The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick with meaning. I swallowed, trying desperately to think of an answer. None came to me. “Shall I go?” I asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself, and suddenly she seemed very small. Like a girl, hurting and alone, struggling to fire her pain back into Guardian’s steel.
I wanted to pull her close. I wanted to hold her. Yl’avah’s blasted might, how I wanted to hold her! I wanted to touch her and feel the warmth of her skin, her nearness like fire, to find the source of that pain and pluck it out like a thorn: simple, clean, quick.
But Tala’s weakness was not the kind you could share. It was for her, and her alone.
Without waiting for her to ask, I turned and slipped towards the camel yard.
I sat dazed on a feed sack, even as the sun fell and the Darkening prayer came and went. I sighed and rubbed my face. How had such a promising moment soured so quickly? What had I said? What did Tala want from me? I had been so careful, so gentle. Still, it wasn’t enough.
I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here and mope. She wanted something from me, I could sense it, like a prickle at the back of my mind—but what? What could I possibly do for her that would express my sorrow over losing the baby?
“Vanya?”
I glanced up, startled. A white-robed figure appeared in the yard.
“Still here?” I grunted.
Kulnethar nodded. “I was with Neraia and Umaala. Tala was ready to come back—and not ready, if you understand. I had to make sure they understood her modified duties.” His face creased when he saw my expression. “What’s wrong?”
I huffed. “What isn’t wrong?”
Instead of retorting with his usual wilful optimism, he gave a heavy sigh and plopped onto the feed bag next to me. An undignified pair we made, a Guardian and a Chief Acolyte, moping together in the stables.
“You too?” I asked.
Kulnethar nodded. “My father . . .” He trailed off. “Never mind. So you spoke with Tala?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“She missed you.”
I snorted.
“It’s true. I saw the look in her eye whenever your name came up.”
“My name came up with white robes?”
Kulnethar chuckled. “From time to time.”
“And what do they say?”
“That you’re an arrogant twat who thinks far too much of himself and his shiny new sword.”
“Figures.”
“But they also say you stay awake every night to defend them against desert ghosts.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve Tala to thank for that one. She calls you an insufferable idiot, but she also defends you tooth and nail to anyone who says likewise. She’s claimed sole ownership of insulting you.”
I laughed. That sounded about right. Then I thought of her eyes, and her grief, and her words. Not everything. No, Vanya. Not everything.
I grimaced and looked away.
“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” he said softly.
“She turned me away, Kylan. She says . . . she says . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to repeat it, but Kulnethar nodded anyway.
“What does she want from me?” I blurted out. “What can I say? What can I do? What can I possibly do to fix this?”
“Nothing,” he replied.
“That’s not true. She wants something. She looks at me, and she wants something, but she can’t say it aloud. It’s like she wants me to see into her sand-blasted mind without a word spoken between us.”
Kulnethar smiled. “That’s exactly what she wants.”
“Huh?”
“Only that, my friend.”
“Only what? What?”
“She wants to be understood. She wants you to see her and to understand. To feel what she feels. That’s all.”
“But how? How can I feel something that I can’t even understand? It doesn’t make any sense! It’s impossible! I would . . . I would fight a hundred Sumadi for her. I would go to the Chorah’dyn and back. I would pour out my own blood for her. But I can’t make myself feel something that isn’t there!”
Kulnethar laughed. “Exactly.”
I frowned into the dirt, realizing I had torn up a strip of hay and was shredding it into match-flint. “Women,” I muttered.
“Mmhmm.” Kulnethar’s gaze went distant for a moment. The troubled lines returned, the heavy eyes, like he knew as much as I about sleeplessness and long nights on watch.
“So what about your father?” I asked.
Kulnethar started. “What about him?”
“You mentioned him, then changed the topic. Which means whatever’s going on with him is more interesting than my sorry love life.”
“Forget it,” he muttered.
“He isn’t sick, is he?”
I watched his face harden, his blue eyes spark. “Where did you hear that?”
