Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “Remind me never to go to you for encouragement.”

  Breta laughed. “Vanya, I doubt you’ll need that from me.”

  We met in the Task Hall. Mani was already pouring over lists, maps, and parchments, Benji hovering over her shoulder. Ab’Tanadu stood to greet us. Koryn was there too, withdrawn into a corner, watching and saying little.

  “Three days,” Mani said without looking up.

  Breta and I took our places at the table, even as Jil and Nolaan trailed in.

  “Have you been here all night?” I asked Mani.

  “You were on the wall. I was here. We can sleep at midday.”

  I grunted. “If I’m so lucky. What’s in three days?”

  “We leave in three days. That gives us time to plan, train, gather supplies, and rest.”

  Three days. My first reaction was panic. Only three days? She wanted us to do this in three days? But this was Mani we were talking about, and she had probably planned most of it in her head already. Better than waiting around for doubts to creep in.

  I nodded. “So what do we need first?”

  Just then, the door cracked. Everyone glanced up, expecting to see Umaala.

  It was a girl wrapped in the simple robes of a Novice, her dark hair shorn above her ears like a boy, the same one I had pointed out in the dining hall

  “Arkaya?” Benji exclaimed, straightening. “What are you doing here?”

  The girl pulled the door shut behind her but stayed near it. “Umaala sent me,” she announced.

  “For what?” ab’Tanadu asked.

  “To join you.”

  Koryn snorted. “Right. Now scram, or I’ll show you how.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Are you deaf, girl? This is a meeting of Guardians. If we need a stablehand, we’ll send for one.”

  “And if I see one, I’ll let him know.”

  Koryn straightened. “You’re one word from a whipping—”

  “Hold it,” I said. “She’s a Novice, one of the new recruits, not a Hand. She clearly has a purpose here. Isn’t that right, Arkaya?”

  “Like I said.” Her lip curled for a moment. “I’m supposed to join you. Something about the desert.”

  “What?” Koryn cried. “We’ve already got one stupid Novice and even if Umaala forced me to take two, it wouldn’t be some mudfoot recruit—”

  “I asked for her,” Mani cut in.

  Everyone turned to stare at the older woman. Mani didn’t often intrude on top-level decision-making, but when she did, not even Koryn challenged her.

  “I overheard Ishvandu talking about you,” she explained quietly. “And I agree. So does Umaala’sal. We need replacements, and not in three years. Are you willing?”

  Arkaya met the woman’s eye, and I glimpsed then how formidable she might be. “Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

  I found myself smiling. “Welcome to the third.”

  Koryn looked like he wanted to object. Then, with another withering glance at Mani, he growled something and leaned back against the wall. “Continue,” he snapped.

  Ab’Tanadu gestured to the table. “If you’re in, then stop hovering.”

  Arkaya came in. I noticed her wary glance towards Koryn. Unsurprisingly, she found a place near Mani and Benji, not that Benji looked any more thrilled at her presence than the rest of the kiyah. The kid shot her a few frowning looks, and she pretended not to see.

  “As we were saying,” I continued. “If we have three days to prepare, let’s get to it.”

  We dove into the details: where to search and for how long, what dangers to expect, how to manage the camels through the maze of rocks and how to prepare ourselves for navigating the Bones.

  “Chalk,” I said. “We need lots of chalk. We need to mark each turn, each gathering point, and cross it off once we’ve found a dead end. And rope, in case of landslides.”

  Koryn grunted from the back of the group. “Or maybe we just avoid those.”

  “Easier to do when you haven’t been abandoned.”

  Koryn’s face twisted, but for once there was no snide reply. Ab’Tanadu looked relieved.

  “Speaking of that,” the old outrider cut in, “let’s review desert protocol, for the sake of our recruits.” He proceeded to drill us on how quickly we could die in the open desert, and in how many ways.

  “Snake bite?” he asked.

  “Dead,” Breta chimed in almost cheerfully.

  “Unless we have the antidote,” I added. “Which Mani carries. Good for gilts and shakers.”

