“So what happened next?” I asked.
Tala sighed and gazed dully across the room, tears subsiding into weariness. “I made her dig it out. She had stolen Guardian leather, braided and knotted. She had a satchel of stones.”
“A sling?”
“Exactly. And it was worn. She’s been . . . practising.”
I frowned. Slings were dangerous and forbidden. They could strike down Labourer and Guardian alike from fifty paces with nothing more than a hunk of rock. To be found with such a weapon was treason.
“What did you?” I asked quietly.
“I told her to get up, get more sand, hide it better, then sit down and have tea with me.”
“And did she?”
“Yes. She even served me tea. I’ll never forget: her hand shook as she poured. She was afraid, Vanya. Of me.”
“With good reason.”
“It was terrible.”
I said nothing, and we just sat there, Tala tucked against me, but rigid, mind churning.
“So is that it?” I finally whispered. “You’re just going to . . . forget about it?”
“Sands no. I’m a bad Guardian—not a rebel.”
“Tala, stop saying that.”
“You said yourself, you would arrest her. That’s what I should have done. I didn’t. We sat and talked and had tea together. We reached an understanding. If she gets caught again, it’s her fault. If anything happens without my knowing, it’s her fault. Lidyana—she’s going to keep me informed. She’s going to be smart about this. She’s going to earn my trust again.”
I was shocked at the tone of my wife’s voice, the hurt and anger, the hardness.
“And . . .” I swallowed. “If she doesn’t?”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. She has a job to do now. A job that will save lives.”
“So she’s a spy.”
“Exactly.”
I thought about it. It was a dangerous game. If Umaala found out, or Neraia—or anyone—it could be Tala’s own life on the line. The woman had to follow Tala’s lead perfectly and not get caught by her own people. But I knew what I had to do.
“How can I help?” I asked.
Tala glanced at me for the first time. It was fully dark now, though ours eyes had adjusted to the deepening gloom. I could see the outline of her face. The hardness of her lips. “Do you have any ideas?”
“I might.”
She raised a brow at me.
“I need Labourers and Crafters,” I said. “We’re going back into the desert, and we’re going to build a well. A proper, working well. I need names of some trustworthy individuals—people who will work hard and get the job done without complaining. People who won’t balk at the desert. I also need a couple Guardians from the fourth to help. I was hoping you and Antaru would be willing to come along.”
Tala shook her head. “We can’t. Not with this going on.”
“Yes, but with Lidyana’s help, maybe we can. Tell her to choose one key individual to come along—someone who’s a leader; someone they wouldn’t dare move without. Lidyana comes too. The rest must be Labourers who aren’t involved. And when we’re out on the expedition, we watch them. Meanwhile, the rebellion won’t have their leader, so nothing will happen while you’re gone.”
“And what if it goes badly?”
“Then we’ve got the leader, and we make an example of him. We go after him instead of Lidyana.”
“You would do that?” Tala frowned. “You would risk your expedition?”
“If it would help you, gladly.”
Tala leaned into me a little further, processing this. Wondering if it would work. Running through every scenario. Her hand still gripped mine, tightening and relaxing in tune to her own private thoughts.
The curtain snapped open.
“Ishvandu!” Koryn cried. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be on watch tonight, with me. Let’s go.”
Tala squeezed my hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I nodded, kissed her—longing for more—and hurried from the room.
Chapter Nineteen
Kulnethar ab’Ethanir
The gardens were a shrinking refuge from Kaprash. I watched the tips of one of my paradendron bushes, watched them blacken and crack. The buried clay reservoirs had long ago dried up, the last of their water leached. Now I waited, helpless to keep the green things alive beyond their own natural defences.
It was like a picture of Shyandar itself: drought-tolerant, trained through many years, robust, yet nevertheless fragile. It could not forgo sustenance forever. Without water, the bush and the city alike would die.
“Ishvandu thinks he can fix this,” I said to Alis.
She sat cross-legged beneath a tree, devouring her morning meal of dried figs and nuts. She rolled her eyes.
“Ishvandu thinks he can do anything,” she said through a mouthful. “If only the rest of the world would just go along with it.”
“I have to tell him,” I said.
“No, you don’t.”
“We have proof. He needs to know.”
“He won’t believe you, Kulni.”
“But the scroll—”
“Lies!” she laughed. “That’s what he’ll say. He won’t believe you.”
She was probably right. “But he’s endangering all of us. If he only knew the truth—”
“He’d still do exactly as he wants. We need to go back.”
“Back?”
“To the Library. We need to learn more. Figure out what the connection is, the plan, how to stop this from getting worse.”
I whipped my head around, but the gardens near us were empty. “Not so loudly,” I whispered, then crouched next to her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not tonight. I don’t want to raise suspicions.”
Alis tilted her head. “Did your father ever keep his own private records?”
“I . . . I don’t think so.”
“Sands. That would have been perfect.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What about—”
I took her arm. An Acolyte was moving towards us, weaving purposefully through the gardens.
“Ab’Ethanir!” he called out, gathering speed. “Ab’Ethanir!”
I stood. “What is it?”
“The council of Elders, ab’Ethanir. They want to see you at once.”
