Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  The woman rose and strode smoothly to the rock. She dipped a cup into the water. It was deeper than he’d first imagined and clear.

  “You must be thirsty.”

  Balduin nodded.

  She handed him the cup, and he drank. The water was cold and good.

  “Let me tell you something, child. In this world, there are no coincidences. When my men spotted you at the borders of our land, I knew it was you. I’ve seen the signs, as have you.”

  “Signs?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “The forest,” Balduin said. “The forest is sick.”

  “Indeed. A sickness that must be driven out.” She leaned forward. Intensity shone out of those deep, dark eyes. “I am the Cay-et. We have been quiet for a long time, but no longer. I have seen things. The shadow is waking. Ellendandur is in peril and the threat grows every day. Do you know how many have died or been stolen from their homes? How many children of the forest have suffered?” Her fists clenched. “The disease is spreading, and my people will do anything to rip it out at the roots. I’ve seen it close to here. An evil. And I believe the Northmen are responsible.”

  “But you don’t know, do you?” Balduin asked.

  “Explain.”

  He swallowed. “Just what you said earlier. Ten years. The Chorah’dyn spoke to you ten years ago, and never since. That’s why you’ve been waiting for me, because you think I have the answer.”

  She smiled, and it chilled Balduin.

  “I don’t,” he said just as quickly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no answer for what’s happening.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe never, lady of the Cay-et. I don’t think I’m this…seer you’re waiting for. I’m just looking for my father, and if you can’t help me…” He stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re wrong. You know the forest is sick. You know the signs of which I speak, the broken places. Manifestations of this evil. You spoke truth to me without thinking. Did I say the Chorah’dyn had been silent these ten years? No, but you saw anyway. Do you realize that if I walked the height and breadth of the Ellendandur, I would find no more than two or three with this gift? We are rare creatures, born between worlds, favoured with drops of insight as the Great Tree wills.”

  Balduin glanced at the cup he was holding. Water. It was just water. So why the clenching in his gut? Why the sharpness of the woman’s voice, like something near and yet more distant?

  “Most of us go years between visions,” she continued, “but I’ve found a way to expand my sight, to look into Seen and Unseen through the Realm of Light. You are not here by accident, son of Alutan and Andalina.”

  Balduin shook his head. “What…what have you done? What is…?”

  She took the cup from him. A hand guided him to the cool, earthen floor. His knees bent easily. The beautiful room, with its green canopy and green walls, began to blur.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Her voice grew deeper, quieter, nearer. Echoing inside him. “The water will not harm you. It will show you who you really are.”

  Balduin felt a bolt of terror. She had drugged him. Tricked him.

  “No,” he whispered. “No, I’m not…I’m not…”

  And then his mind burst into a thousand shards.

  Darkness and light filled him. Flashes of forest and sea. Shouts. Whispers. A place of sun and rock and wind, and nothing else, nothing as far as he could see. Nothing, nothing.

  The images cascaded over and through him. Meaningless. Faster and faster. He was drowning in them. He was struggling for air. He was breathing sight and sound and nothing else. His whole body began to shake.

  And then the images turned to smoke, to shadow. A scream. It was ripping through his nose and mouth, into his eyes—he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe—into his lungs—

  He gasped. And he was on his hands and knees in the forest. He was weeping. All his loneliness and shame hammered him, twisting inside, screaming. He slammed his fist into the ground. The fist wasn’t empty. It clutched a shard of rock, black as ebony—like nothing he had ever seen before, yet almost…familiar.

  A voice inside, a voice like deep water.

  This one…

  The dry leaves withered and cracked, shifting and crawling. Maggots and rot. Like the elk he had wounded, rotting before his eyes. The ground split open, and he fell. The emptiness closed around him, perfect emptiness, until there was no light, no sound, no meaning.

  He turned. In the darkness, far away, someone stirred. A long, low moan.

  Balduin, Balduin…

  His name. Someone was speaking his name.

  Balduin, forgive me!

