Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  Water seared into my lungs. I panicked, flailed, fire pouring through me. I couldn’t breathe. Yl’avah’s might, I was going to die!

  A rushing sound filled my ears. My robes yanked against my neck. Then the surface broke—and air.

  I was dragged bodily onto the rocks. Immediately, my lungs heaved.

  I must have vomited up half the lake. I clung to my rescuer’s arm, trembling where I crouched, coughing and retching, and every time I thought I could take a breath, my lungs spasmed and burned and it all started again.

  At last, my body was spent. I knelt there, breathing carefully, in short shallow gasps. I didn’t dare look up. I knew where I was and whose arm I gripped like a dying man. Drowning might have been preferable to this humiliation.

  “I . . .” I rasped. “I got it back.”

  “I can see,” E’tuah said at last. His tone was dry, acknowledging that I had succeeded while nevertheless sinking lower in his estimation.

  I shook my head. “H-how am I . . . ?”

  That set off another fit of coughing.

  E’tuah waited until I was finished before prying his arm away. “Ytyri binds all Realms into one: Seen, Unseen, and Light by which we See. It can be directed to obey some laws—and ignore others. The Sending stone acted on your desire to speak with me. And, apparently, on your desire for water.” There was a scoffing note beneath his words.

  I finally summoned enough courage to look up. Water was dripping from my hair and nose, soaking my robes, rattling around my chest. I coughed again and wiped my face. I was kneeling in Gitaia, surrounded by water and trees, by the hot sun of midday and hushed birdsong, and E’tuah was standing over me, unchanged. There was no evidence of any approval on his face.

  “I got it back,” I said again, determined to reclaim some of my dignity. “I have the Sending stone.”

  “And you think that changes anything?”

  “You told me to get it back. You said—” I stopped and opened my hands. They were empty. I slapped my robes. “The stone!” I cried, staggering to my feet and grasping towards the lake. “Yl’avah’s might, I must have dropped it. No. We were supposed to leave tomorrow! How am I going to get back to Shyandar now?”

  “Don’t be a fool,” E’tuah sighed. “You are in Shyandar.”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  He seized my hand, yanking it open between us. “The stone is here, in your grasp. You think Sending has the power to transport you bodily across the world in a heartbeat? That, ab’Admundi, is another level of power entirely.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, feeling a prickle of worry. “I’m still there but also here? That’s not possible!”

  “There are far more possibilities in the Three Realms than they would have you believe. You think this is your own true form? Look at yourself.”

  I looked. I felt every drop of water, cooling as it rose off my skin towards the hot sun. I felt the rocks beneath my feet. I felt the burning in my lungs. I pressed both hands against my chest, and yes, there were real ribs there. But there was something not right. Something . . .

  “My keshu!” I cried, swatting at my hip. It was bare. No belt, no sheathe, no sword. The panic must have been plain on my face. “Where is my keshu?” I demanded.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Are you a Labourer still?”

  “No!” I cried, indignant at the suggestion.

  “Then why are you dressed like one?”

  I stared down, and it sunk in. I was wearing Labourer’s robes. I had Labourer’s sandals, and my hair was unbraided and tangled. I had no keshu. I was wretched and dirty.

  “I am a Guardian!” I insisted. “Where are my robes?”

  “Where indeed?”

  “I’m no filthy mudfoot. I’m a Guardian.”

  E’tuah raised a brow. “A part of you disagrees.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “What in the blasted sands is going on? Explain this to me!”

  E’tuah sighed, but he spoke slowly. “The stone sends an image of yourself, partly as you are, and partly as you imagine yourself. Unless you make a conscious effort to affect your appearance, these decisions come from an instinctual understanding. You would not appear to wear Labourer’s robes unless a significant part of you believed that’s what you were.”

  As if the lesson were over, E’tuah began to move along the water’s edge, his robes making slow billows with every gust of wind.

