Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  Using both legs and my one good arm, I hugged the rope for dear life. It groaned and sagged under my weight, but held, and with plenty of grunting and sweating and trying not to imagine how far I could fall, I edged my way across the chasm.

  It felt further than it really was—as Breta’s leap had proven—but by the time I was across, she was already shimmying down the far slope.

  “Come on, slouch!” she sang. “I can see a path.”

  I cringed at her unnecessary volume. There went any hope of sneaking into the valley, though knowing E’tuah, he was probably already aware of us.

  Yl’avah’s might, this was a disaster. With anyone it would be bad, but Breta?

  I thought of her hand taking mine, the look she gave me, her desire . . . This is not what I needed right now.

  I hurried after her. “Do you have to shout? I’d rather not everyone between here and Shyandar know about this place.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What? Keeping the water for yourself, or just trying to be mysterious?”

  “A little mystery never hurt.”

  “I get it.” She winked. “Ishvandu, Master of the Desert!” She giggled and leapt off a rock. Yl’avah’s might, she could make anything look flippant. If she tripped and fell to her death, she would probably just laugh the whole way down.

  “Be careful,” I muttered.

  She dismissed me with a wave of her hand, then skipped over the rocks like a goat, picking a trail between the boulders, down towards the impossible green shadows below. The slope did seem to be easing, as if Gitaia were now welcoming us.

  But would E’tuah do the same?

  “Breta . . .” I kept my voice low. “You do realize it’s not rocks I’m afraid of—right?”

  “You’re afraid? I had no idea!”

  “I’m serious, Breta. You have to stay close.”

  “And you’ll protect me, Great Guardian One-Arm?” She laughed. “Really, Ishvandu, I am a Guardian too, in case you forgot. And right now I’m probably more capable than you are. If the Sumadi show up, I’ll be doing the protecting.”

  “It’s not the Sumadi I’m worried about. It’s . . . Breta, do you remember the person you overheard me talking to?”

  “Yes!” she jabbed a finger at me. “The exile who isn’t an exile. I remember. Is he dangerous? Does he live here, and we’re trespassing?”

  She looked giddy with the idea.

  “Yes,” I said. “And yes.”

  If I hoped that would sober her, I was wrong. She tapped her nose and winked. “Got it. Secret infiltration.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A little late for that.”

  “Well, maybe he’s away?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then I guess you might as well introduce me.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Vanya, what’s there to be afraid of? He’s one man. I know. I know. He did save your life and all, but I’m willing to forgive him for that.”

  There was no use arguing. We crawled down into the valley, navigating the rocks, sliding and stepping in turn. I tried to stay alert. That presence in the Unseen—could he mask it when he chose? I kept trying to look. But the night was achingly still, no wind to see behind, with only the gurgle of the spring, getting louder with every step.

  Breta’s anticipation grew. I caught her tilting her head to listen, then bounding forward like a hunter on a scent. The trees loomed larger, the lake wafting with smells of wet stone and earth.

  And then we were there. Breta grinned as the ground levelled out and the green enveloped us. She threw herself into the trees. Caressing one, bending over another, gasping and cooing. When we reached the edge of the stream, she threw a glance over her shoulder, and I was struck by her childlike enthusiasm. Her eyes were lit. Her usually sardonic amusement had been smoothed away by glee.

  “Ishvandu!” she gasped. “Do you see this? Come here. Come look at this.”

  She pointed to the lake, gesturing earnestly. Clenching my injured hand against the ache, I trotted over to her, bending to see.

  Breta gave me a shove. With a shocked cry, I plunged into the pool.

  The cold cut through me. It pounded against my head, tingling and squeezing my lungs. I surfaced gasping.

  “Oh—Oh, Yl’avah’s might, you—! Sands, that’s cold! That’s—”

  Breta laughed and threw herself in after me.

  There followed a tumult of splashing and shrieking as she realized how cold the water really was. I began to haul myself back onto the rocks.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she breathed, eyes round with shock. She paddled after me. I made it to the ground first, and, just as she was half way out of the water, I pushed her.