Alis and I exchanged meaningful glances. She gave a curt nod as if to say go. Not that I had much choice. I followed the Acolyte.
The Elders were in full council. They looked weary and ragged as I entered, bits of food scattered on the centre table, half-drunken goblets of cider—almost like they’d been up all night. Almost like . . .
My father’s chair was no longer empty.
Melanyr ab’Kulatyn sat in it, the blue sash of the High Elder around his waist.
Instantly, I felt a wash of dismay. No. Not Melanyr. Anyone but . . .
“What’s wrong, ab’Ethanir?” the man asked. “Not who you wanted to see in your father’s chair?”
The forwardness of his animosity shocked me. He wasn’t even trying to be civil anymore. “Congratulations, High Elder,” I said. “You have a position of great honour.”
“Greatest honour, in fact,” he smiled.
“Forgive me, but wouldn’t that belong to Yl’avah himself and the Tree?”
His smile twitched. “You are a little envious, I understand. But patience. Your turn may come.”
“Kulnethar ab’Ethanir,” Vadiyah cut in—before our exchange could devolve any further. “We’ve summoned you here for a reason.”
“Indeed,” said Jakalu. “After great deliberation—”
“A long night, indeed,” said Ragana of the offices.
“We have chosen a High Elder.”
“Which leaves our numbers short one,” Ragana finished. She was a spider-thin woman with clever eyes, and not as old as she looked.
There was a significant pause. A great deal of nodding.
Then Jakalu piped up again. “Well? What do you think?”
“I . . . I don’t follow,” I replied. “Forgive me, Elders.”
“Isn’t it obvious? We need a new Elder. We have an empty chair.” He motioned towards Melanyr’s old seat. “So?”
I blinked. “You want me to choose?”
There was a chorus of laughter.
“Don’t be so disgustingly modest,” snapped the new High Elder. “Do you want to sit or not? You have one chance, and you’ll not be offered again.”
“Me?” I stared at him, then around the room. “You want me to be Elder?”
“Well, of course,” said Ragana. “You’re the Chief Acolyte of the healing rooms, and you’re respected around the Temple. You alone have sat with us before, therefore you’re the most experienced.”
“But I’m too young!”
Vadiyah sighed. “The sands of time are cruel, ab’Ethanir. Half the council is in poor health, and the other half will get there soon enough. We need young blood in our midst. A bit of strength and fire. And if it’s going to be anyone, it’s you. So?”
I stood stunned, all eyes fixed on me, remembering the relief I’d felt when I’d walked out of the chamber a few days ago. And now they wanted to drag me back into it. Me. An Elder.
But another image flashed to mind: the Chief Acolyte of the Library, wagging her finger at me like a Tasker.
Things have changed, ab’Ethanir.
Sneaking through night-darkened corridors. Hiding. Risking my life, perhaps—and Alis’s. What would happen to her if she was caught in the inner writings? And what would Melanyr do, unchecked? Would he withhold help from the Hall? Would he push us to some ill-conceived power struggle?
This wasn’t an easy path, but from outside, I was limited. What would happen if someone ordered me to refuse help to a Guardian patient? I thought of Tala, bleeding out her too-young baby girl. Ishvandu screaming at me. Do something! Do something, Kylan!
Could I ever say, no? Could I stand there and watch her suffer and do nothing?
Unthinkable. But under Melanyr’s leadership, it might come to that. Outside of this room, what could I do? I could protest. I could carry out my mandate as a physician, regardless of the Council—and probably lose my place in the healing rooms. Or I could try to stop that disaster before it ever occurred.
For me, there was only one choice.
Taking a deep breath, without a word, I strode across the floor and settled into the Elder’s chair.
After the excitement of infiltrating the Library, then turning around to find myself sitting in an Elder’s chair, it felt good to be mixing medicines with Alis again.
I tapped a woven sack, letting the dried ginger powder sift through. Alis stood nearby. Her workstation was littered with ingredients and tools—things she no longer tidied every day as she gradually claimed permanence there. When I asked her what she was doing, she kept saying she was “checking” something. Somehow, that involved three potentially hazardous mixtures, a flint and burner, a scale, random assortments of herbs, and a sickly specimen of danswort, struggling to survive in a small ceramic pot.
I decided to let her do her thing.
“Isn’t this work beneath an Elder’s dignity?” she asked as I sorted and sifted.
“If it is,” I replied, “then I’m not that kind of Elder.”
“Oh, good. Because I’d hate to have to switch a label by accident and embarrass you. You know, not anything lethal, just a small mishap.”
I laughed. “Oh really? That’s the best threat you could come up with?”
She stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, it was that or let Bemyn do the work on his own, and that might be lethal, so . . .”
“No, no, no. Anything but that!” I chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning you, I promise.”
The curtain shifted.
“Kul—Elder ab’Ethanir,” the Acolyte said.
“Yes, Jamila?”
“You’re needed. It’s that Guardian again. I’m terribly sorry, Kul—Elder. I tried to get rid of him, but . . .”
“It’s okay. I’m coming.”
Alis rolled her eyes. “What did you just promise?”
“Not abandoning,” I insisted. “Leaving you in charge temporarily.”
