Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “I want to do my duty as a Guardian . . .” I faltered, but he was already shaking his head.

  “No, no, no. Stop pretending, boy. Why . . .” he paused to catch his breath. “Why did you ask to see me? Why are you here? What do you want?”

  This was a trick. I could feel the sweat running down my back. This wasn’t going the way I’d planned—not that I’d had much of a plan to begin with besides wait for the High Elder to fall asleep and ransack his rooms.

  I felt a burst of shame. I ducked my head, feeling like I’d already failed. Be worthy of it. “High Elder,” I said. “I want the stone you took from me as a child.”

  I could hardly believe I’d spoken the words aloud. But the man only nodded, completely unsurprised. “Go to that chest over there.”

  “High Elder?”

  “Open it.”

  I stared at him. “But . . .”

  “At the back, left corner. A small pouch. Bring it here.”

  My mouth hung open in shock. I blinked at him like an idiot. Then something snapped and I stumbled towards the chest. The same one I had rifled through as a child. I threw back the lid. It made the same creaking groan, and inside was the same assortment of mundane things: robes, blankets, dusty scrolls, half-used candles.

  I dug into the far left corner. Sure enough, a few layers down, my hand wrapped around a soft goat-skin bag, barely large enough to hold a handful of seeds or a shard of flint. Or a small, round stone. My heart gave an alarming thud as I felt what was inside, and for a moment, I just knelt there, hand wrapped around it, afraid to pull it out lest I be disappointed—now when the possibility loomed out of nowhere, tantalizingly real.

  Yl’avah’s might, it couldn’t be!

  I forced my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression, then I turned back to the High Elder and knelt at his bedside again, holding out the little pouch.

  I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

  “Open it,” he said.

  My fingers trembled as I loosed the knot, betraying me. Then I tipped the pouch into my own outstretched palm and out fell a single round stone, smooth and milky white, glowing with its own faint light, just like the blade resting in Ethanir ab’Estaldir’s hands. There it was. The Sending stone, a tool of the ancients. My stone.

  I heard my breath catch. I stared at it, then at the High Elder, and all hope of a neutral expression fled.

  “Yes,” he said. “Take it.”

  “No. You . . . you can’t. You can’t give this to me. It’s forbidden, remember? It’s . . .”

  “It’s inevitable. I see you, Ishvandu—the Guardian and the outcast. The outcast would have lied. You spoke truly: you want it. And because you asked for it, I give it of my own will—under one condition.”

  I turned cold. “Don’t.”

  “Really? Why ever not, Ishvandu? What are you afraid of?”

  I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him, fear thick in my belly. He could ask anything. Anything.

  “You gave my your keshu. So now I require your oath—your solemn oath as a Guardian to your lord—that you will fulfill your obligations, what I ask of you, in accordance with the words written here on this sword. Do you swear it?”

  I curled my fist around the stone, feeling naked without the weight of my keshu. “What’s to stop me?” I spoke in trembling voice. “I . . . I could seize back my keshu without a word, and sands take you and . . . and your blasted stone!”

  “What indeed?” he asked, completely unconcerned.

  “This is a trick! This is all a trick. You’re baiting me, and I . . . I . . .”

  I snapped my mouth shut, realizing how ridiculous I sounded. Be a Guardian. Be worthy of it. I took a deep, furious breath. The High Elder was right. I needed the stone, and one way or another, I was taking it. This was my only chance to accept it honestly, as a Guardian. To live up to his stupid, impossible task. Blast the old man!

  I let out my breath. “Very well. What is it you want?”

  “First swear on this sword.”

  “I’ve already sworn my oath, ab’Estaldir.”

  “And yet I would hear for myself. Give me your word, Ishvandu.”

  Before I could change my mind, I stuck out a hand and grasped the naked blade. “I swear to you Ethanir ab’Estaldir, I will carry out your wish—so long as I can, in accordance with my oath as a Guardian, and in obedience first to the Al’kah, the Circle, and the Hall.”