  I heard a keening wail before she plunged under again.

  I smiled to myself.

  She emerged choking and flailing, hurling curses at me.

  “Cold, cold. Blasted light and all, c-c-cold.” She was trembling and grinning as she finally clawed her way back up the rocks. Then she pounced.

  I was ready for her. I swivelled into back stance, turning my injured side away as I fended her off. She hurled into me, hoping to topple me, underestimating me because of my arm. But we’d spent years practising this in the Hall. I lowered my centre of gravity and kept pivoting to meet her, giving her no access to my weak side. I twisted whenever she tried to grab. I leaned into her when she tried to push.

  I chuckled. Breta was fast, but she was just too light for this kind of contest. She ended up grappling me, half-grunting, half-laughing, to no avail. Then she collapsed to the ground.

  “I’m soaking!” she wailed, raising her dripping arms to either side.

  “Your fault, not mine.”

  She shivered and hugged herself, and suddenly she was a tiny, sopping, pathetic thing. I didn’t buy that for a moment.

  “Come on, Guardian. We’ve got work to do. Isn’t that right?” I jangled the water sacks that still hung off every part of me.

  “Where are you going? The water is—”

  “This way,” I called.

  Breta huffed, then hurried after me, shivering.

  We got as close to the stream head as we could and I drank. It was achingly cold, but also refreshing, energizing.

  I turned to unload my sacks and skins, then noticed Breta had stripped off her wet robes and was wringing them out. Her shift was wet, too. The thin material stuck to her, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  “What?” She stared at me, as if daring me to do something about it.

  I swallowed and turned away. Just get the job done. Do it quickly.

  One by one, I began to fill the water sacks. Breta helped, but I tried not to look. Her nakedness was distracting. Did she know? Was she doing it on purpose?

  I growled and forced myself to concentrate on filling the skins. It was satisfying to watch empty water sacks swell—and not with stagnant, warm dregs that had been baking under the sun for days, but actual clear, fresh spring water.

  “We could do it,” Breta said suddenly, into the quiet.

  I glanced at her. Then wished I hadn’t. Her girlish silliness had vanished in the glow of her excitement. She was standing upright. Her body was long, neck tilted as she gazed into some future possibility. She looked more powerful than I remembered, yet a softness emerged. A smile lit her face.

  “You’re not afraid of it—are you?” she asked.

  Afraid? I was terrified. Terrified of this moment. This sudden stirring of desire. The slender curve of her body. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I looked away. “Afraid of . . . what?”

  “The desert. You’re not afraid of the desert. You’re not afraid of the Sumadi either. Not since we learned about Pol.”

  Oh, that. I felt a rush of relief. She hadn’t been talking about something else. Just the desert. I could talk about the desert.

  “No,” I said hoarsely, focusing on that word. The many meanings of that word. I glanced at her, and glanced quickly awa
y again. “No.” I said it more firmly. I forced myself to keep working, to fill the next sack.

  “And why should we be afraid?” she continued. “Why are we letting those poor creatures terrify us into submission? We’ve imprisoned ourselves, that’s what we’ve done. We’re stuck. Just like them.”

  “We have a system,” I said. “Like Mani says. We survive because of a system.”

  “Oh, stop, Vanya. You don’t believe all that, and I know it. I mean, yes, the system works. But Shyandar is as much the desert as here. We’ve lived in the desert. It’s all we know. So why are we so afraid?”

  It was like listening to myself. I frowned, resisting, though I wasn’t sure why.

  “Because out there, Breta, there’s no Labourers endlessly digging ditches that control the water that allow the fields to drink, and the seeds to grow, and the grains to mature. There’s just you.”

  “Just me.” She smiled again, this time with a hint of playfulness. “So yes, but why not take the next step? Rations could be packed for travel. Safe paths could be mapped. We could do it. We could start exploring the desert, one outriding at a time. And who knows?” She laughed. “Who’s to say there’s not a whole blasted civilization just over the next ridge?”

