Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  I sighed. It was time. If Ishvandu would not cooperate, then perhaps my father would know what to do.

  Chapter Three

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  I dismounted and stopped inside the walls of the Guardian’s Hall. The sun was cruelly hot. It speared against me, pinning me like a shroud of fire. Yet inside, I was chilled.

  I tried to calm myself, shocked at the intensity of my own emotions. I was shaking. I was breathing hard. I had ridden Yma through midday, and now my robes stuck to me, heavy with sweat. But the thought of one more moment in reach of the Temple . . .

  Yl’avah’s might, was I such a coward?

  I had seen them. That’s what she’d said. I had seen them. Which meant it was true, and if it was true of Polityr, it was true of all of them, and . . . and . . .

  And as I’d stood there, watching the woman thrash and groan, it all came hammering back against me. Every moment. Every excruciating detail. My mind being shredded open like rotten canvas. The thing inside. Thoughts, images, words not my own. Dying. Ending. Breaking.—And the blood dripping through my fingers. Kynava ab’Ashnavas. Bray. My friend. Me. And Polityr. It could have been Polityr.

  I pressed a hand over my eyes. No. I was past this. I had faced my fears. I had stood, spoken to them, held my own ground.

  And now I knew.

  Yl’avah’s might and the Tree, what now? How could I hide this? How could I hold my silence? Surely there was something I could do! And yet Mani was right. The chaos that would result, the loss of trust. On what authority could the Guardians stand if the very system they upheld transformed their own people into the stuff of nightmares?

  E’tuah would know . . .

  I growled and shoved the thought away. E’tuah had turned me away. He’d refused to help me, accusing me of carelessness, of losing the Sending stone to the High Elder, the one thing he’d entrusted to me.

  “Ishvandu!”

  The voice snapped so hard I jumped. Koryn was striding towards me, a dark look gathering across his face.

  “Where in the blasted sands have you been, you lazy roach? You think you’re so much better than us? You think you don’t die the same as the rest? Maybe you should face the shades alone next time, you worthless muck. I thought my sister made it clear she doesn’t want you around! If I hear you’ve been bolting your duties and bothering her for no good reason besides your own wretched loneliness, I’ll tie your stones in a knot, I—”

  “Kulnethar sent for me.”

  Koryn’s eyes narrowed. “And you listen to that white robe more than your own kiyah?”

  “It sounded important.”

  “Look, mudfoot—”

  I slammed a hand into his chest, driving him back two steps before he planted his feet.

  “I am a Guardian,” I said, meeting his shocked expression. “Do you know what that means, Koryn? Do you? I’m not a Novice you can humiliate for sport anymore, and I’m certainly not a Labourer, so you will show me the respect of an equal, or we’ll be continuing this conversation before the Circle.”

  “I am the head of your kiyah!”

  “That’s right. You have the authority to order me around. Fine. You do not have the authority to treat me as anything other than a Guardian.”

  I released him and took a step back. His anger flashed—yet did I see a glimmer of acknowledgement beneath the scowl?

  I tugged my sweaty robes into a semblance of order. “So what are my orders . . . sal’ah?”

  “You want orders?” His jaw tightened. “Fine. You will never leave duty without my express permission again or I’ll have you tried for subordination. Guardian. Now grub-up before midday is over, and I’ll expect you prompt for our meeting in the Task Hall. Go.”

  “Of course, sal’ah.” I gave a sharp Guardian nod and marched off to the stables.

  “You did what?” Breta laughed.

  I shrugged. Apparently, Koryn had muttered the story to Nolaan, who had let it slip to Jil, who had immediately confronted Breta and I, and since we were sitting in the Task Hall with ab’Tanadu and Mani and Benji, that meant the whole kiyah knew.

  “Well, it’s about time someone taught him a little respect.” Breta paced, tossing her elegant braids. Compared to the rest of the kiyah, she was a clap of energy. More than usual. As if trying to smooth over disturbing news with forced gaiety. Was she trying to forget the thing with Polityr ever happened?

  “I don’t understand,” Benji piped up. “Isn’t Koryn the head of this kiyah?”