  He stepped toward the cries. It was a long ways away, and the longer he walked, the further the voice drifted. He began to run.

  Balduin, forgive me. My son, my son…

  “Father?”

  He ran harder. His breath turned ragged. His feet were cut by sharp stones. They stung and throbbed. Another scream of pain.

  “Father!”

  Let me die! Why won’t you let me—

  “Father, where are you! Tell me…”

  The screams receded, and he was alone. He bent double, panting, weeping.

  “Father. Father, I heard you. I’m coming. Tell me where you are! I’ll find you. I’ll—”

  Sun. It beat against him like a physical blow. He dropped to his knees. Sand shifted beneath him and blood dripped from his mouth. He squeezed his eyes against the assault of light. Where was he now?

  “Filthy coward!” Someone grabbed the back of his shirt, shaking him. “The Guardians have fallen, Olinar! We are the future of Kayr. You want to go back to Anuai? Is that what you want? Back to Shyandar and that wasteland? Then go!”

  A foot speared him in his ribs. He fell, tasting dust and blood and humiliation.

  “Naru,” said another voice, “we shouldn’t leave him—”

  “He will come.”

  The footsteps receded. First one, then another, then more, and he—Olinar?—was left to cough weakly into the dust, humiliated and rejected by those to whom he’d given everything.

  Yes, he could go back. And like the surety of the rising of the sun, he would die.

  He cursed Naru under his breath—him and all the traitors with him. Olinar would not die so easily. Not when there was a chance for vengeance. He pressed his hands to the ground and rose.

  Then Balduin was somewhere else. A hall of stone, waiting. Echoing with silence.

  And somewhere else. A forest glade.

  A wooden cart, creaking beneath an open sky.

  A man with a gun and a sneering face. He pointed and pulled the trigger. Balduin was jerked back by the thundering noise. A scream, lingering at the edge of consciousness. Was that…Anna?

  He gasped, a throbbing in his chest where the bullet had struck. But now he was in a cavern, walls dancing with red light. The Dandyri’s cavern! He could feel its branches pressing into the dark, while the roots ran deep into rock and soil, straining, ever searching for the Lifewater that was no more.

  Something was wrong.

  “Where is he?” a voice pierced the gloom. “If you did something to him, if you hurt him…Answer me, old tree!”

  He saw emptiness pouring out of the girl’s hand, stretching towards the tree. Roots lashed out, desperate to hold her back, to halt the inevitable, but the Aktyr would not be denied. It was too late. The power struck—

  Balduin screamed at the breaking of life and will: hundreds of years old, the tree snapped from root to crown like a twig. The red leaves fell like rain. The light went out. And in the darkness, a girl was crying.

  The earth shuddered. The image shifted, and now he could see the girl, lying on some cracked and desolate earth. Time had passed—days, weeks? Yet these moments were tied.

  Emptiness stretched around her and in her. She was dirty and bruised and bleeding. She was sobbing. She was in pain.

 
; She was dying.

  Anna!

  With a surge of horror, he recognized his friend. The image sharpened, and he was there. He knelt beside her, cradling her head. The bones in her cheek had been broken and her eyes stared sightless, their orbs black as the void.

  “Balduin,” she groaned. “Don’t take Balduin from me too! Don’t—”

  Her body gave a sudden twist, convulsing in pain. She screamed and lashed out. Her feet dug into the ground.

  “Anna!” Balduin cried, helpless. “Anna, what’s wrong? What’s wrong? Who’s done this to you?”

  “Don’t take him from me! Don’t take my memories! Don’t—”

  Her pleas vanished into a wordless sob. She collapsed, limp and spent.

  “Elamori…” she murmured. “The trees above Elamori. The smell of earth. Pine nuts. One for me, one for you.”

  “Anna, where are you?” Balduin cried, shaking her. “Tell me! I must find you. I must…”

  “Gone.” She shuddered, then fell still. Her eyes closed.

  “Anna?”

  There was no answer.

  “Anna?”