  The High Elder nodded, accepting my word, and immediately let go of the sword. He collapsed onto the pillows. His exhaustion fell like a blow, and whatever strength he had a moment ago was gone. Once more, I was holding my own keshu, and in the other hand, I grasped E’tuah’s stone.

  “Well?” I cried. “What? What have I sworn to?”

  He closed his eyes. His weariness was palpable again. Weariness . . . and relief.

  “You want this stone,” he said, “for one reason. To seek out that man, the one you call E’tuah. You will do so. And when you have found him, when you know the place he hides, when you have earned his trust, you will take the sword of Guardians, and—as you have sworn—you will kill him.”

  I stared. Disbelieving horror curled around my gut. I shuddered. And then the words struck me. I leapt back, clattering to my feet with an angry hiss, clutching the sword. “Never!”

  “You have sworn to do it,” he said simply.

  “Not to kill!”

  “Defend the righteous. Destroy the wicked. I ask no more.”

  “You ask for murder!”

  “I ask for trust.” His eyes opened and there was a new, quiet urgency to his words. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I didn’t, the moment I was alone with this thing, seek out the man who gave it to you? I know him, Ishvandu. I know who he is and what he’s done. I told him to be gone, to never speak to you again, but clearly he will not listen. He was banished from us long ago, and with good cause. He should have been put to death—he would have been, had not the Circle been swayed by his lies.”

  “Then tell the Circle, if it’s true. Let them deal with it!”

  “And implicate you as well? Is that what you want? The Circle would destroy you for your treachery.”

  “Treachery?”

  “Yes, Ishvandu. Don’t you understand yet? Don’t you see what’s happening? They would destroy you, or they would be deceived themselves, and I fear both. I fear everything where this man is concerned. He has broken enough that was good, I won’t have him ruin one more thing, I swear it by the Tree!”

  The High Elder’s intensity struck me. I frowned, everything churning inside me. “What did he do?”

  “Ask him yourself and see.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Terrible things. Unspeakable. For him there is no forgiveness. While he lives, he is a danger to us all.”

  “What things? What did he do?” I shouted, panic almost choking me. “I won’t do it if you won’t—”

  There was a sound of feet scuffing the stone floor. I twisted my head, and there, standing with the curtain parted, clutching a flask, was Kulnethar ab’Ethanir.

  He stared at me, stared at my keshu. Too late, I realized I was brandishing it before me, poised as if to strike.

  “Vanya?” he breathed. “What is this? What are you . . . ?”

  “You gave me your word,” the High Elder continued, not missing a beat with the entrance of his son. “By the sword you hold, by your honour as a Guardian, you must keep your oath.”

  I forced myself to relax despite the shock and outrage bubbling through me like poison. I sheathed my keshu, while the other hand slipped the stone into the pocket of my robes.

  “It’s not what it looks,” I told Kulnethar. “You know nothing.”

  I watched his face transform: his eyes darken, his cheeks flush. His brows came together slowly, like a distant storm, gathering, trembling.

  “How dare you?” he finally spluttered. “How dare you bare your sword at my father? Ishva
ndu ab’Admundi—you, you of all people! How . . . how dare you!”

  I had never seen my friend so angry. Not even when I’d shredded the old chronicles of ab’Andala Al’kah and nearly got us both roped for stealing.

  But my thoughts were already overburdened. Kulnethar seemed far away. My own mouth seemed distant. How could I ever explain? I had to get out. I had to get out. If I said anything, it would be wrong . . . it would be . . .

  I stumbled towards the door. I wasn’t expecting what happened next.

  Kulnethar lunged at me. He seized my arm and hurled me back. I wasn’t prepared. I staggered. I nearly sprawled over the chest.

  Then he came at me and instinct took over. I fell into back stance. I absorbed his blow and spun, striking him in the ribs, hooking his leg. He grabbed my arm—too easy to counter. I twisted, reversed his hold.

  “Stop!” the High Elder cried. “Both of you, stop!”

  I drove Kulnethar into the ground with a thud. I heard the breath whump out of him, and he grunted, pinned beneath my weight, one arm twisted behind him.

