Guardians Watch

by Eric T Knight

  Cara was sitting outside her hut that night, listening to the night sounds, when she heard someone approaching. She tensed, wondering who it was. It could be Adira. The young woman had already brought her food some time ago. When she did, she’d stared at Cara for a long minute, while Cara held her food and wished she’d go away. It seemed rude to eat while the other Tender was there, but she was feeling really hungry.

  “I don’t know what to think about you,” Adira said finally. “I should hate you. I should spit in your food before I give it to you.”

  Cara looked at the bowl of thin soup warily.

  “But I don’t. Hate you, that is. Even though you rejected the Mother’s gift. I should hate you, but I don’t.” Her strange, hungry stare traveled over Cara, taking everything in. “What is it about you?”

  Cara didn’t answer. Did this mean Adira hadn’t spit in her food? She looked at the soup again. It looked fine and she realized then that it didn’t really matter. She was hungry and she was eating this soup whatever it had in it. Scrubbing walkways tired a person.

  Adira seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll figure it out. I’m good at that.”

  Then she kept staring. Finally, Cara said, “Okay.” Only then did Adira leave.

  Now Cara sat there in the moonlight, dinner long since finished, and wondered if it was Adira who approached, if maybe she had figured out whatever she was trying to. Instead, she was surprised to see Donae walk up.

  Donae had never been a very big woman, but she looked shrunken and positively tiny now.

  “Donae!” Cara called out softly, hurrying to her. “What are you doing here? You could get into trouble.” As she spoke she took the woman’s arm and guided her to the rickety stool she’d been sitting on. It wasn’t much in the way of a chair, but it was all she had, scavenged from a pile of scrap wood behind the hut. Furniture had not been included in the exile deal.

  “I’m already in trouble,” Donae replied, in her soft, sad voice. Cara realized she was shivering and she hurried into the hut to get her blanket, about the only other thing she had. This she wrapped around Donae, though the night was warm.

  “Oh, Cara,” Donae said, then burst into tears.

  Cara knelt beside her and took her into her arms, wishing, as always, that she knew what to say or do. But she didn’t, so she just held her friend and waited.

  “I should have done what you did,” Donae said, when her sobs had subsided somewhat. “I shouldn’t have taken the sulbit.”

  She cried some more and Cara held her, wishing for words.

  “I wish I was brave like you are.”

  Now Cara did have words. “Brave? Like me? I’m not brave, Donae. I’m as scared as anybody.”

  Donae pulled back to look at her. Her tears were glistening tracks down her cheeks. “You are brave,” she said fiercely, “and if I was brave like you I’d have said no too.”

  Cara squeezed her hands. “It will be all right.”

  “Will it? We’re lost, all of us. The world is ending and I…I have this thing, stuck to me always.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I threw it away last night. I pretended like I had to go to the privy and I threw it down the hole. Then I ran.” She sniffled some more. “This morning it was back on my chest, trying to feed on me. I almost screamed.” She was squeezing Cara’s hand so hard it hurt. “You saw what happened today. I can’t control this thing. The same thing that happened to that Tender is going to happen to me. Or something worse. Oh, what am I supposed to do?”

  Cara had no answers for her. She waited.

  “I wish I was out here with you. I wish they’d take this thing away and make me a servant. I’m doomed.”

  “No, you’re not,” Cara said suddenly.

  “But it’s hopeless.”

  “It’s not hopeless. There’s always hope. You know what you need to do? Since you can’t get rid of that thing, you have to learn to master it. You have to work extra hard at the training exercises. You have to make sure it can’t get out of control.”

  “But I don’t think I can.”

  “And I think you can. You just have to not give up.”

  “I don’t know,” Donae said, and gave herself over to crying more.

