Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  That was six days ago.

  I threw back my head and drank, half-expecting it to turn brackish in my mouth.

  It was cold. It was fresh. It slid down my throat, sweet and satisfying.

  I lowered the cup. Everyone was staring at me, as if waiting for me to double over in pain. But the water slid quietly into my belly. I licked my lips. I tipped the cup over again, sucking out the last drop of water. I nodded.

  “It’s water, alright.”

  Breta whooped and danced away, grabbing Jil and spinning around. They both laughed. Benji just continued to stare in awe. Ab’Tanadu chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder.

  “It’s a start,” Koryn nodded. “We’ll have to dig deeper if we expect to make a proper well of it.”

  “And shore up the sides,” ab’Tanadu added. “A netting?”

  “Stone,” I said. “This well is going to stand for generations. We’ll bring another team out. Labourers, Crafters.”

  “That’s right,” Breta said. “We’ll get everyone involved. Everyone will get excited about it. The Elders won’t be able to stop us then.”

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  “And we can build shelters out here!” Breta exclaimed clapping her hands. “A permanent outpost! It’ll have everything we need: food, supplies, shelter.”

  “A garden,” Mani said, breaking her silence. We glanced at the older woman. She had a smile on her face. She was gazing at the cliffs, as if she could see it—a garden as lush as the Temple, full of birdsong and swaying branches.

  “A garden,” I echoed. “Yes. With fig trees over there, and date palms along the top of the basin to break the wind. We’ll be sheltered here, out of the elements.”

  Everyone was nodding now, even Nolaan, who lacked the barest bones of an imagination. Only Arkaya’s frown deepened, but like someone in thought, making distant predictions.

  Something fluttered in my gut. Excitement, trepidation, anticipation. It was happening! Our first steps into the desert. Our first glimpse of a bigger world. And from here, who could say? There could be another well, further east. Another haven of water. And from there, another. And another. A line of outposts, from here to the Old Lands, drawing our people back, turning their gaze away—away from the Avanir, and into the great wide unknown. Just as the High Elder feared.

  I felt a surge of triumph—until I remembered my oath.

  Sands take that old man. Why? Why had I agreed to his foolish demands? Be a Guardian. Be worthy of it. Wasn’t I doing that here? Protecting my people, helping them to see more? To be more?

  You will take the sword of Guardians . . .

  I pushed the thought away. I had sworn to it. I couldn’t ignore it forever. But did I have to carry it out so soon? I had to be certain. Certain E’tuah did indeed pose a threat to Shyandar. Certain he deserved to die. Only then could I carry out the High Elder’s order with a clear conscience. Only then.

  I caught Breta watching me, and there was a smug look on her face. “Alright, Vanya,” she said. “It’s a start.”

  “So what did you do?” Benji leaned forward, hanging on ab’Tanadu’s story. The old man grunted and drank more cider, then passed it to me.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” We stared at him, gathered around our little fire, lapping up his unusual verbosity.

  He nodded. “I stood there, dumb, like a brick. Like maybe if I didn’t say anything, no one would notice me.”

  “Really?” Jil laughed. “All covered in soot as you were?”

  “From head to toe,” ab’Tanadu chuckled. “Little Umaala too. With the barn ashes around us. Camels running this way and that. Flames still burning up all the hay and dung. I remember just standing there, this grimace stuck on my face—and you know what crazy thought kept running through my mind?”

  We shook our heads, delighted at the image of Umaala and ab’Tanadu as delinquent Taskers.

  “I kept thinking,” ab’Tanadu leaned forward, barely able to contain his glee. “I kept thinking, Yl’avah and the Tree, if the stables get burnt down, no one would ever have to muck them again. I tell you true, I thought I was a hero.”

  We laughed and drank.

  “And Umaala? What did he do?” I grinned. “Did he stand there too?”

  “Umaala? Sands no, even as a baby-green Tasker, he was a take-charge sort. He saw the Al’kah, and marching right up to him—I shit you not—the boy threw open his arms and said, ‘Look, it’s clean now!’”