“Can I switch labels?”
“If it’s that or risk Ishvandu alone in the Temple, you tell me the greater danger.”
“Where is he?” a voice echoed down the corridor. “Yl’avah’s blasted might, what does it take to see a man these days?”
“You can’t!” an Acolyte cried, hurrying after him. “Ishvandu ab’Admundi, you can’t just—”
Ishvandu burst into the storage room.
“Oh look, here he is,” I said, turning to face the intruder.
“Sands take you, Kylan—is it true?”
“What?”
“Don’t give me that look like you don’t know. They’re calling you an Elder. An Elder! Are you all sand-shitting nuts over here? You’ve barely dropped a pair, and they’re making you a stodgy ancient? I thought the term Elder implied someone, you know, old.”
The look of incredulity on his face was, admittedly, quite satisfying. Meanwhile, another two Acolytes had appeared, puffing uncomfortably.
“All is well. I will speak with him.” The little entourage of Acolytes stared at me, then backed away, muttering their thanks and apologies.
It took everything in me not to laugh.
“Seriously, though, Kylan—it’s like you’re the Al’kah himself. These idiots think they can tell a Guardian to wait outside like a green Tasker!”
“He’s an Elder now,” Alis said. “He outranks you. So yes, actually—they can tell you to wait outside.”
“She speaks the truth,” I said, raising a brow at Ishvandu. “So? What do you think? Any apologies in order?”
He groaned. “I think I ate a bad nut.”
I chuckled. “Is it so terrible? If I’m going to keep you out of trouble, Ishvandu, I’ll need all the authority I can get.”
He folded his arms, frowning. Was he remembering our last meeting in my father’s chambers? Or his threats to me in the camel yard? If so, he kept pointedly silent. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll play along, Kylan. You really want to keep me out of trouble?”
“More than you know.”
“Good. Then I need your help.”
“Uh oh.” I returned to sifting. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
“Just listen.” He started to pace, then glanced at Alis. “Can we talk alone?”
Alis glowered over her workstation. “Can’t you see I’m busy? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then can we talk somewhere else?” he glanced at me, pleading.
I considered refusing, but I caught a flash of desperation in his eye. Please, Kylan! Light and all, the gall of that man.
I opened my mouth, but Alis was already speaking. “Go on, then! I’m busy. So take your chatter someplace else and Kulni can just catch me up later.”
She grinned wickedly at Ishvandu, and I had the uncomfortable sensation of being fought over.
“She’s right,” I warned him.
“Fine, but I’d like to pretend I’m disobeying my orders of secrecy to the smallest degree possible.”
I snorted and finished sifting out the last of the ginger. “Alright, Vanya. Let’s go pretend.”
As we strode out to the gardens, I caught watching eyes, frowns directed at Ishvandu. Polita’s accusations hit me again. What had people been saying about him? But I was an Elder now, so that would help—wouldn’t it?
Still, as a precaution, I took us deeper into the gardens than usual.
“What’s going on?” I finally asked, voice low.
Ishvandu clutched the hilt of his keshu, scowling at a nearby bush. “We found water,” he said.
It took me a moment to grasp his meaning. Then a shiver ran through me. I clutched a nearby benc
h. I lowered myself onto it. “I see,” I replied at last.
“Do you?”
“Vanya . . .”
“Don’t lecture me, Kylan.” He frowned at me. “Don’t. That’s not why I’m here. Yes, you disapprove. You and your father made that perfectly clear at our last meeting. But it’s happening, and nothing you say will stop it. You think I have a choice? The Al’kah all but threatened me into doing something. Now my keshu—maybe even my life—is hanging in the balance. If I mess this up, I’m done. Do you understand, Kylan?”
“I do,” I said slowly.
“Good. Then I need healers.”
I frowned. “Healers?”
“Yes.”
The bad feeling intensified. “Ishvandu, what have you done?”
“Yl’avah’s might, nothing like that. No, it’s for the people. We’re going back. We need to shore up the well, make it strong, build some shelters out there. We need Labourers and Crafters. It’s going to be magnificent, Kylan, but . . . there are risks. We need to protect the people. We’re thinking a dozen workers. And any number of things could go wrong. Someone could get sick. Someone could get bitten. It probably won’t happen of course, but I think everyone would feel better if we had a couple healers joining us . . .”
He trailed off, breathless for my reaction.
The look on my face must have been a bit too clear. His expression fell. His eyes darkened.
“You’re not even going to consider it, are you?” he said.
I shook my head. “Vanya—this is madness. It sounds like you’re running off into the desert to build a city. It’s bad enough you dragged the Hall into this nonsense, now you want to risk others too? You realize they have to do what you say, for fear of a brutal death?”
“Volunteers,” he snapped. “We’re asking for volunteers. Only people who want to see the desert. People who’ve dreamed of it, who’ve longed to be a part of something. You make it sound cruel, Kylan. It’s not.”
“Because I think it’s a mistake. I think . . .” I struggled with my conviction. Ishvandu needed to know the truth. But could I be certain about this? What if Alis and I were wrong? What if voicing my fears now only strengthened Ishvandu against me?
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