Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “Tala . . .”

  “Vanya, you don’t have to say anything.”

  “But I do. I . . . I know I’m not good at this sort of thing. I know you deserve better. I know, I know, you want me to understand your pain, that . . . hole inside you, but I can’t. That’s the truth, Tala. I didn’t go through what you did—the hope and the loss. I didn’t carry . . . her. I can’t.”

  “Vanya . . .”

  “No, just listen! I can’t understand. But . . .” I struggled to find words. “But by the Tree, if I could take your pain, I would, and it would make me the happiest man in the world to carry it.”

  There.

  I had said it—and meant it.

  The words were barely enough, but they struck me, resonating through my own heart, stirring a strange and tender desire.

  Tala was still. Her eyes were down. Her brow furrowed. I swallowed. I must have said the wrong thing. I had ruined it again. Somehow.

  “I believe you,” she said suddenly, glancing up, a hint of surprise in her own voice. Then she pulled back, holding me at arm’s length. “Go. They’re waiting for you.”

  “Tala . . .”

  She kissed me. It was just a moment. A brush of skin and breath. A flutter of warmth.

  “Go,” she said again. “Before you say something and ruin it.”

  How could I reply to that? I gazed at her as long as I dared, soaking up the sight of her, the smile on her face, the furious dark of her eyes, loving every breath of her. Wanting her. Yl’avah’s might, when would I finally get to be with her again? But now there was sudden, unexpected hope.

  I flashed her a grin, then flew off to join the others, feeling like no desert, no shadow, no man or path could ever come against me and win.

  Slave

  The Ellendandur Forest

  Year 799 after the fall of Kayr

  I must leave you, my child. I’m sorry I couldn’t teach you more. I’m sorry I couldn’t walk with you in the Unseen places. You have so much to learn.

  But the Realms are Breaking: Blood, for what is Seen, Spirit for what is Unseen, and Light by which we See. Three Realms, woven into the tapestry of creation. If one dies, the whole fabric will unravel.

  There is work to do. There is so much!

  Listen, my child: your Father needs you. Don’t be afraid, now. Don’t let your feet stray. Find him. Find him and tell him this:

  “Your task is not complete.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hyranna Elduna

  Hyranna Elduna was alone.

  She had screamed E’tuah’s name—over and over again—first in fury, then pleadingly, and finally in despair. She’d fought the invisible bonds of the Aktyr, put there by E’tuah. Yet no matter how she dug her nails into the cracks, straining to drag herself across the shattered landscape, she was stuck. A weight was driving her into the ground, crushing her. Blackness enveloped her. Exhausted, unable to move, her voice cracked and died, and she wept.

  E’tuah had promised to help her. Ishvandu had promised. He’d promised to free Jerad, to kill Brit Garden and the slavers. Instead, the moment Ashkynas showed up, Ishvandu had stolen the power of the stranger’s own shard and abandoned her.

  The Aktyr’s master, he had called himself. The Aktyr could not serve them both. Ishvandu had said so; he’d warned her. And she had carried it just long enough for him to use her like a sack: something to be filled, emptied, and cast away.

  Her throat hurt from sobbing. She hated the sound of her own moaning. She hated her foolishness—and the gall of that man to lie to her, abandon her, leave her to—

  She choked on the thought. Her tears ceased and an awful silence enveloped her. There were no birds, no rustling of leaves. Her hands and feet had gone numb. Her face throbbed where Ishvandu had struck her. And beneath it all she felt a heaviness in her lungs, a shroud over her mind.

  The Aktyr’s shard was gone, taken from her, along with her mastery of that dark force. And separated from that mastery…

  You will die. The voice slipped into her mind, pitiless and smiling—the voice that had haunted her since taking the shard. Not Ishvandu, but the cruel shadow behind him. The Aktyr.

  “No,” she groaned.

  You were already dead. The moment you reached out your hand—

  “No! I won’t be had by you. I won’t!”