  Cara stood up. “You have to get up now, Donae.” She knew Donae, and the woman would cry all night if given the chance. “You have to get back to the others before someone realizes you’re gone.” She helped the woman up. “Listen to me. You can do this. Just don’t give up. Keep trying, and when you’re worn out, try some more. You’ll be all right.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Of course I do,” Cara replied, hoping she sounded sincere. In truth, she was frightened for her friend, frightened of what would happen if her sulbit got away from her and there was no one there to help her out. “Just don’t give up.”

  Eighteen

  “There it is again.” Mulin stood with her eyes closed. “I think it’s Lenda.”

  Mulin and Perast were hunting Lenda again, haunting the darkest corners and meanest alleys of Qarath in search of their lost sister. More than once they had caught a trace of her Selfsong, but every time it disappeared when they tried to follow it.

  Perast turned her head this way and that as if she was sniffing the air. Both women were melded with their sulbits, needing the enhanced awareness melding gave them to have any chance of finding Lenda. “I feel it too. This way.”

  The women crept along the edge of the Cron River. They were beside the stretch of river that bordered the area known as the Pits, not far from the outside wall of the city. The river here was thick with filth and it stank. The Pits themselves smelled worse, full of rotting garbage, leaning remnants of buildings, and more than one dead body. Their footsteps seemed loud on the broken stones of the river’s edge. Ahead was the dim shape of a section of wall, perhaps a leftover piece of a warehouse from the days when this area was still a functioning part of the city, before King Arminal Rix brutally suppressed an uprising here by walling the whole area off and ordering it burned down.

  In response to her excitement and nerves, Mulin felt her sulbit slide across the back of her neck and down her arm, where it its tail wrapped around her wrist, its head jutting out onto the back of her hand. It was half as long as her forearm now, almost as large as the FirstMother’s. It moved like a snake, and it somewhat looked like one, except that the head was more rounded and it had tiny legs forming. Just yesterday eyes had appeared on top of its head, black and beady.

  They made it to the section of wall and crouched behind it. “I think she’s just on the other side,” Perast whispered into Mulin’s ear. Lenda’s Song was fairly loud now, but the unique rhythm and melody that Mulin recognized as Lenda’s was nearly lost in a much louder, cacophonous dissonance that was distorted and painful to her inner senses.

  Mulin adjusted her focus so that the everyday world receded into the background and she could more clearly see flows of LifeSong. Then she peeked around the edge of the wall. She saw the glowing outline of a rat dart out and run behind a heap of garbage, that was itself filled with hundreds of tiny glowing shapes that had to be insects. Further off was the glow of what was probably a wild dog, and beyond it were two others. Attached to all of them were golden flows of LifeSong.

  She leaned further out and then she could see Lenda. Her akirma was fragile and dim except for two bright patches on it about two-thirds of the way up. Those were her sulbits. From them thick tendrils extended deeply into Lenda, piercing the brightness that was her Heartglow. The sight made Mulin feel sick inside. Was her friend still in there at all? Did she know what was happening to her?

  Lenda was crouched over someone who was lying on the ground, twitching feebly. There were two holes in the person’s akirma. The sulbits were perched on the holes, sucking out the victim’s Song. Whoever it was would not live much longer; already his Heartglow was flickering.

  Mulin pulled back behind the wall. “It’s her.”

 
Nothing else needed to be said. They both knew what they needed to do. They would only get one chance.

  Mulin looked around until she spotted one of the thicker flows of Song winding through the darkness of beyond. It was too far away for her to reach with her hand, but recently she and Perast had learned how to extend that reach, using the power of will, which grew stronger every day as their sulbits grew stronger. With her will she drew it close enough to take hold of it with her hand, while beside her Perast did the same thing.

  She grunted softly as the extra power coursed through her. She held onto the power that she bled off the flow, letting it pool inside her, held back by the strength of her will. When she was nearly at the limit of what she could hold, she felt Perast tap her on the arm.

  “I’ll take the one on the left,” Mulin whispered. “On three, we step out and release.”

  Mulin counted to three then, still maintaining her hold on the flow, she stepped around the end of the broken wall and raised her free hand. Perast did the same.