  My face burned, but I hurried after him. “Then I’m still in the Guardian’s Hall, in Shyandar. But . . . .” My mind grasped at pathetic shreds of meaning. “But I almost drowned. My lungs hurt. Everything feels so . . . real.”

  “That’s because it is real.” He slapped my arm as I drew alongside him, then tugged at my Labourer’s robes. “This is real. Your mind, through the stone’s power, has created an image. The image you hold of yourself. In all its . . . unflattering truths.”

  I stared at him. “Are saying I’m . . . I’m in two places at once? Two bodies?”

  “Temporarily.”

  My legs felt weak. A queasiness gripped me that had nothing to do with water in my lungs.

  “E’tuah,” I said. “What would happen if I drowned?”

  He continued to walk. “In most instances, your mind would pull you out of this temporary body, back into your true self.”

  “Most instances?” I looked at him.

  He smiled coldly. “Most.”

  “And if it didn’t?”

  “Ishvandu, I warned you of the dangers of Sending. Ytyri was forbidden by your Elders for a reason. Spend too long in this form, and your mind can . . . wander. It can start to believe, in a deep and abiding sense, that this is your form. Bodies have simply stopped breathing because the mind was no longer convinced it belonged there.”

  “How long is too long?”

  E’tuah nodded approvingly at my question. “Every person’s tolerance is different. Yours will be higher than most.”

  “Because of Sumadi?” I asked bitterly.

  “Because of Sumadi.”

  I pulled away from him, suddenly uncomfortable, feeling bare without my keshu, feeling vulnerable, feeling like a stranger in my own skin. I had wanted to appear strong and Guardian-like, holding the Sending stone as a bargaining tool, offering one thing for another—to an equal. Instead I’d made a fool of myself.

  “I’ve come here to offer it back,” I said, trying to summon the scraps of my confidence.

  E’tuah had walked on ahead, but I heard his laugh. “What makes you think I want it?”

  “You asked for it. You told me to get it back, so I did.”

  “So you did.” He stopped, his eyes glittering at me over his shoulder. “In exchange for what promises?”

  As if he knew. I swallowed and met his gaze. He was only one man. I had to be stronger. I had to take ground without fear. “Water,” I said without flinching. “I’m bringing Guardians to Gitaia. If you don’t care for the stone anymore, then take my warning instead.”

  E’tuah’s mouth twitched. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I am.”

  “Fully knowing I will not allow it?”

  I forced out a laugh. “You think you can stop us? You? Alone?”

  “Me?” His reply was cold and smiling. I couldn’t tell if he was asking or stating. He seemed to consider something, then he walked back towards me. His feet glided soundlessly beneath his robes. He did not stop a few paces away, nor even at arm’s reach, but until I felt the urge to back away. “Ishvandu ab’Admundi,” he said softly. “Since you are so generous with your warnings, I shall be generous with mine. Never underestimate me.”

  I swallowed. Fear hissed through me at his tone, and again I saw him: one shadow against many, leaping across stone, swirling and stabbing as the Sumadi fled before him. One man. Alone.

  “We need the water,” I said, clinging to what little ground I had.

 
He would not take his eyes off mine. He was unnervingly close. “No, Ishvandu. You need the water.”

  “Me?”

  “You made dangerous promises for this chance to speak to me.” His voice continued, soft, yet more piercing than ever. “One danger upon another. A stray Guardian could find you locked in the embrace of forbidden magic, and that would be the end. Even exposing me in Gitaia is more dangerous to you than it is to me. So.” He paused. “You are desperate. A Guardian at last—the culmination of all your desires—and you want more. Willing to bend the laws of Shyandar. Willing to risk everything. Why? What have you seen, little Guardian?”

  My throat went dry. The intensity of that gaze was like another vicious, pounding sun. I thought I could hold it. Just a little longer. A little longer, and he would turn away, he would . . .

  My gaze dropped to the rocky ground. I was sweating and tense. I kept seeing Polityr, gaping black holes where the eyes should have been, staring at me, flesh dripping, both dying and alive.