  “But not blacksnakes,” Breta replied.

  “Or diamonds, ridgebacks, cobras . . .”

  Ab’Tanadu nodded. Everyone knew snake venom killed you swiftly and horribly—if you were lucky. “Our water runs out?”

  “Bad,” Jil said.

  “We don’t run out,” Nolaan grunted. “We ration carefully.”

  “Things happen,” I replied. “We need to be ready. We can tap plants to get an emergency supply, but not red-bush, because it’s poisonous.”

  “And if there are no plants?” ab’Tanadu raised a brow, turning to look at Benji.

  The kid blushed, but stammered out a reasonable reply. “Dig, sal’ah. We . . . we dig and set up dew-catchers, right?”

  “We follow Ishvandu’s bird and find a secret valley,” Nolaan sneered.

  “What he said,” I grinned, ignoring the sarcasm.

  Koryn leaned forward from his corner. “Illness.”

  “We call off the mission,” Jil replied, “and bring the sick person home to the Temple.”

  “Unless it’s mild,” I said. “A bit of shelter and water could manage it.”

  “Unless they’re as good as dead,” Breta said.

  The list continued. Injuries ranged from manageable to life-threatening. Resources were scarce, especially water, and every Guardian knew the risks of infection. For such cases, there was ab’Tanadu and Mani, trained at the Temple with some basic field care.

  Then there was heat. Shelter could be made by digging into the sand and spreading your cloak over the hole.

  If you got cold at night, that’s what camels were for.

  Food was negligible, in comparison to the other risks, especially if it was only a few days. Water was infinitely more important.

  “Ishvandu gets separated from the group,” Koryn said, shooting me a significant look. “What do we do?”

  “Let him die!” Breta grinned.

  “I agree,” said Jil. He was still angry from our mealtime banter.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I have a signal horn. As long as the abandonment wasn’t intentional, I simply give a blast. One to acknowledge. Two to summon. Three to call for help. In most cases, I stay where I am unless doing so poses an immediate risk to my safety, or to the safety of another member of the kiyah. Got that?” I turned to Benji and Arkaya.

  “One blast communicates position or acknowledges a proceeding call,” Benji said. “Two summons an answering Guardian. Three demands urgent attention from all Guardians within range.”

  Arkaya rolled her eyes. I had the growing sense Benji had probably memorized protocols for all eight kiyahs, much to the edification of his fellow Novices.

  “If anyone gets separated,” Mani said, “finding them becomes our first priority, as long as there’s no immediate risk to the safety of those involved, as judged by the head of the kiyah, or the oldest Guardian present.”

  “Correct,” Koryn said. “A failed mission can be re-attempted, but once lost, a Guardian is lost. This is more than sentiment—every one of you constitutes an asset to the Hall. Years of training. Experience. The resources it took to get you to this point, including food and water.” His eyes rested a little longer on me. “Don’t waste that by dying.”

  I frowned. Was Koryn trying to apologize for abandoning me?

  “I love when he gets mushy,” Breta sniggered.

  “And if there are multiple crises?” ab’Tanadu asked.

&n
bsp; “We handle them in order of severity,” Mani replied. “Venom, water, injury, illness, lack of shelter, food.”

  We broke near midday. I hovered behind the others, waiting for Koryn, but when our eyes met, he shot me a look that said everything we needed to say. It’s past.

  I sighed, wondering if I should follow up with Arkaya a little more. But Mani noticed and shook her head. “Sleep,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  How did she know?

  I didn’t argue.

  Once alone in my room, I gave myself to exhaustion. And I dreamt of shadows: shadows bursting through the Hall, tearing apart the weapons-master, scattering blood across the stone, filling Bray’s eyes and mouth and nostrils like smoke. My friend screamed and screamed, but he wasn’t screaming at the monster inside, he was screaming at me. “I hate you, Vanya! I hate you! You let me die! You’re not a Guardian, you’re one of them. This is all your fault.”