  I had experienced the brunt of this position more times than I cared to remember. It was painful and humiliating, but to Kulnethar’s credit, he went still, wincing silently against the pressure in his shoulder.

  He was breathing hard, but for me, the familiar rhythms brought focus, clarity, control.

  “You have no idea what’s happening here,” I said. “Do you think so little of me?”

  Kulnethar swallowed and shook his head, already apologizing. I glanced up. The High Elder had pushed himself onto an elbow, as if he would forcibly separate us.

  I released Kulnethar’s arm and stood.

  “Forgive me, High Elder. But your son should know better than to attack a Guardian.”

  The old man’s face was hard. “He should. Kulnethar what were you thinking? Ishvandu has my trust, and I know he will do whatever is consistent with his duties as a Guardian.” His eyes drilled into me. “It’s imperative for him to think first of the safety of his people.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kulnethar panted, cradling his arm as he struggled to his feet. “Vanya, what in Yl’avah’s name is going on?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” I said. Then I turned back to the High Elder. “Know this, ab’Estaldir, I will not, will not, do this thing unless I have incontrovertible proof. Anything less would be to dishonour the very oath you ask me to keep.”

  Without waiting for a response, I straightened and swept from the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  All the long ride back to the Hall, my mind churned. The High Elder had manoeuvred me so neatly. Had he been planning it from the start? From the day he’d sent me to the Hall?

  The thought made me sick with embarrassment—could it really be?

  Impossible! One man could never be worth so much trouble! If E’tuah were really that dangerous, the High Elder would have alerted the Circle and been done with it. The Guardians would have taken care of him a long time ago.

  No, the High Elder had mentioned that too. E’tuah would be dead, if it weren’t for the Circle. So the Circle had their chance, but chose to exile him instead. A decision the High Elder clearly disagreed with.

  So he couldn’t go to the Circle. Not unless there was a new crime, one that surpassed the older ones. Like giving a child a relic of the Old Ones?

  I dug a hand into my robes for the twentieth time. Yes. There it was. A small, round object. So innocuous. Burning in my mind for years. I still had no idea how it worked, only that it was crafted from ytyri, and so its power would be both enormous and forbidden. Enough to condemn E’tuah. And me.

  The High Elder claimed he was trying to protect me. He didn’t want the Circle involved. He didn’t trust the Circle, that was obvious. But he trusted me? Why?

  The thought sent me into another dizzying flurry of speculation. Who in the sands was this man? How could E’tuah be so horrible, yet so unheard of? If there had been a trial and banishment, it would have been common knowledge. Everyone would have known about him. Even I would have heard. That was clearly not the case.

  So either he was banished quietly, or the High Elder was lying through his teeth. Or both. The High Elder was clearly afraid of him.

  Afraid. Yes. So was I. I had seen E’tuah fight off a horde of Sumadi on his own. And I thought I had any chance? Even if I wanted to . . .

  Yl’avah’s blasted might, how had I gotten myself into this?

  Not to mention, E’tuah had saved my life. Twice. It was easy to imagine him breaking the law if it served some purpose—but could I really do this to him? Could I return his aid with betrayal?

  I had sworn an oath.

  I had sworn an oath on the blade of a Guardian.

  My blade.

  I cursed roundly and wiped another slop of sweat off my forehead and neck. How could I? How could I even contemplate obeying the High Elder? And how could I contemplate not? Even worse, if I was going to succeed on this mission, I would have to beg E’tuah’s favour again. Another debt. Another debt repaid with blood.

  Yl’avah’s might. Yl’avah’s blasted, bleeding might. What now?

  I was back. I passed Yma off to the stablehands and marched towards my room. It was midday. I didn’t even feel the heat, but I knew I needed to get out of the sun or there would be no expedition at all.

  Koryn spotted me rushing across the inner yard.

  “Ishvandu! What the sands is going on? Is the plan moving forward or not?”

  “How should I know?” I snapped.

  He fell into step beside me. “Because you were there, shit-for-brains.”

  “Ask Umaala.”

  “I tried. Couldn’t get a blasted word out of him.”