  Van . . . ya . . .

  E’tuah gripped the back of my neck, leaning close. “You think I’m some exile to be condemned? You think I care about the Kyr’amanu at all? Let’s be honest with one another, Ishvandu ab’Admundi. You see the lie at the heart of Shyandar and that is the only reason I’m here.”

  My eyes sharpened on him. “You know, don’t you? You know about the . . . about . . .”

  “About the Chosen and the Sumadi?” He nodded. “I do.”

  “And you’ve always known?” My breath was tight, my voice so small I wasn’t sure he could hear.

  “Always.”

  Then why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to demand, yet I knew the answer. Would I have believed? Would anyone?

  My fury burned out just as quickly. I pulled away, marching back along the water’s edge, feeling the keen edge of my frustration.

  “Then you know we need this. We need water. We need to break the cycle of dependence, everything that ties us to the Avanir. Who would believe me if I spoke? Think of the panic! I have to do this, E’tuah—for them. If I’m going to be a Guardian it . . . it can’t be based on that thing any longer.”

  My words rang true. Umaala wanted me to act from obedience, to find water in the desert because the Al’kah willed it. But my reasons were deeper than that, bound up with words I hadn’t spoken to anyone—not even Tala. Not until this moment.

  Only Breta knew the truth. Only her and Mani. And now E’tuah.

  I sighed. My gaze raked over the valley I couldn’t find—the valley I needed more than anything. I marked the stones that rose around us, the odd shape of the southern cliff, how it rolled like a sand dune, before rising in three, distinct points. I turned and marked the cliffs to the north. They were rugged, with stones bristling out like a pincushion. I could scale the drop to the west. I could return when E’tuah was asleep and climb up to get a better vantage point, note exactly where the valley was and how to get there.

  Then I saw E’tuah watching me. There was a smile on his face: a cold, watching smile.

  “It took you long enough to consider it,” he said.

  “Consider what?”

  “My warning remains the same. Bring Guardians to this valley, and I will kill them.”

  I stared at him. Had he really just threatened the lives of my kiyah?

  “But know this: Gitaia’s water runs deep. There may be more than one way to access it.”

  “Is that so?” I tried not to betray the sudden surge of hope. The desperate, pleading edge.

  “It is. If I were an ambitious young Guardian, I might search the north side of the ravine, where the elevation drops. You never know where all this water might end up.”

  Then he strode off into the trees, leaving me standing in an impossible body that wasn’t mine, next to an impossible lake in the middle of the desert, filled with a new, impossible idea.

  I burst into the task hall, breathless and almost running.

  “I need a map,” I said. “Mani.”

  The woman eyed me strangely. Not everyone was here. We were still missing Nolaan and Jil. She could have told me to wait. Instead she reached into her robes and withdrew the same scroll we’d been studying for our preparations. I snatched it from her grasp and strode to the table. In moments, I had it splayed out like a tanning skin.

  “There.” I stabbed my finger north of the Bones, beyond the battered mountain range. “Ab’Tanadu, is the elevation lower here than to the southwest?”

  The old man set aside one of the packs he’d been inspecting and came over. He looked vaguely intrigued. My urgency had drawn the attention of the others as well, and one by one, they gathered, peering over my shoulder.

  “Beyond the Bones?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. Right there. This whole area. You said you’ve been over the range, so is the ground lower or isn’t it?”

  “I would say it is,” he replied slowly.

  “By how much?”

  “Hard to say. Fifty feet or so, if that. Higher in some places, lower in others. But the wind prevails from the west, so it makes sense.”

  “Yl’avah’s might, it can’t be so easy.”

  “Easy?” Koryn looked at my sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  “Water,” I said. “Don’t you see? The valley’s lake runs deep. It must go somewhere.”

  “We’ve already discussed this,” ab’Tanadu said. “There are no rivers beyond the Bones. Trust me, we’ve looked.”