  Just before she released, Mulin heard a change in Lenda’s Song and knew the sulbits were aware of them.

  The Song bolts, released nearly simultaneously, were blue-white flashes that lit up the surrounding area like lightning bolts. They struck Lenda’s sulbits as she was standing up, and she was knocked to the ground in a spray of sparks of light.

  “Don’t let up!” Mulin yelled, striding forward. The initial Song bolt was expended, but she was still hitting her target with a steady stream of power that crackled and spat as it spent itself on the creature, and Perast was doing the same.

  And it was working. The tendrils piercing Lenda’s Heartglow had retracted and the creatures were sliding across her akirma, trying to find purchase but unable to under the onslaught of Song.

  Just a few seconds more. If they could just keep it up for a few more seconds, they could knock the creatures off Lenda and drive them away. They could save her.

  At that moment a tendril from the sulbit Perast was attacking writhed and lanced into the akirma of the dying man on the ground. It pierced his Heartglow and a flare of power raced back up it to the sulbit. Mulin started to call out a warning, but she was too late.

  The sulbit pulsed suddenly, and a wave of power fed back up the stream coming off Perast. There was a concussion and she was lifted off her feet and thrown backwards, her scream cutting off when she hit the ground. The stream of power blinked out.

  Even as Perast was flying through the air, Mulin saw the sulbit she was attacking start to do the same. She was already releasing the stream when the wave of power flashed back up it. It felt like a giant fist struck her and she was knocked backwards, but she got far less than Perast. She ended up on her knees, blood streaming from a cut on her lip and her ears ringing.

  Through blurred vision she saw Lenda leap to her feet and whirl toward them. Despite the darkness, she felt she could see the savage snarl that twisted Lenda’s features, the way her hands curled into claws as she took a step toward them as if to counterattack. Her robe was fouled and torn. The stubble that had regrown on her head was pure white. Her eyes were those of a wild animal.

  Then she turned partway, stared off into the darkness, and stiffened, a predator that senses the approach of a larger predator. A moment later she bounded off and was lost in the night.

  As she ran away, Mulin’s sulbit slithered out onto her hand, its head raised as it stared after its fleeing brethren. For a moment she was sure it was going to go after them and she grabbed at it with her other hand, while at the same time commanding it mentally to stay. After a moment it slithered back up her sleeve, reluctantly it seemed.

  Her pulse racing from the adrenalin, Mulin crawled over to her friend. Perast was lying on her back, motionless. Thankfully, she was still alive, though Mulin could tell from her Song that she was unconscious. Even her sulbit seemed to be unconscious.

  The strangest thing happened then. Out of nowhere a soft wind began to blow. It blew past Mulin, carrying a cloud of dust that smelled of something she could not quite place. The dust seemed to coalesce around Lenda’s victim and as the wind died away she saw a man standing there, looking down.

  T’sim knelt beside the man. He rolled him onto his back, then opened his eyelids and stared into his unresponsive eyes.

  “What did you see?” he asked softly.

  The corpse’s lips moved and something like a sigh escaped it, but no words.

  “What did you see?” he asked again, leaning close to the cold lips.

  But there was no answer. He was too late. Even if he wasn’t, the man couldn’t have told him what he wanted to know. The dead were useless. So many died at Veragin and not a single one of them had been useful either. Thousands of years and he was still no closer to answering the one question that truly interested him.

  Sighing, he got to his feet. A sound from the one of the Tenders made him turn. She was looking at him. It was time to go. Staying here would lead to uncomfortable questions, questions he did not want to answer. He looked around at the filth and decay of the Pits and his nose wrinkled in distaste. Looking down at his boots he saw that they were caked with the same filth.

  He pursed his lips and began to blow, like a man whistling. But no whistle emerged. Instead, the wind came. It started around his ankles, circling him like an excited puppy. It rose, climbing higher, finally wrapping around his head.

  When it died away, T’sim was gone.

  Nineteen

  “Can I help you, Advisor?” Perganon asked, looking up from the book he was reading and taking off his glasses. Quyloc had just entered the library.

