“Do you?”
“Yes. The area was familiar. I don’t think we need to skim the whole ridge. If we start there and move north, we’ll find it. I don’t think we need more than one trip. Four days.”
“Four days in the desert isn’t nothing,” ab’Tanadu said.
“Yeah,” Jil nodded. “Four days . . . and four nights.”
Everyone glanced at him—and the fresh scars on his face.
“We can’t afford fear,” Breta said. “The slips are out there. Or they’re in here. Does it matter? We’ve faced them before. This is what we’ve been training for, isn’t it?”
“Training does not preclude the need for caution,” ab’Tanadu replied. “Our numbers are low, and we have a Novice with us.”
“Do we have a choice?” I asked. “We’re outriders, and so is Benji in a year. This is our mission. It will take us into the desert. We will risk confronting Sumadi. We can’t change that; we can only choose how we face them.”
“Ishvandu’s right,” said Koryn. “We can’t avoid the Sumadi. And given their recent tendencies, there’s a good chance they’ll attack. Maybe every night. So we follow the same procedure we’ve been doing all through Kaprash. Ishvandu will be on watch. We ready our formations. We stay alert.”
I nodded. “That’s right. We won’t be caught off guard.” And maybe there was something I could do to speed the mission. Maybe there was a chance . . .
“So what supplies will we need?” Mani asked.
I sighed. The Sending stone. If there was the slightest chance I could get it back, then maybe, just maybe, I could prove myself to E’tuah.
But in order to get the Sending stone, I’d have to do the thing I dreaded most. Somehow, I’d have to convince the High Elder.
Chapter Four
Kulnethar ab’Ethanir
My father the High Elder was dying.
I sat with him in his private chambers at the very height of the Temple. The air tasted of sharp medicines and soft honey. A sprig of lavender decorated the doorway, and his bed had been raised with stones, wood slats, and a cloud of pillows. He was propped up now, peering over a scroll that he no longer had the eyes to see.
“Can I help, Father?” I asked.
He chuckled and unfurled the scroll a little further. “There is more to reading than the words, my son. I like the feel of the parchment under my fingertips, the smell of ink, the crack of the roll. Besides, I’m not so blind I can’t make out a word here and there, hmm? But come. What did you want with me?”
“Only to keep you company.”
“Hah. We both know that’s a mean lie.” He smiled, then saw the expression on my face and grew serious.
“Son? What is it?”
“There was another . . . attack.”
He nodded gravely. “The Sumadi. Yes. I know.”
“And there was a survivor.”
“A survivor?” His glance turned sharp.
“Yes. Like . . .”
“Ishvandu ab’Admundi.” He sighed and lay back, closing his eyes. “I see. Does this survivor have a name?”
“Nyashal sai’Nahala.”
“And she is older?”
“At least twenty—though I haven’t been able to find the exact age. She’s an adult. Much older than when Ishvandu was attacked.”
“And I take it she’s not adapting as well as our young Guardian friend. Am I right?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Will she die?”
“No!”
“Kulnethar,” my father eyed me, the bright blue as piercing as ever. “Will she die?”
I sighed and glanced at my hands. They were stained dark with lath’is. They drooped with fatigue. “I don’t know, Father. The truth is, she’s unstable. One moment I can speak with her, the next, it’s impossible. But her connection with the Sumadi is . . . worrisome. She speaks sometimes with their voice. Sometimes with the old words, sometimes in ours, but never anything that makes sense. Her mind is broken. Her every waking moment is painful. What . . . what should I do?”
My father sat for a moment, hands folded over the scroll, eyes closed. For an instant, I was afraid he’d fallen asleep. Then he glanced up, lips tight.
“I will speak with her.”
“Father, you’re not strong enough. You need to rest.”
“Kulnethar ab’Ethanir, I will speak with her.” He gave me the look I knew so well. “We both know no amount of rest will cure me. So let’s make the most of my days, shall we? You will help me down to the healing rooms, and I will speak with her.”
I sighed. We both knew what the real problem was. My father would do what he liked, and I would help, of course. But once he made an appearance, there would be no way to quell the rumours. By this evening, every ear in the Temple would hear of his condition, and by the end of the week, it would be every ear in Shyandar.
It was an arduous journey down the steps, but I was impressed how far a little acting went. My father insisted on wearing his best robes and wrapped himself in the High Elder’s bright blue sash. And once I’d sandalled his feet and combed his hair, we descended.
The High Elder went slowly, but gracefully, breathing through his nose, smiling and nodding. He greeted a few. He kept his back straight and his hand resting lightly on my arm. Only I knew how much I was supporting his weight. I could feel the tension of his grip, the strained rhythm of his breathing.
We made it to the second tier, then down the white corridor, and at last to the room at the far end, where Lalitha stood watch today.
“High Elder!” she brightened. “I heard you weren’t feeling well.”
My father smiled. “I’m glad to be up and walking today, Lalitha. I hear you’ve been keeping a faithful watch?”
“Indeed. This one needs a bit of extra attention.”
“I thank you for your diligence.” He nodded graciously. “May I see the young woman?”