  “Of course not. Not where you can see them, at least. Look, it makes perfect sense. Even if we found the valley, there’s no easy way in and out, and navigating the Bones will be treacherous. But there’s a pass just south of here.” I ran my finger to a break in the jagged line. “We’re less than a day’s ride to it. Once on the other side, we find the lowest point within this area, and we dig. That’s where our water will be.”

  “Hold on,” Koryn said. “That’s not your decision to make. We already have a plan. We’re not changing it a quarter before departure.”

  “It is my decision to make. Did you forget? It’s my mission, and this is what we’re doing.” I glanced around the kiyah, relieved to see Breta and Benji nodding, and ab’Tanadu had a thoughtful expression.

  I straightened, throwing as much authority into my voice as I could. “Mani, add picks and shovels to the supplies list. Ab’Tanadu, plot us a new course. Outriders? We’re going to dig ourselves a well.”

  Perhaps it was my new-found confidence, or perhaps the old plan had been so threadbare throwing it away didn’t seem like much of a loss, but either way, picks and shovels were soon strapped to the camels along with everything else.

  It was nearing sunfall. The packs were ready. The camels were shuffling and restless outside the walls. Nine outriders were gathered in their long, loose robes, heads swathed, filling the last of their water skins from the cistern west of the Hall.

  I paused to catch my breath. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but sometimes I caught my lungs rattling at the edge of a breath, like a few drops of water remained. I forced the thought it away. That was impossible. Returning from Gitaia had been an unsettling experience, but after concentrating, I’d opened my eyes and immediately knew E’tuah had been telling the truth. I was back in my room in the Guardian’s Hall, in my rightful, keshu-clad body.

  Still, my hands had shaken for longer than I cared to admit. I’d nearly passed out. Or maybe I had. I’d found myself gasping on the floor, cold and shivering. No, E’tuah wasn’t exaggerating the dangers of ytyri. A single conversation had left me sick and weak.

  But the feeling passed. By the time I’d gathered my kiyah in the Task Hall, I could hide the lingering symptoms, and now they were almost gone. I was ready. I had to be ready.

  Then a wave of dizziness struck, and I realized I was swaying, clutching Yma’s reins. No. There was no time for that. No . . .

  My thoughts trailed off in surprise. The gate that led out from the camel yard h
ad cracked open and a figure stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

  My chest tightened as I realized who it was.

  “Tala?”

  She lifted her chin, looking straight at me. A quick glance at my kiyah and they motioned for me to hurry up. I hesitated, then crossed the sands, relief and joy bubbling up, wrestling with a vague concern.

  “You . . . you came,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, before I left. I didn’t think . . .”

  I trailed off. She was looking at me. Her gaze was hard, her body rigid. She held herself like a Guardian.

  “Find the water, Vanya,” she said. “Quickly.”

  “You don’t think I’m threatening the existence of Shyandar?”

  She snorted. “Yl’avah’s might, no. Kulnethar and his father might object, but they don’t understand what you’re doing. It’s about time you accomplished something worthwhile around here.”

  “Watching on the walls isn’t worthwhile?”

  “It’s passive. It’s waiting around for something bad to happen instead of taking advantage of what we already have. You’re an outrider. You belong in the desert. You need the desert.”

  “I need you too.”

  Sands. I wanted to bite back those words, but they were already said.

  Tala’s rigid Guardian mask slipped for an instant and I saw a flash of pain. She looked quickly away, arms still folded, body tense. Then she let her breath out with a whoosh.

  “Yl’avah’s blasted might, I should never had said . . . what I did,” she grunted. “It’s true. It is. But it was unkind in the moment and . . . and sands take me, I don’t always have the right words either, Vanya. But I love you. That’s what I came here to say. To make sure you knew it. I can’t choose what I feel, but I did choose you. I spoke my vows and nothing in the Three Realms or the next can change that.”

  A knot loosened in my chest. I gazed at her, then at the ground between us, feeling the weight of something rising, growing. Like the thing Kulnethar said I needed to do.