Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  A man was trying to pull away from two Guardians of the sixth. He was haggard and dirty. His face was puffy with exhaustion, eyes beading under heavy lids.

  It was Baraaba, Chief Mason of the Craftsquarter.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded. “Baraaba, what in the sands are you doing here?”

  “I have to speak to you.”

  “Then speak.”

  “Alone.”

  Fear slammed through me like a blade.

  Baraaba wasn’t one of ours, though Adar insisted the man was close. He’d said he would talk to him again. Yl’avah’s might, what had he done?

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s talk.”

  The Guardians of the sixth looked at me doubtfully. Ab’Tanadu frowned. Mani and Antaru watched, and the others gathered behind, curious and uncertain.

  “Well?” I snapped. “Let’s go!” I spun away. I didn’t look to see if the Guardians would obey, I just assumed it. Be Umaala.

  And it happened. Baraaba stumbled after me, and no one stopped us. No one ran after us. No one asked what this was about.

  Instead of going to my room, I banged open the door to the cellar and ushered Baraaba below. He hesitated only an instant before hurrying down into the dim coolness. I followed and closed us in. Enough light poked through to see the man’s anxious expression.

  “Speak quickly,” I told him.

  Baraaba swallowed. “It’s Adar.”

  The bottom fell out of my stomach. I knew. Instantly, I saw everything as if I’d been there.

  “I didn’t mean to,” the man groaned. “You have to understand. I believed in what you were doing here. In Anuai. You know that. Just . . .”

  “Explain.” My voice had gone cold.

  He nodded. And nodded again. Fingers twisting like a Tasker caught in a lie. “I . . . I told them about Adar. I didn’t have a choice, ab’Admundi. He kept saying things to me. Dangerous things. They find out, you know. They always do. And I’ve got people. People who trust me. I couldn’t—”

  I slammed him into an urn, not caring that it burst, spilling grain across the dirt floor. Baraaba clutched my arm. A wheezing cry escaped as his legs scrambled. “What did you do, you fool?” I hissed. “Tell me what you said! Tell me!”

  “I came to you!” he gasped. “See? That’s why I’m here! I knew they’d take him for a rebel, but I didn’t think . . .” He gasped again. “I didn’t think they’d blame the whole of Anuai. I never thought—oh, Yl’avah forgive me, they’re coming, Ishvandu. Coming.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “Guardians! They’re taking everyone for questioning. Even Larayis. I didn’t know. I was just trying to look out for the likes of her. People trust me. They look up to me. Sands take that fool Adar! I wish he’d never opened his mouth to me, but he did. I had a duty. And now I’ve a duty again.”

  “A duty?” I was shaking. Angry. Terrified of what I might do in that moment as I clutched the front of Baraaba’s shirt. “You coward. You filthy coward, you ratted to the Hall. You killed him. You understand? You killed us all, you shitting rat!”

  My grip tightened so hard I could feel the shirt tearing. The air seemed to wrap itself around me, squeezing, clawing into my lungs. I wanted to pound his head into the broken stone, again and again and—

  I dropped him and stood. “Get out.”

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He scrambled away, feet begging for purchase, even as they slid and scraped over the spilled grain. “Please just cooperate with them, Ishvandu, or people will suffer for it. I don’t know how all you’re involved, but . . . but I ran all this way in the dead of the sand-blasted night to make sure whatever else you are, Ishvandu ab’Admundi, you’ll do the right thing. You’ll not let them suffer for it. That’s my duty. You’re angry. You’ve a right to be, just—”

  “Get out, you fool!” I screamed. “Get out. Run back to Shyandar or I swear by the Tree I will rip out your ratting insides.”

  The man fled.

  I stood there for a moment in the dark, feeling like I was going to be sick, like I was being crushed, pounded by invisible fists. This was it. This was how everything ended.

  No.

  I slammed those thoughts to a halt. I clutched the hilt of my keshu.

  Was I going to let myself fold so easily? Give in? I always knew this was a possibility. We all did. Protect them.

  I blew out a breath. I shook my head. I swore and kicked a shard of ceramic, sending it clattering across the cellar floor. Then I turned and hurried up after Baraaba.