  “Who indeed?”

  She leaned close, eyes suddenly bright. “I would go with you,” she said.

  “What?” I blinked.

  “Together. We could do it. We could go further than anyone has ever gone. You’re not afraid, and I’m not afraid. Think of the things we could discover!”

  A thrill shot through me. “Breta,” I swallowed. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Why not? I know you want to. We don’t belong here, Vanya.” She gripped my arm, growing more intense every moment. “We’re outriders. Explorers. That’s why you pace like a caged animal on the wall every night, just back and forth, watching the stars turn. That’s no life for you! We could go—right now. Tonight! Pack our camels, take as much water as we could carry, and set out. See how far we get before—”

  “Before what?” I frowned, realizing my hand was trembling where I gripped an overflowing sack. “Before we run out of water, dying under the sun on some forsaken plain?”

  “Before we find the next source. Like this valley.” She was almost giddy with the idea of it. “Let’s do it. Just you and me.”

  I shook my head. “It’s a fool’s idea—”

  “Exactly!” She shook my arm, laughing. “Let go of it, Vanya! Sands take the bleeding Circle! Just think! No more expectations. No more Guardian Lords ordering you around, taking everything, working you to exhaustion, and giving nothing back. You think you owe them anything? You don’t! Koryn can lead this blasted expedition just fine without you. Sands, he’d be glad to. You don’t need them, Vanya. You’re better than them. Just think. Freedom. Freedom.”

  “Breta . . .”

  “Just the open sands. Anywhere we want to go. Anywhere.”

  “I know.”

  “We could be gone by the morning. We’ll follow the Bones north. Look for more of these springs. We’ll rest during the day. Travel at night. And then—”

  “Tala,” I blurted.

  Breta stopped like I’d struck her. She blinked, swallowed, and glanced away.

  And there was the truth. Sands. I was afraid of this.

  “Tala . . . Tala can come too,” she tried desperately to recover.

  I shook my head. “She won’t.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “I can’t just drag her away from everything. She’s a Guardian, and a blasted good one. She belongs here.”

  Breta frowned into a water sack, gripping the neck so hard her hands shook. “I guess everyone belongs somewhere,” she muttered.

  “I guess so.”

  “And where do you belong?”

  My throat had gone dry. I swallowed. I couldn’t meet Breta’s eye, the way her head was tilted towards me, her eyes searching.

  Tala. I belong with Tala.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I had lost her trust. I had failed as a Guardian and failed her. I’d always known I would, but she’d promised to be with me, through everything. Together.

  Was she still?

  “I don’t know,” I heard myself whisper.

  Then Breta rose up, and with a soft, questioning touch, she kissed me.

  It was easy. It was so easy. To bend towards her, to feel the firmness of her body. Her lips parted. She pressed against me and desire slammed through me, squeezing with painful urgency, compelling me.

  It was wrong. I knew it. I should have pulled away before it even began. But suddenly, I was incapable. I was holding her, kissing her. I was breathing the scent of her. Her fingers slipped up my back, pressing through wet robes.

  She wasn’t stopping. She wasn’t going to ask, or think, or wait. Her insistence grew.

  Abruptly, a chill stole through me. Like we were being watched. I remembered where we were. I remembered what we were doing—what we were supposed to be doing.

  Breta felt it. Her lips hovered like a question. She made a little sound, a sighing plea. We were breathing hard, crackling with energy. The night was still. The stars blazed cold fire on us.

  I cleared my throat. “I think . . .”

  “Mmm?”

  “I think we should go back.”

  There was silence. I could feel her shock, her hurt, like rolling waves of grief—things she would never say aloud, never admit to. Grief. Loneliness. Anger. And pain so deep she would die before letting someone touch it. And whether it was a sudden unveiling of the Unseen or a spark of closeness—in that moment, I felt everything.

  Then it slammed shut, and my burst of insight fizzled into sullen darkness.

  “Oh,” she said.

  A whole world was stomped out in that one bitter word. She said nothing else. Her body went rigid. Her fingers digging into my back like claws.