  We roared and clapped our hands, then demanded more stories of Umaala the Tasker—or Malu, as they had called him. Ab’Tanadu delivered. We were all a bit lightheaded by this point, laughing at the desert, flushed and triumphant. None of us were used to much cider, so everything was outrageously funny and ab’Tanadu’s tongue had turned quick.

  We learned of Umaala’s first crush, how as a boy of eleven, he walked up to a young Temple singer and told her how fine she was and gave her a bundle of camel hay wrapped in the scraps of an old Guardian’s sash. And then there was the time he dared the other Novices to perform a live rendition of the last battle of the Rending Wars in the middle of the inner yard, much to the dismay of the Circle.

  “I knew he was a rascal in his day,” I laughed. “And he tells me I’m trouble.”

  “Oh aye,” ab’Tanadu nodded gravely. “It drove us nuts thinking how much trouble he would cause. Then with just the right thing to say, suddenly he was the hero.”

  “Well, we’re all heroes today,” I said, and lifted the skin of cider.

  The kiyah cheered and drank.

  “And thanks to Vanya here, we haven’t seen a single Sumadi,” Breta added.

  Everyone cheered and drank again. Except for Nolaan.

  “Oh come on,” he muttered. “You think Vanya scared them all away or something? We just got lucky.”

  “Yeah, isn’t his ability about seeing them, not not seeing them?” Jil’s words came out a little slurred.

  Nolaan scrunched his face, trying to figure out what in the sands that meant, but Jil was right. The fact we’d been out here for a week with no sign of Sumadi was very good luck. And not my doing, as far as I could see.

  “We don’t know where they are,” Nolaan added. “Maybe while we’re out here celebrating, they’re attacking Shyandar. Right now.”

  Alarm flitted over Benji’s face. Everyone frowned, except for Arkaya, who just rolled her eyes and kept drinking.

  “You don’t know they’re not,” Nolaan pressed.

  “They’re not,” I said flatly.

  “What? You can see as far as Shyandar? From here?”

  “What’s your problem, Nols?” Breta snapped. “Just enjoy the moment and stop being your usual wallowing ass for once.”

  “I’m just saying the obvious. You’re all ready to worship this mudfoot, but we did more digging than him.”

  “He’s been on night watch,” Benji piped up, rising to my defence in a burst of bravado.

  “What do you know?” Nolaan muttered. “You’re just desperate to please anyone who’ll—”

  “Nolaan, stop talking,” I said. “You’re shitting all over yourself. It’s embarrassing.”

  He jumped to his feet. “I’m the embarrassment? I’ve been a Guardian my whole life. I’ve trained for this. I didn’t get kicked out of the Hall. And now suddenly you think you can order us around. Because you can hear Sumadi coming? Says who? You?”

  Koryn tugged Nolaan’s arm. “Sit down,” he growled. “And no more cider for you.”

  “Well, isn’t it just a little convenient he’s the only one that can hear them? And convenient that was the reason to let him back in? What if it’s a ruse? What if he’s fooling us all, fooling the Circle?”

  I laughed. “Then I must be pretty good.”

  “You haven’t stopped any attacks!” he shouted down his finger at me. “You just sound the alarm when they come. Any idiot could do that. Benji could do that.”

  Benji pursed his lips, but said
nothing.

  “You want to stand watch every night?” I spread my arms. “Go right ahead.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Enough,” Koryn snapped. “Nolaan, sit down and stop being a fool.”

  “He raises a good question though,” Mani spoke up. “Where are the Sumadi?”

  “I can sense when they’re close,” I replied. “And they’re not.”

  “Can you sense them when they’re not close?”

  I opened my mouth to say no, but stopped. Could I? Truth was, I knew less of the Unseen than I should and almost nothing of the Sumadi. I’d spent my whole life not looking. Not until Polityr walked up and named me to my face.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, rising.

  Breta grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”

  “Where else?” I snorted. “To watch uselessly for Sumadi.”