  I caught him trying desperately to explain himself to ab’Tanadu and a looming knot of Guardians. Without a word I seized his arm, dragged him away.

  “You risked your stupid life coming here,” I said, loud enough the others could hear. “You don’t belong with us. There’s no place for you here. You understand? Mani!”

  She appeared. She was already holding a full water skin.

  “Take it,” I said in a low voice, moving further away. “Follow the south of the pass. Hide until the Guardians have gone by and don’t be seen. You understand?”

  Baraaba nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Go!”

  He ran, puffing away, unstopped by the Guardians, though several strange glances fell on me.

  “Is it bad?” Mani murmured, still turned from the others.

  I nodded. “Gather them. We need a plan.”

  “Now?”

  “They’re coming, Mani.” I shot her a look. “Ready or not.”

  By sunfall, Anuai was dead stone again—the well closed up, the rations packed. Only Mani and I knew of our pilfered supplies, still locked in the cellar below the Guardian’s quarter.

  I eyed the Guardians of the first as they stood mounted on their camels, overseeing our progress.

  “You’ve been ordered to return to Shyandar,” they had said, riding up soon after Baraaba’s departure.

  I’d made a show of confusion. “That’s not possible. I’m needed here. This is my kiyah. I need to be on watch.”

  “You need to follow orders,” the Guardian returned. “At once.”

  “But who will take charge of—?”

  “No one. You’re being ordered back.” The man leaned forward. “All of you.”

  Even warned, I felt a queasy fear. Now staring at the skeletal remains of Anuai, I wondered if I’d ever see it again. Would this be the end? Would it be for nothing?

  “It hurts, kid.” Ab’Tanadu strode up next to me, shouldering a pack. “But maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe they’re just testing us, see if we’ll come when ordered.” He raised a brow and shrugged, like he hoped, but wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Either way,” he grunted. “You’re taking this in good stride. I’m proud of you.”

  The words were like a bitter drink.

  “Sorry,” he quickly muttered. “You’re right. Don’t need an old clod like me patronizing you.”

  I opened my mouth to say something. Then remembered how quickly I could get myself and everyone killed.

  “Not like I have much of a choice, sands take the Circle,” I growled instead. “Let’s go.”

  Yet as we filed out, grim and water-laden, I swore I caught a glimpse of a shadow watching from the outpost. E’tuah.

  The one thing about Anuai I wouldn’t miss. I tightened my jaw and turned away.

  We followed the moon across an empty sky. We trudged beneath the stars. My accomplishments slipped into the desert behind me, abandoned, while I felt myself dragged back to Shyandar like a slave. By the time the walls wove themselves out of the sand, the sun was blossoming on the horizon.

  Four months. A long time to be away from Shyandar—possibly the longest in the history of our city. The walls were like a prison, rising to swallow me. They grew and grew. I knew what lay behind them: obedience or death.

  Protect them.

  I had promised myself. Promised Tala. I would do everyt
hing in my power to keep them safe. Now was not the time for fear, but strength.

  The truth of the Choosing had to be made known. I had kept it from Tala. From my kiyah. From the Circle. Kept the truth hidden, until it was too late. Now Tala was gone. Whatever else happened, I knew I couldn’t run. No one else should have to make this decision in ignorance.

  The walls loomed closer. Morning came with industry, and I could smell it on the wind. I could see the gate now. I could hear the distant murmur of activity. Was that Umaala, shouting orders in the yard?

  Yl’avah’s might, had I really allowed myself to be summoned like a Hand?

  But I had to protect them. Somehow. I had to try.

  Shyandar opened to us. I saw the supplies shed, the red-stone walls of the Guardian’s Hall, and a row of keshu to greet us. Guardians of the first and fifth, and Neraia sai’Kalysa herself.

  With our long absence, she looked painfully like her daughter. The same flashing eyes. The same tilted chin. The same powerful presence—the ability to command without words.

  The Avanir rose shining in the distance to greet us, but I didn’t feel like I was going home. I felt like I was walking into a trap.

  The gate boomed behind us.

  I dismounted. I strode across the open ground to meet the Guardian Lord. “Neraia sai’Kalysa’sal,” I greeted her, head bowed.