“Certainly.”
Lalitha swept aside the curtain, and we entered. Nyashal was lying on her side, legs drawn into her chest, staring blankly at the wall. Her silence wasn’t from lack of pain, I decided, but from an inability to process it any longer. The barest touch made her scream, and I warned my father as we drew near.
He just nodded, and letting go of my arm, he struggled down to his knees.
“Nyashal,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
She said nothing, but my father nodded, as if he’d heard her all the same.
“Yes, child. I know. Are they here now? The ones who did this to you? Do you hear them?”
Nothing. And then—she nodded.
Sumadi, here? Now? I glanced over my shoulder, just for an instant. But I was being foolish. There was nothing. Only shadows cast by the sun.
“Then they must be trying to tell us something. Do you think they are?”
Silence.
“I know it hurts you. I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do. Only you can make it stop. Do you understand?”
Again, silence. But I was leaning forward now, fascinated. She wore a crease on her brow. She was listening.
My father spoke slowly, as if considering his own words. “I think they did this to you because they have something to say. Until you say it, until we understand, I don’t think it will stop.”
He waited.
“Is there anything you want to tell us?”
He waited again.
Then he nodded and began lowering himself to the floor. He stretched out on the ground, trying not to groan from the aches in his body. He turned onto his side to face her, mirroring the young woman’s position—though careful never to touch her. Finally, he laid his head on his arm and gazed at her. I was thankful for Lalitha’s watch. If anyone came in now to see my father, they would think him mad.
I knew better. Posture-mirroring was one of the first things my father had taught me in the art of persuasion. It created a link, a sense of shared understanding, more powerful because it was unspoken. I watche
d, breathless.
Finally, Nyashal began to speak. It was a quiet voice. An agonized whisper. I couldn’t hear, but my father just nodded, listening with the patience of a mountain. She began to speak more quickly. Her lips pulled back into a snarl. Her eyes blinked rapidly.
I thought I caught the words Avanir and water. I dared not come any closer in case I startled her into silence.
My father nodded, then frowned. “Really? Who told you that?”
“He did.” Her voice was growing more distinct.
“Who?” my father asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Can you describe him?”
Nyashal pressed a hand to the floor, letting it sit flat, as if to feel the coolness of the stone. She spread her fingers.
“I didn’t see his face.”
I tried to imagine who would come to torment the poor girl. Who would appear without showing their face? How did they get past the guard? And why? What could they possibly want out of her?
But Nyashal kept shifting her hand back and forth across the floor, back and forth. “Not his face,” she said. “Not his face. Only his . . . feet.”
My father blinked. “His feet?”
Something cold settled in me. I knew the answer before she gave it.
“Bare,” she whispered. “Yes. Bare feet. Plain robes. In the shadows. But not like them. Different. He came. He . . . spoke to me. He touched the pain, and it helped. A little.”
“How did he touch the pain?”
She shook her head. “I don’t . . . know.”
“Can you describe what he did?”
She shook her head. Her eyes squeezed together, and I could see the tension building. I resisted the urge to step in. My father knew what he was doing.
“Did he give you something to drink? Like medicine?”
She shook her head.
“Something to taste?”
“No.”
“Something—?”
“No, no. Not like that. Not a healer. He . . .”
She reached out a hand. It wavered towards my father’s face. But just when I thought she would brush his forehead, she pulled away. She groaned, collapsing back against the floor, as if the single movement had used all her strength.
My father waited for a moment longer. But her eyes were squeezed shut, and her breath had quickened. There was nothing left in her.
I stepped in and helped my father back to his feet. His face was alarmingly pale. He shook, and clutched my arm. There was no need for words—not yet. Not here.
We slipped out of the curtain.
“Lalitha,” I said to the young Acolyte on watch.
She glanced up. “Yes?”
“Has anyone come to see the patient, perhaps a healer?”
“Of course not, ab’Ethanir. We know better than that. If anyone shows curiosity, we just turn them away. It’s not their business.”
“Are you sure? Has anyone nodded off, perhaps? Even once, briefly?”
She gave me a worried look. “This is our duty, ab’Ethanir. We would never do such a thing.”
“Can you ask anyway? I need to know. I won’t be angry.”
“Of course, ab’Ethanir. I’ll gather the others on watch. I’ll put the matter to them strongly.”
“Thank you, Lalitha.”
She nodded. “Anything for Kulnethar ab’Ethanir.”
My father’s trip back up the stairs was less graceful. We went quickly, neither saying a word. When he collapsed at last in his bed, he made no mask of his fatigue. I watched him struggle and gasp. He coughed weakly, the sound gurgling in his chest. I offered some lath’is to soothe his pain, but he refused. I got him a drink. I fetched some extra blankets. After that, all I could do was watch.
He quieted at last, lying back, eyes closed. Only when his breathing had returned completely, did he begin to speak.
“So,” he rasped.
I swallowed. “You heard what she said.”
“I heard many things.”
“But did you hear . . . ?”
“Yes?” he opened his eyes.
“The man who visited her. He had . . . bare feet.”