  I scaled the cliffs alone.

  They rose, rocky and steep, while I clambered up to a higher vantage point. From here, I could see the little valley: the tents pitched along the northern slope, the wells, the camels grazing. The moon was cold and stark against a blue-black sky; the first stars pricked through.

  Nolaan’s petty insults needled me. Mudfoot. Not fit to be a Guardian.

  It was nonsense. The Al’kah had chosen me. And I had done it. I’d found water in the desert. I was going to come back a hero.

  But what if I could do more?

  They were right. I wasn’t like them. Maybe I wasn’t some perfect Guardian. So what? Where others were afraid to seek water, I had done it. Where others fled from the Sumadi, I had spoken to them.

  I didn’t need to watch the shadows like other people. I could see into the Unseen! This ability could be the answer to the desert. My ability. And I let myself be afraid of it?

  I laughed. Forget about those Guardians, the ones like Nolaan who mocked me. They were afraid. They were jealous. But they weren’t important anymore. I was.

  I shut my eyes. I felt the dryness of the desert air, stirring my robes. I could taste the dust on my tongue and smell the distant fire, the camels, the earth. I could hear the others talking, a soft murmur against the oppressive silence of rocks and sky.

  Traveller-between, the Sumadi had called me.

  I could do more. I would.

  The Realms existed interchangeably—not separate spheres, but worlds woven together like threads of a tapestry: Seen, the Realm of Blood; Unseen, the Realm of Spirit; and that by which we See, the Realm of Light and Truth and Knowledge. I didn’t have to travel to find the Unseen. Not really. I was already there, our spirits as natural to that realm as blood and sweat were to this.

  But where others were blind to that Realm, I was not.

  I lowered my head, trying to move past the smells and sounds. To feel the wind—no, to feel behind the wind. To glimpse, maybe for a moment, that it was a thing itself, an idea, a colour, a voice, speaking from another Realm. It wasn’t wind at all—it was the breath of the world, and I was being carried across the Realms, travelling with it, Seeing with it, drawn towards something . . .

  I let myself fall towards the Unseen. What I hoped was the Unseen.

  My difference wasn’t a curse; it was a gift. I had to believe it. I had to use it. How much further did it extend? How could I benefit from it, if I really tried? Could I find the Sumadi and speak to them now, in this very place?

  The wind pulled me, and I went with it. I circled back and back, drawn in every tightening parameters. There was something there.

  My skin prickled. My eyes were shut, but I could almost see something there. Something huge and . . . and . . .

  The presence loomed, and everything bent around it. The wind shifted, ever so slightly, caught in the pull of it, like an eddy drawn after a dropped stone, compelled to obey. What force was this? What could shift the wind itself? Not Sumadi, who wandered through the Unseen in tortured desperation. This thing was heavy, commanding, powerful. I felt its gaze.

  A coldness stole through me, a warning.

  It was aware of me. It was watching me. I tried to pull away, but it came nearer and nearer. Or rather it remained immovable, but I was caught up, falling towards it.

  A surge of fear rose. I remembered the Sending stone, of being carried across the Unseen, tossed helplessly to an impossible distance.

  My heart jumped in my chest. I gasped. I struggled for a moment, strangely aware: the wind on my face, the smell of the camp, the dust, the darkness—yet unable to move, my eyes still shut, the Unseen pulling my mind, pulling . . .

  I twitched my fingers. I shook my head. I pushed myself back to consciousness. I fought for it, like battling through a wall of sand.

  And then my eyes lifted, and I was back.

  Yl’avah’s might!

  I stood there for a moment, dazed. It had happened. I had actually slipped into the Unseen. But how? And what had I seen there?

  Not Sumadi. No. Some other shadow, still lingering against my awareness.

  I turned. I peered through the darkness at the rocks that rolled against each other, up to the height of the Bones. To three distinct points.

  I stopped. I had seen those rocks before. Three rocks pointing skyward.

  Gitaia.

  And the presence in the Unseen, the thing watching me, even now. Could it be? Was it . . . him?