  I killed him. In my dream, I took Tushani’sal’s keshu and rammed it through his heart. It was the only way I could save him.

  I watched him die, and then the Guardians turned on me. They held me down—Nolaan and Antaru and Koryn, like when I was a Tasker and they wanted someone to hurt. But Breta too, even Tala.

  And then there was Polityr, my old friend. Why? he seemed to say. Why did you let them Choose me? Why did you let me go?

  They held me down and the Sumadi came for me and I couldn’t stop them. The creatures clawed the skin off my face, and they crawled behind my eyes. They peeled back my ribs, whispering in my ear. Save us, traveller-between! Destroy the Broken. Save us. See us. Alive. Alive. This one is alive! This one . . .

  And then a voice like water—like a deep, dark pool, going down and down. This one. And he leaned close. His touch was like a knife. He was killing the shadows. He was finding them and digging them out of my head, and the pain was like fire and steel. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t cry out. I could only hear him, over and over again: get it back.

  I dragged myself out of the dream. I lay awake, staring at the stone ceiling, breathing hard.

  Get it back.

  I turned over. A thought had been needling at my mind. Ever since remembering the Sending stone and that night on the desert, trapped, desperate, waiting for Sumadi to kill me.

  I had watched E’tuah fight off the shadows without a scratch. I had heard him speak of Kayr like he’d seen it with his own eyes. I had seen him sneak into Shyandar, disguised as a Guardian, just so he could warn me of the gathering shadows. If he could do all that, then why not steal back the Sending stone for himself?

  Simple. Because he was testing me. He was waiting for me to act. To prove myself. In fact, he must have known it would be discovered and taken away. So how badly did I want it? What lengths would I go to uncover the secrets of Kayr, the truth of the Avanir? Of Polityr?

  Was it possible E’tuah had known all along?

  The thought sent dread curling through my stomach. I felt sick.

  I rose and dressed. I returned to the Task Hall alone and spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the maps. Just staring. Gitaia was there somewhere, I knew it. But how would E’tuah react if I showed up with a whole kiyah of Guardians? He’d nearly left me to die. He’d all but threatened me if I should try it again.

  Get back my stone—and then we’ll talk.

  He was testing me.

  Evening came, and I joined my kiyah in the yard. We went through attack drills. We practised forming up the wheel; moving from wheel to spear and back again; attacking from both; moving together without breaking formation. I called point from the centre, pretending to see the Sumadi. The kiyah responded. We knew this, with the exception of Arkaya. We knew it all. We had practised and executed it several times throughout Kaprash, often against real Sumadi. We had lost only one member of the kiyah since the new formation. Still, we practised.

  An audience gathered, some old Guardians, observing with a critical eye, others young and in awe. I spun, calling out first point, and the kiyah responded with a single, unbroken move, shifting to parry and attack. Keshu flashed in the red sun like blood. We wheeled.

  Then my keshu stuck in the air. Two riders had appeared in the yard: a Guardian and a white-robe.

  My throat went dry. Tala and Kulnethar. They dismounted and stablehands hurried to attend them. Kulnethar leaned in, saying something to Tala. She nodded, then glanced in my direction, and for the barest moment, our eyes met.

  “Vanya!” Koryn shouted. “Get your eyes out of your ass! Sumadi!”

  “Second!” I snapped. The kiyah responded, and we fell back into the rhythms.

  We were sweating by the time we finished the pattern. I sheathed my keshu and we broke for the evening meal. I caught Breta looking at me. She even opened her mouth as if to speak, before tossing her hand and moving off.

  I hesitated. Soft steps approached from behind, the shift of sandalled feet.

  I don’t want to see you.

  I turned. Tala was standing there, looking tired. She held out a skin of water. She did not smile, but neither did she throw the water in my face. I took it. Our fingers brushed. It was enough to curl my insides like a fist and punch me breathless. I didn’t dare speak. I drank, but only a little before handing it back.

  She hesitated, then drank as well.