  “Breta . . .”

  “You’re right,” she said, pulling away. “You’re right. Of course. Let’s go.”

  “Breta—”

  “No, Vanya. Don’t . . . don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t . . .”

  “Breta, I can’t. You know I can’t. I . . . Tala—”

  She shrieked and hurled a water sack at me, almost knocking me over. “Shut up to me about Tala! I hate her. Do you hear? Perfect Tala. Wonderful Tala. Stupid, stupid Tala! Her and her shitface brother. She’s one of them, Vanya. Don’t you get it? She likes to pretend she isn’t, but it’s a lie. Between you and the Circle, who would she choose? Who?”

  I clenched my jaw. “Breta . . .”

  “Her duty. She would choose her cold, dead duty to a stupid shitting system, to a system that takes people, takes my people, my Pol, and murders them, to a system that cares nothing for real justice. Don’t you see it?” She was in tears now. “She will never go with you, Vanya!”

  Her shout rang in the silence. For a long, horrible moment, neither of us moved, or spoke, or looked away. Then Breta shuddered and wiped her face: a quick, harsh movement.

  “Come on,” she snapped. “Let’s go back to your Tala.”

  She grabbed a water sack and whirled around. Then ground to a halt.

  A shadow.

  I gasped. A presence loomed in the Unseen. A command, a word. Bend.

  I leapt forward, seizing Breta’s wrist, yanking her back.

  “Wha—?”

  “Don’t!” I hissed into her ear. “Do not draw. Whatever happens. Promise, me Breta.”

  She was trembling. It might have been the cold of her wet shift, or it might have been a sudden understanding of the fear in my voice.

  “Vanya?” she whispered.

  “Trust me.”

  “But—”

  “Draw, and you will not leave here alive. Do you understand?”

  “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” said the figure in the dark. “I wouldn’t worry, Ishvandu. This one already knows a
bout me—doesn’t she?”

  I shut my eyes, cursing E’tuah with every fibre of my strength. I gathered myself. Then I stepped in front of Breta, moving forward, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

  “We are here for water. Nothing more.”

  E’tuah stepped into view, eyes glittering at me, seeming to tower over me. No. Not E’tuah: Shatayeth Undying. He made me feel small, like a boy again. Worthless. Nothing. Mudfoot.

  I stood with my shoulders back, struggling not to cower, painfully conscious of my wet robes and my dripping hair, my shameful bruises, my broken wrist. Evidence of our last encounter.

  “And has she told anyone of this . . . desert exile?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not a word.”

  “Then she’s proven herself worthy of a little trust.”

  “Trust is not the issue. You are.”

  “Ah.” E’tuah stepped closer. “Yet I couldn’t help but overhear. She has ambitions, this one. Exploring the desert. Defying the Circle.”

  Breta pushed past me. “It is you. The so-called man from beyond the desert. Is it true?”

  “Breta,” I said. “You should go back to the camp.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Stop, Vanya. I’m a Guardian, same as you. Now I asked the man a question. I want an answer. Is he from the Old Lands, or not?”

  “No,” E’tuah answered, turning to look at her. “I’m not from your Kyre’an Empire. I’m not from your Old Lands, or your mountains, or your people. But have I crossed the desert?” He smiled. “Yes. Many times.”

  “There!” Breta lifted her chin. “There’s our answer, Vanya. He will show us the way.”

  “Will I?” He looked amused.

  “Yes. You’re clearly knowledgeable about the desert. You know how to find water, shelter, food. Am I right?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Then you’ll do it.”

  “Breta.” I tugged her arm. “You have no idea—”

  “And why will I do it?” E’tuah interrupted me.

  “Because we outnumber you.”

  “Breta!” I hissed. “Shut up. You’re being a fool.”

  E’tuah just laughed. “I like this one, Ishvandu. I much prefer her to the other woman.”

  My eyes narrowed. I took a menacing step forward, trying to hide the quiver in my still-healing arm. “You will not speak of my wife again.”