  His eyes tore around him. Where was this? The ground had been broken by a huge crack, and emptiness trailed out of the crack like smoke, leeching across the ground. Dead trunks stood shrivelled and bent, and at the edges of the desolation, trees began to blacken, their leaves shuddering and rotting before his eyes, the trunks splitting.

  It was like the wrongness that had blinded Kota and fouled the elk. A patch of sickness. And his friend was in the middle of it.

  He had to get Hyranna out. She had to leave this place. Now.

  He bent to take her arms—and nothing. He pulled, and she didn’t budge.

  “Anna?” His voice was laced with panic. He seized her, dug his toes into the ground, and pried all his weight backwards, yet no matter how he strained, she was stuck there. Worse, she began to gasp and groan, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.

  Balduin swore. Sweat broke across his forehead. Was she chained to the ground by invisible ropes?

  Don’t panic. Panic solves nothing.

  He let out a long, slow breath and began to feel across her shoulders and back. He couldn’t see the restraints, but sure enough, there was something there. It was heavy, and thick—an invisible yet viscous layer around her, trapping her. Suffocating her.

  Anger flared up. Someone had done this to her. Someone had hurt her.

  He dug his fingers into the formless muck and heaved.

  For an instant, it resisted. He could almost hear it in his mind, hissing and scrabbling.

  Then it snapped off her—and on to him.

  The heaviness landed on him, clawing up his arms and legs. Immediately, he felt sluggish and thick. He struggled to stay upright on his hands and knees, trembling with the effort. But a quick glance at Hyranna showed she was breathing easier. Her chest rose and fell more naturally.

  “Oh, Anna,” he murmured. “What’s happening? How can I get you out of here? I can’t move. I can’t…How can I—”

  “Gods be!” a voice cried in horror. “What’s happened here?”

  Balduin dragged his head around, pulling against the weight to look over his shoulder. A woman was treading warily over the broken ground. She was light-skinned, with grey hair and a wide-brimmed hat. She was dressed in traders’ pants and a shirt, with a long coat and tall, heavy boots. She was from the north isles: a Manturian!

  Balduin eyed the gun on her hip, but decided Hyranna’s life was worth more than his suspicions.

  “Help her!” Balduin cried, gesturing helplessly to Hyranna. “My friend!”

  The woman never even looked at him, her eyes cast sadly on Hyranna’s still body. With a chill, Balduin realized she couldn’t see him, couldn’t even hear him.

  As if he weren’t really there…

  “I am sorry, child,” the Manturian continued softly, as if more to herself. “If there was a thing I could do, I’d do it, but—”

  Hyranna stirred, groaning. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, exposing the blackness behind her lids.

  The old woman stopped and hissed. She looked around, thinking. She looked back at Hyranna.

  “Just get her out of here!” Balduin begged, though he knew the woman couldn’t hear him. “Please. This place is sick. It’s killing her. Please just get her out of here!”

  “Krunyn’s eye,” the woman growled. “If this madness is happening all over again…Tandra Yourk, you know better than to get involved in such devilry. Not again. Not…”

  Then she shook her head with a sigh.

  “What works and what’s right, you foolish old bat…”

  Balduin blinked. A mist was gathering around the edges of his vision, snaking across the ground. The Manturian woman seemed oblivious. He tried to move, but the thickness was crawling over him, driving him to the ground. His knees gave way. He fell. The air itself wanted to crush him, throbbing in his eyes and throat.

  “Let me go!” he gasped.

  The earth shuddered. Visions of other places roared past him, sounds of other voices—clamouring at him, begging to be let in.

  A wall sprang up through the mist, vast and terrifying, piercing the heavens.

  A city burst with colour and movement, faster than Balduin’s eyes could follow. A child ran past, whooping with delight.

  He saw a king in his stone hall, next to the statue of a huge bear.

  He saw a knife in the dark.

  He saw shadowy figures hurrying through empty streets. “Garrick?”

  “He will come,” said a woman’s voice. “To the safehouse. Hurry.”

  He saw feet pounding stone.

  And more. And more. And Hyranna was calling for him.