  “Indeed,” ab’Tanadu grunted.

  “Then—forgive me, sal’ahs, but isn’t respect due our superiors, and not the other way around?”

  Benji had been assigned to the third a month ago as our Novice. Trained in the Hall since the age of ten, he wasn’t a Guardian yet, but he was the son of Guardians, a follower of rules, and destined for nothing else.

  Ab’Tanadu smiled, which was saying a lot for the grizzled old outrider. “Respect can go both ways, of a different sort.”

  “Ah,” Benji replied, though his tone remained puzzled.

  I noticed Mani watching from across the room with her usual detached curiosity. Dark brows hung over a pale, lined face. She tilted her head, resting a single finger along her cheekbone, studying the fresh Novice. There were times when I thought Mani was old—and times I decided she couldn’t be. It was the eyes.

  Breta plopped onto the stone table like it was a chair. “Why’s he head of the third anyway?” she asked. “Koryn’s only a few years older than the rest of us. I mean Mani over there could pass for a door, so it’s obvious they wouldn’t pick her for lead. But what about you, ab’Tanadu? You’re the oldest. You’re the logical choice.”

  “Not all choices are logical,” he said.

  “Sands! Just because he’s Neraia’s eldest little baby, doesn’t mean he’s better than the rest of us.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the Circle’s choice.”

  “Then whose?”

  “Mine.”

  I noticed the hint of a smile on Mani’s face, but it was gone by the time Breta answered.

  “Yours? You mean you turned them down? Why in the sands would you do that?”

  “Giving orders is overrated,” ab’Tanadu replied.

  Breta leaned back onto the table, slinging an arm over one knee. “Huh. Well, at least they gave you the chance. That’s all I want. Happy.” She grinned to prove it, but I noticed a ripple of pain behind her eyes. “So where is that sand-blasted stuff-up anyway? He was the one who called us here.”

  “No, I did.”

  We twisted around to see Umaala ab’Krushaya enter the hall, trailing the last two members of our kiyah: Koryn met my eye while Nolaan sniffed at me, as unimpressed as ever.

  I stood. The rest of the kiyah followed, Breta scrambling off the table—as if she really cared what anyone thought. We nodded our respect to the red-cloaked Guardian Lord.

  “Sal’ah,” I said.

  The man waved off our formalities and knelt at the head of the semi-circled stone table, prompting the rest of us to take our places.

  The Task Hall was somewhere between the informality of the yard and the severity of the Circle Chamber. Kiyahs gathered in this place to hear their special assignments, to prepare, to talk business, and to determine requisite supplies. Nearby was the hands-quarter, the supply-quarter, the storehouses, and the records: all zealously guarded, of course, by the seventh kiyah.

  The Task Hall also offered some privacy. With a nod from Umaala, Koryn bolted the large wooden doors.

  My instincts flared against the confinement. It took all my Guardian training not to squirm. Sands, I hated closed spaces!

  I glanced at Umaala. His seriousness steadied me. He was sizing us up, holding our gaze, calmly and carefully, each in our turn. This wasn’t a routine report, I realized. He was about to trust us with something. I leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Outriders,” he said at last, referring to our rol
e beyond the walls. My heart leapt. This was it! Yl’avah’s might, the desert! Is that what Umaala had been hinting at?

  I swallowed and forced my hands to settle into my lap.

  “I’ve called you here for an important task. Are you ready to do your duty?”

  We all nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

  “Good. You are Guardians of the third kiyah. At the time of your oath, you were placed here, entrusted with this most difficult duty. You’ve pursued it diligently throughout Kaprash, defending the walls, sharpening your technique against the Sumadi, and protecting the people of Shyandar.” He eyed us each in turn.

  “But that is merely the start. Your primary purpose is not within Shyandar but without.”

  “The desert,” Breta said eagerly.

  “Indeed.” Umaala spread his hands across the stone table. “This is your task: to find the water source Ishvandu ab’Admundi promised the Al’kah, and to establish an efficient system of retrieval before next Kaprash.”