  She pressed her palms into the ground. She yanked a knee under her as if to spring to her feet, arms pushing, shaking, sweat dripping from between her eyes.

  And let you run after Vanya? the voice mocked.

  The Aktyr’s hold slammed her back to the ground so hard she bit her tongue.

  She growled and tried again. And again. She screamed into the dust, hating Ishvandu with everything inside of her.

  What had he done to her? She could feel the constraints he’d put around her shoulders and back like a heavy blanket. And they were getting stronger, crushing her.

  She couldn’t breathe!

  She gasped, struggling to open her lungs. But the weight only grew—as if sensing her resistance.

  “Let me go!” It was a voiceless gasp.

  And disobey my master?

  “I am your master! I freed you from the dark! I—”

  She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. It was a trap: the more she fought, the tighter the noose.

  She cursed Ishvandu. She cursed the Aktyr. She wasn’t going to die here. She wasn’t!

  As if in reply, pain slashed through her body—sharp, angry, vindictive. She cried aloud. Needles stabbed her arms and her legs, her side, behind her eyes: a thousand hot pins. She convulsed and curled in on herself.

  Maker help her!

  Her hands clenched so hard, she felt her nails biting into her palms. Slowly, the pain subsided, leaving her breathless, her face wet with tears.

  How long would this dying last? Maybe she should force it to suffocate her. It would be easier.

  And give up? She scowled. No. There had to be a way.

  Her lungs felt raw. She rested her bruised and battered cheek on the ground, struggling to think, to breathe. The more she fought the Aktyr’s hold, even in her mind, the more it intensified.

  She let out a long, aching breath and forced her body to relax, her mind to wander. She had to pretend to give up. She had to distract herself. Balduin. Where was he now? Did he ever think of her? Her friend—or maybe more than friend. A whole world that might have been. Snatched away by the accusations of her village.

  By her father.

  Her hands slammed into her father’s chest. How could he? How could he lie to her? The Aktyr flared. It lashed out.

  No. She groaned, struggling to drive the images away.

  She’d nearly killed her own father. What kind of terrible person was she?

  A murderer.

  The stone pounded Whiset’s face: breaking bone, bursting flesh. Blood sprayed into her own eyes.

  “I didn’t want to,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Didn’t you? The voice sounded pleased. Didn’t you want to break him? Didn’t you enjoy it? Even a little?

  “No, no, no…”

  The pain slammed through her again, stronger than before. Her body began to convulse. She dove into the pain. It swept over her, through her, like shreds of skin tearing away from bone. She couldn’t stop her own screams. Waves of nausea wracked her, causing her to vomit over and over, until blood came up instead of bile.

  She didn’t know how long it lasted, but when it left her, her fist was stuffed into her mouth, warm and wet beneath her teeth, tasting of blood.

  She fell limp to the ground, exhausted and whimpering. She had an instant of reprieve. An instant to breathe and weep and beg for the end to come.

  Then the Aktyr started on her mind.

  Spirit-Seer

  TWO WEEKS AGO

  Icy wetness needled up and down his calves. Balduin shivered, standing barefoot in the river, watching his mother’s family paddle away—a grey shape fad
ing into the mist.

  Be strong in the Tree.

  Mere moments ago, he had gripped his uncle’s hand. Dal Adis had never loved him much, never taken him as his own. But he’d loved Andalina, and for her sake at least Balduin had hoped…

  “You’ve your own path, boy. I can’t help you on it.”

  Dal Adis pulled his hand away, turned to the paddle, and was gone without a backward glance.

  And just like that, Balduin Na-es had been quietly disowned.

  Better he go. Better he have nothing to do with Elamori—or Anna.

  He was the wood-witch’s bastard. He was cursed.

  He hugged himself as the voices beat against him like sheets of storm-rain.

  He remembered the sting of the rocks. Physical denunciation, shock, then pain and terror as the blows broke his skin and bruised his flesh.

  Kill the wood witch!