“Just a lucky guess. So it’s that bad?”
Kulnethar looked on the edge of denying it, then heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping forward in resignation. “Worse. I think he’s . . . dying. Two days. Maybe three.” His voice caught. “Yl’avah’s might, don’t say anything to anyone. Please, Vanya.”
“Not a word.”
“Thank you.”
We sat in silence, but my stomach rolled in panic. The High Elder was dying. What would happen to the Sending stone then? Would someone find out? Would he reveal the truth about the stone, about E’tuah?
I shook my head. The High Elder would never let such knowledge die with him, but neither would he tell just anyone. It would be someone he trusted. Someone like Kulnethar.
Yl’avah’s might, no.
I had to speak with the High Elder. I had to convince him . . . somehow . . .
I paused. “Kylan, your . . . your father hasn’t said anything about me, has he?”
Kulnethar shot me a look. “Should I be expecting him to?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He . . .” I scrambled for the right words. “He asked me to come see him after I took the Oath, but I haven’t had time for Temple visits these last two months, what with the Sumadi and Kaprash and everything.”
“He asked you to come see him?”
“I would have come sooner, but I never thought it would be so urgent. At first light tomorrow.” I nodded. “I’ll come after watch. If you meet me at the gates you can help me cut through all the—” I waved an explanatory hand. “You know. Temple nonsense.”
Kulnethar stared at me. “Vanya. My father is dying. He can barely speak to me, much less—”
“It’s important.”
“Clearly you think so. That doesn’t change my answer, Vanya. I’m sorry. Not even Elders are allowed to see him.”
I bristled. “I’m not an Elder. I’m a Guardian.”
“Oh, please. You really think that gives you authority to march in and demand anything you want now?”
“A Guardian oversees all of Shyandar, and this is Guardian business. I must speak with your father. I will.”
Kulnethar stood. “I’m leaving.”
“You won’t even ask him? You’re making decisions for him now, like he’s some tottering old fool?”
Kulnethar’s finger speared me in the chest like a snakebite. “My father is no fool. If you think that sword gives you immediate access to whoever and whatever you want, then you are the fool.”
I met his eye, then rose slowly. I was taller than him now, and bigger. Our rigorous training had finally begun to show in the muscles of my arms and chest. I wasn’t the scrawny mudfoot anymore. I had been fighting Sumadi all Kaprash. I had killed Sumadi.
Kulnethar absorbed the shift of my stance in an instant. He tensed, eyes sharpening.
“Sands, Vanya. What’s going on? What’s this really about? If you think my father’s illness is some . . . opportunity—”
“It’s urgent.” My face darkened. “All the more if he’s dying. And if you don’t speak with him, I�
�ll come myself anyway.”
“There are Temple Acolytes on guard.”
“I hope they’re smart enough not to get in my way.”
“You could hurt someone!”
“Wouldn’t that be a mess.”
Kulnethar’s mouth worked for a moment, struggling to find ground. Then he threw up his arms. “Sands take you!” he hissed. “Light, blood, and all, you blasted idiot, fine. Fine. I’ll speak to my father.”
“First thing in the morning?”
“As soon as he wakes up.”
“You give me your word?” I grabbed his arm.
He flinched.
“Yes,” he snapped. “I promise. Just don’t do anything stupid. Please, Yl’avah’s might and the Tree.”
I released him, trying to smile like it had all been a joke. “Come on, you really think I’d fight you? Maybe in jik’ku.” I chuckled. “Where you still have a chance.”
Kulnethar did not return my smile. “Nothing about this is funny.”
“You didn’t see the look on your face.”
“My father is dying,” he spat. “And you have the gall to stand there, using threats and titles to leverage your selfishness? You think I don’t know what this is about? Yl’avah’s might, Vanya! Have all your efforts been for this? My father’s mercy—for this? So you could turn into another bully like the rest of them?”