  And…

  Find me…

  A voice whispered into everything. His mother’s voice. His mother!

  And then he woke.

  He sat up and vomited into dry leaves. He was shaking. Sweat poured off his face and soaked his clothes. He hovered on one elbow, wavering. Then he threw up again.

  The Cay-et woman crouched next to him, a hand on his shoulder, offering him a cup.

  He pushed her away. He scrambled back, breathing hard, feeling sick.

  “It’s only water,” she said.

  He coughed and spat, then struggled to sit up. He was leaning against a birch tree.

  The woman was silent, but she watched him, unblinking. Her hand held the cup, though she made no further move towards him.

  “What…what was that?” Balduin finally gasped.

  “You saw many things, yes?”

  He shook his head. “So many things…and…and something about Anna…something…” The visions were already slipping through his mind like water through a handful of pebbles. “She’s in danger! Or…or she will be. Is it the future I saw? She can’t be dying. She’s in Elamori right now. I left her safe in Elamori!”

  But there was something wrong there, too. Another vision, about the red tree, and an oozing emptiness…

  “Forgive me, spirit-seer,” the Cay-et woman sighed. “I admit I am not a strong seer, and my draught is designed for…weak senses, like mine.” She tilted her head. “But you are not weak, are you? You saw the future, perhaps. You saw many things. How many? Four? Five?”

  Balduin swallowed. “Dozens. I don’t know. Maybe more…”

  The woman blinked and stood, struck by his words. “That’s not possible.”

  “Lady, I shouldn’t be here. I’m not some…seer. I’m just trying to find my father. He was in pain. And my friend…” Balduin wiped his face. He was shaking. He felt like he was going to cry. He felt used. “Just let me go. Please.”

  The Cay-et woman nodded. Her face had changed—like she was struggling to hide her own emotions. Then she turned and disappeared from the shelter.

  Balduin took a few deep breaths, then some more. He wanted to run. He wasn’t a captive—was he? The walls were made of moss, and the settlement was small
. He could go quietly. He was good at being quiet. He’d had years of practice, sneaking past Mylar and the other boys.

  But he was scared. The Cay-et woman hadn’t meant to hurt him. Still, his body shook and his head pounded. His stomach threatened to heave again with the slightest motion. Could he move anywhere right now?

  Pathetic. Weak.

  Mylar’s voice dripped through his ear. He was nothing but a freak. Even here, days from Elamori. If he were brave, he would do something—anything. Instead he sat there, sick and weak and too scared to move.

  Before he could make up his mind, the Cay-et woman returned.

  “I was meant to help you,” she said. “Instead, seeking a word from the Great Tree, I deceived you. Forgive me.”

  She knelt beside him. She was holding a bundle, something wrapped in cloth. He hesitated.

  “Take it. Please.”

  Balduin accepted it. He hated how his hands trembled. Slowly, he unwrapped the cloth, peeling back the layers one at a time to reveal a dagger.

  The blade was ivory-bone, but sharper than any he’d seen before of its kind. Ebony wood curled around one end, a slim and elegant handle, reminding him of the supple curve of a branch. He glanced up at the Cay-et woman.

  “I may not see everything,” she said, “but I know you go into danger, son of Alutan and Andalina. This will protect you and aid you. It’s been passed down through my ancestors, said to be made from the wood of the Chorah’dyn herself. If you seek her help with your quest, this may guide you to her.”

  “Lady, I can’t!” Balduin gasped.

  She shook her head. “You must. My men will lead you to the borders of our land. You’ll have provisions, supplies, anything you need. I wish the Great Tree’s protection on you, and if anyone kind find her, it’s you.”

  Balduin frowned, feeling more uncomfortable now than he had before.

  “I don’t understand. You think I’m some seer, but—”

  “I don’t think it.” She gripped his hand, wrapping it around the hilt of the dagger. “Ten years ago, the Chorah’dyn spoke to me. Not everything was for your ears, but this I can say: the forest is sick, and you, son of Alutan and Andalina, will know the cure.”