“Unusual, yes. I assume our visitor,” he coughed, “wished to soften his steps.”
“But . . .”
“But what, my son? Does that mean something to you?”
I frowned. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he remember? I opened my mouth, ready to explain, but found myself hesitating.
“I’m not sure,” I said instead. “I trust my Acolytes. Who would enter without my permission?”
“Who, indeed?” My father closed his eyes again.
He hadn’t watched over young Ishvandu in his illness, as I had. He hadn’t heard those things, about the man in the desert, the man with bare feet. And afraid for his friend, young Kulnethar had left the details vague. Maybe he didn’t understand the significance of what Nyashal had shared.
“I’ll get to the truth of this,” I said.
My father coughed again, but said nothing. He seemed troubled. Distant. What had the woman whispered to him, too softly for my ears? And why would he keep it to himself? I was on the edge of asking, but my father’s face was pale, the lines harsh beneath his eyes and down his cheeks. Even his silver beard looked bedraggled and tired. I had no right to bother him. When he thought I needed to know, he would tell me, and not before.
But his silence would hardly stop me from investigating.
Chapter Five
Ishvandu ab’Admundi
The dining hall was a hum of activity. Bowls, cups, feet, hands, knocking and clacking. Voices buzzing. A laugh, cut short.
I glanced over to the Novice’s table. There were twenty-four of them again, including Benji. After that first harrowing night of Kaprash, Jarethyn ab’Torishu, Guardian Lord and new weapons-master, had been ordered to fill the ranks—however possible. Now there was a motley blend of them, some trained as Novices for years, like Benji, others snatched over-age from the Labourers or Crafters, barely able to hold a training sword.
Jarethyn had begun stealing me at my most sleep-deprived so I could teach them strategies we’d developed against the Sumadi. I did my best, but I felt ill-suited to the task. Most of the Novices were intimidated by me. Ever since the first night of Kaprash, since I’d shown up in their quarter with Tushani’sal’s blood plastered all over me, screaming at shadows, the stories had spun out of control. Last I’d heard, I’d fought off half a dozen Sumadi and killed one with my bare hands. But there were darker versions: that I was in league with the shadows, that I was possessed by them, that I had targeted Bray.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Jil muttered at my elbow. “We were there, just a few months ago. One of them.”
Breta said, “A few months ago he was digging ditches, Jil.”
“Right.” Jil frowned uncomfortably. “Sorry. I meant—”
“You see the girl at the end of the table?” I nodded. “The one with her hair cut short?”
“Yeah,” Jil said uncertainly.
“Her name’s Arkaya. I’ve been training her and some of the other Novices. She’s old enough to take the Oath next Renewing. She’s not the best with a sword, but some of the younger boys refuse to face her.”
“Maybe they want a challenge.”
I shook my head. “The opposite. She swings hard and fast. What she lacks in technique, she makes up for in ferocity. And she won’t give up. Ever. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because a few months ago, she was digging ditches. I’d take her on my kiyah any day over some of those prancing soft idiots.”
Breta smirked into her soup. “Like Benji?”
“Maybe.” Or maybe not. I remembered the Novice’s enthusiasm and smiled.
Jil looked unconvinced. “It’s different when you’re actually face to face with . . .” He trailed off.
“With Sumadi?” Breta asked, all innocence and sympathy.
Jil shrugged. He was s
tocky and tough, which is probably why they’d allowed him to take the Oath a year short of the age, but we were all thinking of the fresh cuts on his face.
“Oh, come on. Out with it!” Breta pressed. “What’s eating you?”
“What? Nothing!” Then he saw the look I gave him and his tone turned defensive. “What?”
“That’s the test, isn’t it?” I said. “How well do you face the shadows? How do you hold up under pressure?” I leaned forward. “Are you ready?”
His face reddened. “You think they made a mistake with me. You think you’ve more right to be here than I, don’t you?”
“I’ve faced Sumadi. I’ve stood my ground. That’s more than you did.”
He half-rose, palms slamming into the table. “At least they didn’t kick me out of the sand-blasted Hall, you ass-wiping sack.”
“At least I didn’t get one of us nearly killed.”
“I did no such—”
“You fell out of line. You risked Breta. And if Benji had been there, you’d have risked him too.”
“I was attacked! What was I supposed to do?”
“Hold your position. Watch your kiyah’s back. That’s what a Guardian would do. You panicked.”
“So I made a mistake. One mistake. Does that make me a terrible Guardian?” His eyes pleaded towards Breta.
“Depends,” she chewed thoughtfully on a hunk of bread.
“On what?”
“Whether a dead Guardian equals a terrible one.”
Breta and I chuckled, but Jil rocked to his feet, his mouth a flat, angry line. “Both of you,” he cried. “You’re both . . . rat guts!”
Then he stomped off, drawing a few looks from nearby Guardians.
“Poor dear,” Breta sighed when he was gone. “He’s not even good at insults.”
I returned to my bean soup. “You baited him.”
“I sure did, and you played your part perfectly, thanks. He’s been moping around for days. He needed to say something. Maybe now he’ll have a little more fire in his step. We’ll need it, for the desert.”
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