  “I hope so.”

  Perganon closed the book and stood up from his desk. “I will do whatever I can.”

  “Have you read every book in this library?” Quyloc asked.

  “Except for those,” Perganon said, motioning toward a pile of dusty books on a table. “They were only recently unearthed when workers tore that wall out.” One wall of the library had been torn out and a room beyond was visible.

  Quyloc walked over to the table and looked at a couple of the books. One was in a language he didn’t know. The others weren’t in very good shape. There were hundreds of them. It would take months just to get an idea of what was here, and years to read them all. He turned back to Perganon.

  “Have you ever heard of a place called the Pente Akka?”

  “Some, but not much.” Perganon glanced curiously at the rendspear, but did not ask about it.

  “What do you know about it?”

  “That it is a sort of shadow world existing beside our own. The book I read said it was connected to the sand dunes of the Gur al Krin.”

  “The Gur al Krin?”

  “It was the writer’s contention that the Gur al Krin is not a natural desert, but is instead a byproduct of the Pente Akka.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “He had taken samples of the sand and subjected them to various tests, exposing them to weak acids. Then he compared the results to other sand exposed to the same things. I won’t go into the details, but he claimed the sand from the Krin reacted differently from any other he’d found on this world.”

  Quyloc thought about the sands covering the borderland where he passed through the Veil. Could it be the same sand? Why had it never occurred to him before? He was starting to go when the librarian stopped him.

  “Advisor, if I may be so bold,” Perganon said. “Is the Pente Akka where you got the unusual spear you are carrying?”

  Quyloc looked down at the spear, then back at the librarian. “Yes, it is.”

  Perganon’s face lit up, though he tried to hide it and resume his professional mien. “I know you are a busy man, but it would mean a great deal to me if you would someday tell me more about your experiences there.” He coughed into his hand. “It is not just for my own curiosity, mind, but Macht Rome has commissioned me to write a history of these times we are living in.”

  “A history
?” Perganon nodded. “Okay. Someday I will tell you about it.” I just hope we’re still alive to talk about it. Quyloc opened the door to leave.

  “Oh, one last thing,” Perganon said. “One of these books was written by a Tender.” He pointed to the pile of dusty books recovered from the wall. “According to my earlier source, it was a Tender who first discovered the Pente Akka. There may be something in there which sheds some light.”

  Quyloc felt hope dawn within him. “Which one is it? I will start on it myself.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible…unless you are familiar with ciphers?” Quyloc shook his head. “It is written in code, as if the author was putting down an account that was forbidden. It does not seem like a complicated code and I believe I can break it, but it will take me some time. I will start on it immediately if you wish.”

  “Do it,” Quyloc told him. “Let me know anything you discover, regardless of the time.”

  Perganon inclined his head and Quyloc left the library. Could there be something in the book to help him? Maybe someone else had been stung like he had and had discovered an antidote. It seemed unlikely, but at this point he would grasp at any straw.

  As he was walking the hallway suddenly disappeared and he found himself on the edge of a wide, bronze-tinged river. Something surged up out of the water in a spray of foam, teeth snapping.

  Quyloc reacted without thinking, the spear whirling in his hands. Even as the jaws reached for him he struck the creature’s great, leathery head. The blade sheared through its jaw and tore a large chunk of it away. It collapsed at his feet.

  Turbulence in the water told him more of them were close behind, but Quyloc didn’t wait to find out. He summoned the Veil to him, slashed it and dove through.

  He was on his hands and knees on the sand under the purple-black sky. He scooped up a handful of the sand. He got to his feet, closed his eyes and visualized the spot in the palace where he’d been. A moment later he was there.

  The sand was still in his hand. He looked at it. Was this the same sand he and Rome had trekked through in the Gur al Krin? It looked like it might be, but there was no way to tell for sure. Was Perganon’s source right? Was the Gur al Krin a byproduct of the Pente Akka?