  Her hair was freshly oiled and braided. Her robes were clean. Her keshu hung proudly at her side, and beneath a gentle sheen of sweat, she smelled of jasmine and soft evening. It was everything I could do not to gather her in my arms. The lack of her, the distance, the space where she should have been—it was physically painful.

  Like a hole, she had said.

  I swallowed, finally summoning the courage to speak. “Will you walk with me?”

  Tala’s mouth twitched. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Can you go slowly?”

  I bowed. “Like the shuffling of an Elder.”

  She snorted but said nothing. We walked side by side without touching. Her steps were careful. Her movements a little too precise. She was hiding her pain, still visible in the red slashes on her face and the tightness of her expression.

  “I’m surprised you’re back so soon,” I said. “I thought Kylan would have you holed up for days yet.”

  “What for?”

  “You are a little slow.”

  She shot me a withering look. “Mock me and I’ll make your shuffling more than pretense, Ishvandu ab’Admundi, never mind how I look.”

  “Like the sun and the moon incarnate?”

  Oops. She’d think I was mocking her. Yl’avah’s might, let me not foul this up.

  “I mean you look good. You look . . . perfect.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You always think so.”

  “Because it’s always true.”

  She said nothing, but her arm slid through mine; our fingers met. My chest swelled, and everything else squeezed, making for an awkward, breathless, uncomfortable sensation that was also wonderful. We walked that way in silence along the back of the yard.

  “I’m still angry with you,” she said after a moment.

  “I know.”

  “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

  “I know.” I stared wretchedly at the ground “But . . . but I miss you.”

  She gripped my hand a little tighter. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but she wasn’t pulling away. Move slowly. Be patient.

  “Tala,” I said.

  She glanced at me, and our eyes met. There was still pain there. Still enormous, unreachable pain. But at least she no longer looked at me with disgust.

  “Tala,” I said again.

  “What?”

  My face flushed. Yl’avah’s might, you think we’d never touched the way my heart was thumping.

  What to say? I wanted to hear her voice, share her thoughts, be privy to that mysterious world behind her eyes, but all I could think of was our looming expedition, and I’d sworn not to—
>
  “Three days,” I blurted out. Shit. Had I really just said that?

  She frowned at me. “Three days until what?”

  “Actually, two days now. The night after tomorrow.” Stop talking. Stop talking. “I’m leaving.”

  She stiffened. “What do you—?”

  “The desert,” I hurried to explain. “Our whole kiyah. The Al’kah, he wants . . . he wants us to find Gitaia.”

  “You tried that already. You almost died.”

  “I know. But we have a plan this time. Koryn’s willing to work with me, like . . . like something’s changed. But sands, Tala, you can’t say anything about this. Not to anyone.”

  “But you can to me?”

  “Of course not.” My voice was gruff. “But . . . you do things to me.”

  She laughed, and the sound was like the singing of a keshu blade. It knocked something loose in me. It stirred me up, making me bold.

  I reached a hand to her face, brushing back a strand of the dark, loose curls before I could think better of it. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t send me away. For an instant we stood, drawn to each other in that single, unthinking touch. I wanted to kiss her. I should kiss her. She was waiting for it. Her lips were parted, face lifted. I leaned forward, aching to hold her, to pull her close.

  And like a spark blown out by the wind, the moment passed.

  Tala turned away. Her face was lined and troubled, and I knew the pain had returned, like a sour ache between us.

  “Tala,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Vanya. I know you don’t understand. I know it’s not your fault. But . . .”

  “It’s okay,” I pressed her arm. “You don’t . . . you don’t have to apologize. I can’t change what happened, and I can’t fix this, I know I can’t. I just want you to know—You do know I love you, right? With everything?”

  She sighed. “No, Vanya. Not everything. I know you better than that.” She tried to smile as she said it, but it did nothing to soften the blow.

  My heart dropped. I didn’t know how to respond. An image flashed through my mind, of Tala pressing her hand to my chest, unfolding me with her words. I can never be all for you.