  The silence bent towards me. I felt their eyes—every one of them. Only Tala, Koryn, and ab’Tanadu had been part of that disastrous expedition a year ago. The full extent of my foolish promise, and subsequent failure, had remained a secret. Until now.

  “What?” Breta slapped her hands onto the stone. “A . . . a water source? Ishvandu, is this true?”

  She twisted to face me, eyes wide with awe. Jil and Benji were frowning in confusion. Nolaan and ab’Tanadu appeared skeptical. Even Koryn looked like he’d had words with Umaala over the matter—and been overruled. Only Mani remained unfazed. Dark eyes turned to me, considering the possibilities.

  “Sal’ah,” I began.

  Umaala lifted a brow, warning me to choose my next words with care.

  It was an impossible task. I had never found the desert spring on my own. It was E’tuah who’d brought me unconscious to the hidden valley, saving my life and nursing me back to health. When I’d tried to locate the valley last year, E’tuah had dismissed me as a failure and a coward.

  I could still hear the scorn of his voice. There’s nothing you could possibly give me.

  Nothing—except maybe that Sending stone he’d entrusted to me.

  “Sal’ah,” I said evenly. “You do remember what I shared with the Circle?”

  “You admitted you lied,” he said simply. “You had no idea where the valley was. You acted rashly and impudently out of a childish desire to prove yourself—hence your dismissal from this Hall. But here you are, by special order of the Al’kah, under his expectation, and your promise remains unfulfilled. Am I forgetting anything?”

  “No, sal’ah.” My face burned beneath his blunt disclosures. “Except how can I fulfill a promise I never had the power to keep?”

  “An excellent question, ab’Admundi. I trust you’ll find the answer.”

  Koryn grunted, and I shot him a withering glare.

  “Sal’ah . . .”

  “What?” Umaala slapped the table. “You found it last time by following a bird, or so you claim. Do so again! You’re an outrider; you’re working with outriders. This will be a part of your training, all of you.” His gaze moved to take in the others. “Yes, even you, Novice Benajin. You are working as a single unit. The failure of one will affect all. Likewise, the victory of one will be shared by all. Find this spring. Do whatever you deem necessary. You have the full support of the Hall. Any questions?”

  “Yeah,” Breta leaned forward. “What?”

  Jil snorted, and the others exchanged knowing looks.

  “Would you care to be more specific, Guardian sai’Anira?” Umaala asked.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Do I look serious?”

  Breta laughed and threw up her hands. “A spring in the desert? Water? Water that comes from somewhere besides the Avanir? And we’re going to find it?”

  “It does exist,” I said.

  Her eyes glittered at me, pulsating with the challenge. She wasn’t being sarcastic—she believed me. More than that, the idea thrilled her. She slapped her hands together.

  “When do we start?”

  “At once,” Umaala answered. “Akkoryn will guide you from here. Manysha, you are responsible for the submission of all required supplies and assets.”

  Mani nodded.

  “Tanadu ab’Tanadu, you are required to report independently from Akkoryn on all developments.”

  The old outrider nodded. It wasn’t unusual to have multiple reports for the sake of completion and accuracy.

  “Ishvandu?”

  “Yes, sal’ah?”

  “You will assume responsibility for the direction of this mission. You will continue to heed your superiors—” he nodded to Koryn, ab’Tanadu, and Mani “—and you will consult them regularly for advice. But the mission itself lies in your hands. Do you understand what this means?”

  I nodded slowly. More. It meant I was responsible for the lives of my fellow Guardians, and ultimately for the success of the mission. It was a daunting weight, and I couldn’t tell if it was reward or punishment. Breta’s warning drifted back to me: the Circle wants you to fail.

  “Thank you, sal’ah,” I said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Good.” Umaala stood, and his blood-red cloak rolled out behind him. “I hope this goes without saying, but every detail regarding this mission is to remain confidential. We’ve endured absolute dependence on the Avanir for far too long. We cannot afford another long Kaprash without water. The Al’kah agrees. The Circle agrees. The people of Shyandar agree. Nevertheless, there are those who would oppose our intentions. We cannot let them. Do you understand?”