  My hand moved to the hilt of my keshu.

  You will take the sword of Guardians, and—as you have sworn—

  No. Not yet.

  I took a steadying breath, not daring to glance behind, yet feeling the presence here. Feeling it close.

  “You knew,” I said quietly.

  There was no reply.

  “You knew the water was here all along. Why? Why not tell me the day you pulled me from the rocks? It would have spared me much to have an answer for the Circle.”

  “Would it have?” The voice was cold, like a deep, dark pool. “They were not ready to follow you, Ishvandu. And you were not ready to lead.”

  It was him. I shivered. He was more. So much more than I had imagined . . .

  “And now?” I asked, desperate not to betray my fear.

  E’tuah appeared beside me, a shadow against the shadowy sky.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  My grip tightened on my keshu. My stance shifted.

  “Of course you would say that,” I returned. “But I found water in the desert, didn’t I? I am ready.”

  “Ready for what, Ishvandu?”

  “You . . . said yourself. Ready to lead. To show them. Now they’ve seen with their own eyes. They can’t deny it.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I glared at him out of the corner of my eye. “There’s no we here, E’tuah. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your threats against my kiyah.”

  “I don’t make threats to be forgotten,” I heard the smile in his voice. “Neither did I guide you here lightly. But what you do with the water—that will be the test.”

  Unspeakable crimes, that’s what the High Elder had said. A danger to us all. I tried to relax my posture. “You kept Gitaia from us. You knew about this water and you said nothing—for years, you said nothing. Now you expect to take credit for this? I found this well. I led them here.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ve protected them from Sumadi.”

  “Indeed?”

  He said it like a question. There was a smiled in his voice. I stiffened.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve watched for Sumadi. How many have you faced?”

  I said nothing.

  “Exactly.” He paused. “None. You came to me, Ishvandu. Remember that.”

  My breath tightened. I could feel my pulse quickening, my fingers growing sweaty around the hilt. What was he saying? Was he implying that he—that he was the reason for the Sumadi’s absence?

  It couldn’t be.

  And yet . . .

  Yl’avah’s might, I had glimpsed him in the U
nseen! The wind, the air, the otherness bending around him. And I thought of all those days, healing in the cave in Gitaia, far from the protection of the Avanir. And no Sumadi. Not once.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “Who are you really?”

  E’tuah looked at me, looked pointedly at my hand, still wrapped around the hilt of my keshu. Our eyes met, a brief scathing encounter.

  “Ethanir ab’Estaldir made a bargain with you, didn’t he? The Sending stone, for my life?”

  I almost choked.

  “How could you think that?” I tried to sound aghast, probably overdoing it in my shock. “Why would I agree to such a thing? I—”

  “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “I won’t let it come to that.”

  My mouth hung open.

  “He forced you into a hard choice. I understand. I don’t hold it against you.”

  He stepped towards me. The shadow moved. And so did that presence in the Unseen, that huge, compelling force, so hard to unsee now that I’d brushed against it.

  Who are you? I should have demanded, brandishing my keshu like the Guardian I was supposed to be. Instead, I backed away. I couldn’t help it. It was a pure, instinctual reaction.

  And my foot almost slipped off the cliff-ledge.

  He caught my arm. “You are beginning to see, aren’t you?”

  My breath was shallow. Yl’avah’s might, I could do it now. A quick slice with my keshu. He was vulnerable.

  “Your eyes are opening to the Unseen,” he continued. “Good. Maybe you’re ready for some answers. You begin to see the Sumadi. You begin to see the Avanir. Tell me. Have you had the courage yet to speak to it?”

  I blinked. “Speak to . . . to the Avanir?”

  “Of course. It’s the heart of Shyandar, is it not? It’s powerful, or the Chorah’dyn would not have sent your ancestors here. It took your friend. It took countless Chosen. And it will take again. Have you asked it why?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “In a week. Come speak to me in a week’s time.”

  “Speak to you?”

  “You have the means.”