  Unable to move, or scream, or defend himself, he’d frozen in panic. Why hadn’t he run? Why hadn’t he done something?

  He remembered the blood dripping from his face. He’d become a thing, a thing to absorb their hatred and be destroyed. And he bent before the storm, as he always did, like a twig, a weed.

  But for her.

  He would have died, but for Anna.

  He wiped his eyes.

  Hyranna Elduna was not for him. He saw that now, in the place inside where he knew many things. And his uncle was right. He had his own path.

  Yet standing up to his calves in the river alone, he felt cut off from everything, a small flame struggling in a vast dark cavern.

  He stood for a long time. He let the tears drop one by one into the river. And slowly, he opened his lungs and took a deep, shuddering breath: breathing in all the loneliness, all the ache, all the memories that were forever ending.

  And when he breathed out, he was no longer shaking. He was his mother’s son, and his father needed him—Alutan Na-es, still alive somewhere in the huge, pulsing world. Did he too think he was alone?

  Balduin looked into the tops of the trees. His mother’s voice had fallen quiet. Her stories had dimmed. But just because they’d passed beyond hearing, didn’t mean they had altogether ceased. Her words, her memories, her stories—they were rooted inside of him.

  The thought gave him courage. And stirring, step by step, he climbed onto the bank and turned his face towards the world.

  Balduin walked and slept and walked some more. He moved without thinking. He didn’t know where Alutan was. He had only that place inside himself, that secret knowing: his father needed him, and he would find him.

  Dal Adis hadn’t left him with nothing—not quite. Balduin had food and supplies, fishing gear, and a soft fox-hide cloak that took the worst of the chill. Still, it couldn’t shield him from the rain, and after a miserable night of sleeping in a puddle, wet and shivering at the base of a tree, he was more diligent in his search for shelter.

  It wasn’t until the fourth day he realized he was being followed. The shadows weren’t right, and every now and then, he felt…eyes.

  He didn’t glance behind. He didn’t stop or slow. But when dusk fell, he slipped into the shadows, skimmed through a tangle of berry bushes, and leapt up the branches of a spruce. Then he held his breath.

  The last smouldering light of day glowed behind him. Hidden by age-heavy boughs, he watched as two shadows melted out of the forest.

  Not from Elamori.

  The Imo’ani hunters were unfamiliar to Balduin, though he recognized what they were doing. Their steps were silent, their dyed faces alert. They scanned the trail, one with a spear, the other a notched bow, closing in on their prey. Only it wasn’t a stag they were hunting. It was him.

  Balduin swallowed. He was trapped. Had he accidentally trespassed on someone’s territory? But whose? Lindys was an ally of Elamori, as were the villages further east. They had no enemies but Northmen, and those were rare this far inland. Besides, these were clearly Imo’ani, and—

  An arrow whizzed into the trunk, a hand’s breadth above his head. He gasped, leapt, and the branch broke with a snap.

  The tree dumped him to the ground and he landed hard on his back. He blinked and groaned. He tried to move—and a notched arrow stole through the shadows, pointed straight at him.

  “Who…who are you?” Balduin struggled to catch his breath.

  “We are the Cay-et,” said one through a bear’s painted snarl.

  Steps approached from behind. “And she’s been expecting you.”

  Balduin had difficulty breathing through the coarse cloth over his head, but at least they hadn’t bound his hands.

  He was led silently through the forest. A part of him knew he should be afraid, but the deeper part, the knowing part, was calm. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t try to run. What was the point? They’d caught him easily enough. Besides, maybe they knew his father.

  The sounds of the forest gave way to settlement. They weren’t loud: snatches of conversation, clopping wood and crackling fire, the hush of silent watchers, eyes following him as he passed. If there was one thing he knew from Elamori, it was the eyes. Not a sound, so much as the absence of it. Words dying off, breath held, feet stilled.

  When they finally pulled off the sack, he blinked and took a gulp of air.