  We nodded, thinking of the High Elder and the Temple and their religious devotion to the Avanir. It made sense, but it was strange to hear Umaala admit it out loud.

  “The Al’kah is counting on you,” he finished with a last sweeping look. “The people of Shyandar are counting on you. See to it.”

  The silence that followed was thick. The moment Umaala was gone, I could feel their eyes on me in sudden expectation. I cleared my throat. I cleared it again.

  “Well,” ab’Tanadu finally grunted, leaning forward. “What needs to happen for this to succeed?”

  Practical and focused. Exactly what we needed. The tension broke. Jil and Breta laughed. Mani tapped a finger along her cheek.

  “Ishvandu doesn’t know the precise location,” Koryn said, “so we’re going to be methodical about this. We scour every corner of the Bones. What’s the furthest south you think the valley could be?”

  Koryn glanced at me, waiting for my direction. Was he was trying to trick me?

  No. For the first time since we’d known each other, we were actually in this together. One kiyah. One purpose.

  My chest swelled. This was important. I would not fail them. “It was north of Shyandar. On the journey home, I travelled west and south, going as directly as I could, keeping the sun—” I held out my arms, making a semi-circle that started behind me, then traced an arc over and across my body.

  “So if we travelled east to the Bones, and moved north, we’d eventually find it,” he said. “How great a distance are we allowing for?”

  “Two days on foot at the very most. I was young. I was still dealing with the effects of . . .” I swallowed. “I couldn’t have survived more than that.”

  “So that narrows our search. Mani?”

  The Guardian nodded. She reached into her robes and removed a long, slender scroll housed in a leather satchel. She unclasped the ends, laid the scroll flat, pressed two heavy stones at each end, then unfurled the tapestry, one careful rotation at a time.

  It didn’t take long to realize what I was looking at. There was a black shape etched into the centre that could only be the Avanir. From there, it was easy to recognize the Guardian’s Hall to the west, the Craftsquarter south of that, the Labourer’s quarter to the east, the fields, and across from them, a white-chalked square that could only be the Temple. It was a map. Yet
the walled city of Shyandar took up less than a handspan of parchment. The rest was desert.

  “Uh, sorry sal’ahs, but . . .” Benji’s face was lined with worry. “But does the Guardian Lord Umaala ab’Krushaya actually mean for . . . for me to come with you?”

  “That’s what I heard,” I said.

  Ab’Tanadu nodded. “Yes. And how do you feel about that?”

  Benji had the honesty to hesitate. “It sounds dangerous,” he finally admitted.

  “Very.”

  “And I won’t have a keshu?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Novices were unsworn, and as such, forbidden to even touch a Guardian’s blade.

  Nolaan grunted and folded his arms, but no one spoke. Everyone watched to see how the Novice would react.

  Finally, Benji leaned forward, incredibly serious, and laid both hands on the table. “I will be a Guardian. An outrider of the third. I will face danger without fear.”

  I had to smother a laugh. Who was this kid? Then I noticed Jil and Nolaan smirking, and I had an instant of clarity. Take the lead. Do it now.

  “We respect that,” I answered solemnly. “And so will the desert.”

  The boy’s face flashed with pride before he regained his composure. He nodded and sat back, looking like he’d already achieved greatness. I found myself liking him. But how would he stand face to face with grasping emptiness of the Sumadi?

  We would see soon enough.

  Mani finished unrolling the scroll and trapped the last two corners. We leaned forward. I could sense a thrum of excitement as Koryn began to trace a finger north of the wall, then east, towards a long, mountainous scar.

  “That’s the Bones,” I said.

  “Correct. And this is approximately one day’s journey by camel.” Koryn tapped the Bones. “This is where we ended up last time.”

  Last time. What an innocuous way of saying, the time I almost killed you, then got you thrown out of the Guardian’s Hall.

  But that was past. I met his eye and nodded. “I’ve been over that ground. I found nothing. But . . .” I thought of E’tuah, following me, rescuing me out of the landslide, then steering me back across the ravine. Putting an obstacle between me and . . . what? “But I think I was close.”