I stared as he turned back to his camel. “Wait!” I hurried to take his arm. “Kylan, I’m not—”
He shoved me away. For the first time I realized how angry he was. I could feel it. The tension in his arms, his hands, shaking where they had struck me.
Too far, Vanya.
I grunted. I had fallen into backstance without thinking, and now I forced myself to relax, to let me hands uncurl. “Alright, I’m going.”
“Good.”
“I’m sorry, Kylan.”
He just pointed, like a Guardian Lord pronouncing exile, and I found myself hurrying away to night watch on the wall, strangely shaken, a painful, unsettling feeling inside, as if something good had unexpectedly cracked.
Chapter Six
Ishvandu ab’Admundi
We had barely finished the morning meal when Umaala stormed into the dining hall, red cloak flaring out behind him with just the right snap to mean he was sand-shitting pissed.
“Third!” he shouted, loud enough the whole room could hear and probably the guards on duty outside the gate as well.
Our table glanced up, startled.
“Task Hall. Now. Novices too.”
And he disappeared.
Breta and Jil exchanged glances, Koryn frowned, and even ab’Tanadu looked a bit concerned. Mani was as unmoved as ever. We gulped down the scraps of our breakfast and hurried out of the room, the Novices trailing after us in confusion.
The moment we made it to the Task Hall, Umaala closed the door behind us, walked calmly to the front of the room, and stared us down like we were ration-thieving Taskers. He let us hang there in anxiety, let our minds wind back over everything we’d said and did.
When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was remarkably calm. “Well?” he said. “Who was it?”
Faces creased in confusion. Everyone glanced at each other. Koryn’s eyes darkened.
“Sal’ah?” Breta finally asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean who opened their sand-blasted mouth and said they could find water in the desert?”
The silence was excruciating. I could practically hear throats closing up, jaws clenching. Koryn looked straight at me.
“Akkoryn ab’Kindelthu, who have you spoken to?” Umaala asked.
Koryn glanced back at the Guardian Lord, the shock plain on his face. “Surely you don’t think it was me?”
“Why not? You opposed the idea from the first. You kept insisting Ishvandu would fail. In truth, you’re worried you’ll look like an idiot when he doesn’t. You have the most to gain from not riding out. So? Who have you spoken to?”
I had to give Koryn credit. He didn’t falter or break eye contact. He didn’t look ruffled. He just shook his head. “It’s true, I was against the idea, but now Ishvandu is one of us, whether I like it or not, and light and all, the little ass has his uses against Sumadi. Why would I oppose my duty as a Guardian? I’ve been stuck in this Hall making preparations. Ask the kiyah, and you’ll see it’s true.”
“If no other explanation emerges, I will. One at a time. Manysha.” He turned. The older woman met his eye, completely unfazed. “You are in charge of gathering the requisite supplies. Have you explained the nature of the mission to anyone not in this kiyah? A watch member, perhaps? Someone in charge of the stores?”
She shook her head. “The seventh and eighth know their business, sal’ah. They were told to expect me, and they asked no questions. I gave no answers.”
Of all the members of this kiyah, I could trust Mani the most to hold her tongue. Umaala must have shared my sentiments. He turned to the next suspect.
“Bretina sai’Anira.”
“Yes, sal’ah?”
“Your tongue wags far more than is good for you. Can you promise you’ve said nothing of a compromising nature, either directly to someone outside of this kiyah—or in hearing of them?”
Thinking of her tendency to blurt out whatever came to mind, I almost smiled. Almost. I controlled myself.
Breta looked offended. “Me, sal’ah? I would never! I might talk, sure, but I’ve been waiting for the desert since the day I was Tasked to this Hall. I would do nothing to jeopardize the secrecy of our work. You have my word, sal’ah!”
Umaala looked unconvinced. “You’ve spoken to no one outside the Hall?”
“No, sal’ah. Not once.”
“And you?” He turned to Jil.
Jil shook his head sombrely. “No, sal’ah. I know when to keep my mouth shut. I haven’t spoken to anyone outside these walls.” He paused. “But Ishvandu has.”