  “Then he’ll let you know when you need to know.”

  “But what happened? Was it really about the expedition?”

  “Yes and no.”

  We melted into the shadows of the Hall. Here, the stone was relatively cool compared to the sweltering heat of the yard.

  “Sands take you, that’s not an answer. I have preparations to make.”

  “And I’m half sun-sick. Do you want me to be incoherent with exhaustion? So give me a moment’s peace, and when Umaala is ready to tell you, he will tell you.”

  I strode off without waiting for a reply, down the halls, and into the third kiyah’s sleeping rooms. It was a long corridor, a row of curtained chambers, each offering some modicum of privacy. I found my own and burst through the curtain.

  For the longest moment, I simply stood in the middle of the floor, staring at my own outstretched hand. It was closed into a fist, and inside the fist was the stone, and for the first time since the desert, I was going to get a good look at it, in private.

  I was terrified.

  You will kill him . . .

  I swallowed. Had I retrieved E’tuah’s stone at last—only to betray him?

  No. I had told the High Elder plainly. I couldn’t do this. Not without proof. The old man owed me that much. A Guardian wouldn’t follow orders like that without proof. Would he? Maybe the High Elder was testing me.

  Ask him.

  I forced myself to breathe. Panic was never the answer. And no matter the outcome, now wasn’t the time to make that decision. I had a larger problem. Soon preparations would begin, and the expedition would roll out, and between that point and the completion of our mission, I would never be alone. I would be on watch, or I would be travelling, or I would be sleeping next to my kiyah. I had a small space of time right now, in this place, to make something happen. I would not be able to risk taking the stone out again. I would not have another chance.

  You will kill him . . .

  I growled away the High Elder’s voice. I wouldn’t do it without proof. I needed proof. I needed . . .

  I opened my hand. I was staring at the Sending stone. It was small and perfectly round, though surprisingly heavy. It glowed. I turned it ove
r in my hand, running my fingers over it. Feeling its impossible smoothness.

  There was a click, like two small stones tapping against each other, but in my tense state, it was enough to make me jump. I swore, then felt ridiculous. Of course. E’tuah had showed me this years ago—how to wake up the Sending stone. I just needed to move my thumb over it in a circle . . .

  The stone was changing. I stared in alarm. The light was pulsing like a heartbeat, tha-thump, tha-thump. And as my own quickened, so did the stone’s.

  Yl’avah’s might, it was mirroring me!

  I forced myself to breathe. I shut my eyes. I could still feel it in my palm, warm and alive, like a thudding echo of my chest. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. It was slowing down. I was pulling myself under control. It will link with you. That’s what E’tuah had said, all those years ago. My thumb woke it, and it linked with me. That’s what allowed it to work. To send . . .

  Could I truly speak with E’tuah, right now? From here? Wherever the man was?

  The thought was dangerous and heady. It was unnatural. But if ever I had a chance to reach out and ask him for one last thing, for water in the desert in exchange for this back—

  “E’tuah,” I whispered, hardly daring to speak. “E’tuah are you there? Can . . . can you hear me?”

  The stone pulsed. It was warm. It was hot. I held my breath. But the silence was long and . . . disappointing.

  I opened my eyes—

  What happened next was like hooks behind my eyes. Like Sumadi. Like the Avanir at Choosing. Painful, dizzying, euphoric. Everything lurched around me. I did not move—the world did. I stayed where I was, and the air bent. It twisted like a scream. I wanted to cry out, to drop the stone and flee, to cower in a deep and silent hole and wait for the world to stop vomiting itself.

  It sped up. Colours broke through my mind, colours I had never seen before. I saw my own fear. I actually saw it, like a visible, rotten cloud clawing at my heels. Pain burst like sores in the air. Desire dripped, burning wherever it touched, a dark vibrancy, a longing, a thirst . . .

  Something was pressing against me. It was cold and dark. Was I dead? I moved, and my arms and legs kicked through the air, heavy and slow. There was no ground beneath my feet. No up or down. I went to take a breath—and realized the truth a moment too late.