  He was in a shelter—like none he had ever seen before. Living birch trees were woven together over his head, and curtains of moss hung like walls. A stone rose out of the floor to one side, and water pooled on its crown, while around it, the floor was a deep carpet of leaves and earth.

  But his eyes were drawn quickly to the centre. A seat was carved from the husk of an old birch trunk. The roots, still anchored to soil, had been fashioned into feet, while the back rose, tall and lean, still sprouting a few bare-white branches.

  Balduin gazed in awe.

  On the seat sat a woman. She was Imo’ani, with a magnificent crown of black hair. It tumbled past her shoulders, past her waist like night-shadow. She was dressed in soft skins, all woven through with braided grass and flashes of colour. Her face was proud and strong, with deep dark eyes, and immediately, Balduin was reminded of his mother.

  This is what she should have been: a queen of the forest, and not some cave-bound wood witch.

  Balduin dropped his head in reverence, hands tight at his sides.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “You bow to me, spirit-seer?”

  Balduin hesitated, then straightened. “You remind me of my mother,” he said.

  The woman’s laugh boomed in surprise. “And you bow to your mother?”

  “No. But I think I…I should have.”

  She leaned forward. “And who is she, this mother of yours?”

  “Andalina.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just…Andalina. But she was…” Balduin frowned. He was holding her again, his beautiful mother, with hair like autumn, alive and murmuring and smelling of roots and earth—now cold and still.

  “She died,” the woman said softly. “I’m sorry for your great loss.”

  Balduin didn’t ask how she knew. Hyranna always said his face was too readable. He blinked away the memories, forcing himself to stand tall.

  “Why am I here? Do you know my father, Alutan Na-es?”

  The woman didn’t answer. She leaned forward, studying him, then rose and came nearer. Her movements were careful and studied, as if hiding a great intensity. He had the sudden impression of a huge she-wolf stalking towards him.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder, but there were only the two Imo’ani hunters.

  “You are younger than I thought you’d be, spirit-seer.”

  Balduin shook his head. “Why do you call me that?”

  “Because that’s what you are.”

  “I’m just looking for my father. Please. Do you know him?”

  The woman paused. “Do you know me?”

  “I’m sorry, lady, but…no.”

  She thought for a moment, then nodded over his shoulder. The two hunters slip
ped out of the curtains, leaving them.

  “I too am a seer,” she said. “And I was told to expect you.”

  “Told?”

  “By the Chorah’dyn herself.”

  Balduin’s face lit up. “Then you must know my father! He went to speak with her, only he never came back. Please, what do you know about the Great Tree? Can you tell me where to find her?”

  The woman was looking at him very thoughtfully now. “How long ago?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Ten years?”

  “It’s a long time, I know. I kept waiting for him. I knew he’d come home if he were able, but now I think…I think he needs me.” His face brightened with sudden hope. “If you know how to find the Chorah’dyn, tell me and I can go ask her.”

  The woman sighed. “Go to her? Child, no one goes to the Great Tree. She speaks to us, or…she does not.” She sat back in her chair, a droop of disappointment around her shoulders. “You don’t know yet, do you? You have no idea what you are.”

  “Maybe…” Balduin’s brows scrunched together. “Maybe you have me confused with someone else. I’m just trying to—”

  “Find your father. Yes. I heard.” She sighed, and this time, it held a crack of impatience. “But who else should I expect with marbled skin and flaming hair?”

  Balduin glanced at the back of his hand. He’d always been different. His skin was a motley mix of cream and earth, all speckled and blotchy, and he wore a wild nest of red hair. A freak, they told him. He belonged nowhere. With no one. He tucked his hands behind his back.

  “The Chorah’dyn…told you about me?” he asked.

  The woman’s eyes lifted to meet his, and he felt the sudden depth of those pools, like he could fall in and keep falling, and never come back out.

  “She told me,” said the woman. “Ten years ago.”

  Balduin swallowed. It was too precise to be coincidence. “And what did she say about me?”