  “Welcome back, Guardian,” she replied, though there was no welcome in her voice. “Your kiyah will report to the Task Hall at once and your Labourers will remain here until ordered otherwise.”

  They were bringing us in, confining us.

  “Sal’ah, may I ask what this is about?”

  Her face darkened. “You may not. You will follow orders, ab’Admundi. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, sal’ah.”

  I glanced behind me, towards my people. Huddled in a ring of unfriendly Guardians, they didn’t seem like so many. Certainly not a powerful rebellion.

  Yl’avah’s might, let this be the right choice.

  But we had made our plans. I had to trust to that. Resist here, and we would be cut down faster than ab’Tanadu’s training disks.

  “Do as she says,” I told them. “No harm will come to you.”

  And that was when Hamanda ab’Adar lunged for ab’Tanadu’s keshu.

  “No!” I screamed.

  Ab’Tanadu pounded him back, driving a fist through his ribs faster than I could reach him—but not fast enough to keep Ham from raking the blade free. Daya and Brudan leapt forward. Larayis shouted something. My Guardians hesitated—eyes panicking towards me. What do we do? What do we do?

  “Stop!” I threw myself between Ham and the rest.

  Make a scene, we had decided. But stealing a Guardian’s keshu? What kind of sand-shitting idiot was this?

  “You want them to lock us in the holds?” Ham shouted, face curdling in rage as he brandished his new weapon. “They’ll rope every one of us! I won’t stand for it! I want to see my father. Where is he? What have you done with him?”

  I drew my keshu. I felt the eyes of the Hall on me. A dozen Guardians, not one of them intervening. Neraia was watching. Watching to see what I would do.

  Exactly as we had hoped.

  I advanced on Hamanda.

  “What is this?” My voice rang. “You dare attack a Guardian? You dare lay hands on a keshu?”

  “I’d kill every one of these lying bastards if I could, starting with you!”

  And he meant it. I saw the burning ferocity in his eyes. Plan or no plan, I was beginning to think he might actually kill me if he had the chance.

  I scowled. “So you’re the rebel. You’re the reason they dragged us back to Shyandar. I should have seen it.”

  “You Guardian fools are all the same!” He laughed, face twisting. “I will not be roped like a spectacle for your amusement! You’ll have to kill me, first. I swear, ab’Admundi—“

  I lunged.

  I caught him off guard. Ham jumped, slashing. For an instant, I saw real fear in his eyes. Good. I missed, just barely, then twisted the blade, stepped back and whipped the dull edge against his ribs.

  He grunted, but closed in anyway. A wild, clumsy swing. I batted it aside, then drew my blade down—fast and hard.

  It shaved the skin off his calf.

  Ham gasped. Blood wept out of his leg. And when he looked up, I smashed the hilt into his face. He staggered back, choking and roaring, nose broken, then lunged at me again. Yl’avah’s might, was he trying to get himself killed? We’d agreed to fight, but I was beginning to think this wasn’t an act anymore.

  I dodged, parried, and trapped his arm. Then I dragged him in one-handed, kneed him hard in the gut, and when he doubled over, I flipped the hold on my keshu and brought it hard across his head like a club.

  He spun in one direction and the stolen keshu spun in another.

  Then silence.

  I was breathing hard. I wiped my keshu across my sash, then slid it back in its sheathe.

  That was nearly a disaster. Ham was supposed to surrender quickly. I should have known he wouldn’t go down quietly, that stupid bastard.

  But in the end, it certainly made our little show more convincing. A bit too convincing, if the horrified looks of my people were any sign.

  I gathered the stolen keshu and held it out to ab’Tanadu. The man was flushed with shame. He dropped to his knees.

  “Yl’avah forgive me.”

  “Get up!” I ordered. “Worry about your blasted pride later. Got it?”

  Ab’Tanadu hesitated. The Guardians of the first had tightened their circle, hands on their hilts, ready for the next outburst. As if realizing now wasn’t the time, the old outrider muttered something under his breath and quickly took back his blade.

  “Everyone steady,” I said. “Everyone calm.” I looked at each of my people in turn, meeting their eyes. Remember the plan.