I felt Umaala’s eyes on me an instant later, the fire almost palpable.
“Ishvandu.” He crossed his arms.
“Blasted light and all,” I muttered. “You didn’t cross your arms for the others.”
“Ishvandu ab’Admundi, what did you say?”
“Oh, so that’s it? You just leap straight to the conclusion I’m guilty? It was me? No chance to defend myself?”
Umaala dropped his hands to the table and leaned forward, a pillar of hard muscle and fury bending towards me.
“What did you say?”
I ran back over every word I’d said to Kulnethar, terrified I must have let something slip. But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced. “Nothing, sal’ah. It’s true I spoke with Kulnethar last night, but I never even mentioned I was going on an expedition.”
“Not even to Atali sai’Neraia?”
I tried not to choke on my denial. She wouldn’t have said anything. I know she wouldn’t have.
“Sal’ah, I’ve been careful. We all have. So who . . . who knows?”
Everyone turned to look at Umaala. He growled in reply. “The blasted High Elder himself is demanding a meeting with the Circle. He won’t say about what, but it’s obvious.”
I felt myself go cold. The High Elder. He didn’t know anything about the mission, but he did know about me. He knew about the Sending stone, about E’tuah. Yl’avah’s might, Kulnethar must have spoken to him last night as he’d promised, and instead of agreeing to meet me, the High Elder had decided to share my secrets with the Circle before they were silenced forever. He’d seen through my little charade. I was finished!
I forced myself to remain calm, but my hands twisted together beneath the table.
“Do you have any idea how disastrous this could be?” Umaala continued. He was still looking at me. “The High Elder could refuse our mission on religious grounds and call out the Al’kah himself as disobedient to the will of Yl’avah and the Great Tree.”
“Really?” I blurted out.
“Yes.�
�� He glared at me. “Don’t you understand anything? The power of the High Elder is not something to scoff at. He can demand the abdication of the Al’kah and hold the services of the Temple hostage until we comply with his wishes.”
I almost laughed aloud. “That’s ridiculous! The Guardians would never stand for it. What could we possible need from those white robes?”
“How about medicine?” It was ab’Tanadu who spoke.
“We take the supplies for ourselves,” I said.
“And when the supplies run out? Who is trained here in advanced healing and herb lore?”
I scowled. “We could figure it out.”
“Ab’Tanadu’s right,” Umaala said. “The Temple has many things we take for granted. The healing rooms are just a start. There are also the scribes, who we depend on for knowledge, and the Elders, for their learning and wisdom. Who do you think passes on the stories to the next generation? There are the traditions they represent. Our past. The remembrance of our civilization. They keep the gardens. They keep the scrolls. They keep secrets that even we are not aware of. And above all, they plead to Yl’avah on our people’s behalf, through songs and rituals we have never learned. Could we seize absolute power by strength of arms? Of course. But that would destroy Shyandar as surely as the Breaking of the Pillar of Blood destroyed Kayr.”
I took a steadying breath. “Umaala’sal, I spoke no word to Kulnethar about this mission. I was careful. That’s the truth.”
Umaala nodded. “Very well then. I believe you. That doesn’t change what’s happening. You will accompany me to the Temple at once.”
“Me?” I gasped. “But . . .”
“You were asked for by name. Come.”
He rose, and before I had a chance to defend myself, I was forced to hurry after him.
An uncomfortable journey later, we sat in the High Elder’s chambers atop the Temple.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Kulnethar ab’Ethanir demanded, leaning forward, his aging father at his side.
It was a small gathering, but brimming with all the authority of Shyandar. The High Elder was there, of course, as was Neraia sai’Kalysa and Umaala ab’Krushaya. Thankfully, the whole Circle hadn’t dragged themselves across the city on my account—that would do nothing to help my already struggling reputation. But at the last moment, the Al’kah had burst through the curtain, dragged a stool out for himself, and dropped onto it like a perch, staring around the room and daring us to waste his time.
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