love those people and I don’t want to lose them.” There was some shuffling now and many exchanged looks, wondering where she was going with this. “There is more than one kind of death. There is the death that comes for the body and I know the Takare do not fear this death because I have seen you face it bravely for many years. It is the other kind of death I fear, the kind that happens in here.” She put her hand on her heart. “When that happens the body may still live, but the person is dead.” For some reason her eyes fell on Birna, Pinlir’s mate. She was staring at Pinlir with a look of anguish, tears streaming down her face. Shakre felt the sorrow rise up again inside her and had to fight through it before she could go on.

  “It is hate that causes this kind of death, as the person we were is destroyed and something ugly left in its place.” She resisted the urge to look at Rehobim. “I stand here because I want to ask you to fight this war without hate in your hearts. Fight the burned ones, but remember that underneath the mark they wear, underneath the terrible things they do, lives a person who was born as you were, raised by family who loved them.” Now there was some muttering and she sensed that she did not have much longer. She needed to say what she was there to say quickly. “Fight not with hatred or savagery in your hearts, but with sorrow that you are forced to kill those who are your brothers.”

  Rehobim barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. “They are not our brothers,” he spat. “They are vermin, lower than the divels that eat our stores of food in the winter. They are to be killed without remorse.”

  Many voices rose in support of him.

  “They are only people,” Shakre insisted, knowing it would do no good but determined to speak as long as they let her. “People who were frightened and in their fear made a decision they have to suffer with for the rest of their lives. They deserve our compassion, not our hatred. They have made a mistake, but that does not make them monsters. They chose as they did out of fear. They are not evil. They are only afraid. Any of us could fall prey to the same fear.”

  As she said these last words Rehobim stiffened as if struck and his eyes blazed. All at once the truth of it struck her, what must have happened to him that day when Meholah and the other hunters were burned by the outsiders. He saw it happen, but he was too afraid to do anything. That is why he torments himself so. Her anger at Rehobim disappeared then and her heart went out to him, empathizing with the guilt and shame he must have carried since then. All his actions had been a futile attempt to wash that shame away.

  “I will not listen to this!” Rehobim shouted. “They are outsiders and they have murdered our people! No death is too painful for them!” Yells greeted his words and weapons were shaken in the air. There was madness in Rehobim’s eyes and Shakre actually wondered if he would attack her.

  “Come,” Elihu said in her ear, taking her arm. “You can do no more now.”

  Shakre let herself be led away. She had not gone far before the strength leached from her legs and she had to cling to Elihu to remain upright. He led her to a place of quiet and helped her sit down, then sat beside her. They looked back at the gathered Takare. Rehobim was saying something to them but Shakre, thankfully, could not hear what it was.

  Elihu looked at Shakre with pride. “Just when I think you will not surprise me again, you do. In one moment you appealed to our pride and our courage, while at the same time using them to nudge us toward compassion.”

  “I don’t know that it made any difference though,” she said gloomily.

  “Do not judge how your message was received. You delivered it. That is all that counts. When they are ready, they will hear it.”

  It was near dark and people were gathering around the fire that evening when Rehobim first noticed Jehu, who was standing near the fire with his back to Rehobim. Rehobim had been in a foul mood since Shakre spoke and he was clearly looking for someone to take out his anger on.

  “You have no standing here, burned one,” Rehobim growled. “Leave before I kill you myself.”

  Slowly Jehu turned. His hair was tied back. The red blotch where the burn had been was mostly gone. He looked slight next to Rehobim’s broad build, and his eyes were wide, but his words were steady enough. “I am Jehu, of the Takare. This is my home.”

  Rehobim’s eyes narrowed and he walked over to Jehu, then leaned in for a closer look. “Your mark. Where did it go?”

  Jehu looked like a deer ready to flee, but he held his ground. “Windrider healed me.”

  Rehobim spun, his eyes searching until he found Shakre, seated against a nearby tree. Elihu was seated next to her. “How did you do this?” he demanded.

  Shakre started to stand up, then decided she was too tired. “It was the wind. It blew the mark away. I only guided it.”

  Rehobim looked from her to Jehu and back again, clearly suspicious.

  “It is gone,” Shakre said. “You can see for yourself.”

  Rehobim swung back to Jehu. “It may be gone, but its mark is still on you. You betrayed your people and we will not forget.”

  Now Elihu stood and walked up to Rehobim. “How did he betray his people?” he said softly. “By being afraid? Is that what his crime is?”

  Shakre held her breath. She had told Elihu her suspicions about Rehobim, what she thought he had done on that day when Meholah and the other learners were burned. Now he was all but telling Rehobim that he knew too.

  Rehobim scowled. “We are at war. The weak and the cowardly threaten us all.”

  “You didn’t answer me, Rehobim,” Elihu persisted. “I asked you if being afraid is now a crime.”

  “When it endangers our p
eople it is,” Rehobim said sullenly.

  “And you have never been afraid?”

  Rehobim’s face grew very dark. “You walk on broken ground, old man.”

  “You were not afraid when the outsiders burned Meholah and the learners?”

  Rehobim froze. Those Takare who were nearby quit their conversations, sensing the tension in the air. “What are you saying?” he said between clenched teeth.

  “But you were not there, were you? You said you had been sent by Meholah to follow a splinterhorn trail and when you came back they were already dead.”

  “You doubt me on this?” Rehobim said. Violence coiled in his muscles and Shakre wanted to call out, to do something to stop this before it was too late. “I, who have killed more outsiders than any of our people?”

  Elihu stared steadily at Rehobim without speaking. Finally, he said, “Being afraid is part of being alive.”

  “Fear leads to death,” Rehobim replied. “I say the traitor is not welcome here.”

  “Such is not for you to decide,” Elihu said. “You do not lead here.”

  And there it was, Shakre thought. Finally, it was out in the open. More and more Rehobim had been acting as if the Takare were his to command.

  Rehobim sneered down at the older man. “Yes, Plantwalker, you are right. How dare I step forward when it is you and the other Walkers’ place to do so? We know your heart. Let us hear from the Huntwalker.” He made a show of looking around. “Except we have no Huntwalker. He was murdered by the outsiders. It is lucky,” he said, looking at the meat already cooking over the fire, “that we have not starved yet.

  “Or maybe we can turn to our Firewalker.” Again he looked around. “If only he had not been murdered by the burned ones when they attacked our village.” Pinlir, who was Firewalker Asoken’s son, glowered at Rehobim and laid his hands on the axe at his side. Shakre had a feeling that Rehobim had gone too far with that comment. Her feeling was strengthened a moment later when Rehobim bent over, picked up another piece of wood from the pile, and threw it on the fire. Traditionally, it was the Firewalker who tended the fire, or the one apprenticed to him. Rehobim was pointing out that such a person was no longer needed.