  Then I bowed to Neraia. “Forgive me, sal’ah. Hamanda ab’Adar joined our crew just a few days ago, which is the only explanation I can offer for his violence.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Her voice was as cold as a Sumadi’s touch.

  I nodded, then risked a glance at her face. “Is it true? Has Adar really been . . . arrested?”

  She said nothing. She held my eye. Then with barely a tilt of her head, she nodded towards our kiyah. “Confine them to the Task Hall.”

  The Guardians closed in.

  “What?” Arkaya’s voice turned shrill.

  The Labourers gasped and shrank away. My Guardians bristled.

  “Stand down!” I shouted. “All of you. Guardians, that’s an order. You will cooperate.”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong!” Jil cried.

  “Then prove it,” I told him. “This is an acceptable precaution. Let the first do their jobs.”

  “Of course,” Mani said. Everyone glanced at her, and I saw the edge of Arkaya’s panic fade.

  “Ishvandu,” Neraia said. “Come with me.”

  I fought back my own surge of alarm. I knew what I had to do. My absolute priority was to convince the Circle and the Al’kah of my Guardians’ innocence. Nothing else mattered. We needed keshu. We had to be free of suspicion. At all costs.

  “Of course, sal’ah,” I said. And I marched into the teeth of the Hall.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  “Yl’avah’s blasted might and the Tree! Have you lost all control? Are you mad? I sent you to build an outpost for me, and you come back with sand-shitting rebels?”

  The Al’kah’s words battered me like a storm. I did the only thing I could—kneeling, head bowed, fists clenched, I shielded myself and endured.

  “Do you realize the extent of this disaster? We’re trying to do something no one in the history of Shyandar has ever done before, and this is hardly an impressive beginning. White-robes are breathing down my neck, telling me at every turn what a terrible idea Anuai is. You’re wrong, I tell them. Over and over aga
in, like a shitting Temple recitation, because sands take me for a fool, I trusted you!”

  “I’m sorry, sal’ah Al’kah.”

  “I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”

  I swallowed.

  “You allowed rebels to gather under your very nose. Not only this upstart, but your foreman too! The man you entrusted with your crews, your operations, your meetings. The reason I called you back here in the first place was to investigate him—but given the delinquency of this son of his, I think our answer is clear. Do you realize I could rope you for allowing such shameful activity to go unnoticed? I could kill you right here! Your incompetence is criminal, Ishvandu ab’Admundi, and mark my words, you will pay for this dearly.”

  Once, those words would have sent me spiralling into a fury. Now, I could care less what the Al’kah thought or what stupid thing they’d concoct to humiliate me. Protect them. I wasn’t their Guardian anymore. I was my own. And only one thing mattered.

  “I understand, sal’ah Al’kah.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, sal’ah Al’kah. I failed you. I committed a terrible lapse of judgment. I allowed rebellious individuals free reinreign of Anuai. And for that, I resign my leadership and my keshu.”

  I unbelted my keshu and bowed, head to the floor, arms outstretched before me.

  The Al’kah grunted. Beside him, Neraia and Umaala looked on, but the Circle was otherwise absent. I heard Neraia murmur something to Umaala, and I caught the man nodding out of the corner of my eye.

  I held my posture, waiting.

  “That’s all?” the Al’kah finally growled. “No defence? No pleading?”

  “None.”

  “By the Tree’s roots, boy, what in the sands is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, sal’ah Al’kah. I understand my failure.”

  There was silence. The Al’kah’s brows could have sliced down to my bone. I felt his shock. I let him stew in that, let it sink in, that I’d so willingly admit my error.

  “Good,” the man finally growled.

  I glanced up. “Having said that, sal’ah Al’kah, Anuai is everything we wanted it to be. The well has been reinforced. The engineering is a marvel. Trees and buildings offer shelter. The well offers irrigation. One of my Labourers has surveyed the area and found promising reserves of ore. And we’ve successfully held off a dozen attacks by the Sumadi, with only one casualty. Dissidents aside, sal’ah Al’kah, Anuai itself—under my leadership—is an outstanding success. I offer my keshu for my errors, but for my success, I beg for its return.”