Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “It was his idea.”

  “It was never his idea. I found the water. I decided to build a well. Tala, Tala . . .” I struggled to control my panic. “This has to happen. Please, don’t say anything. Please. The Al’kah’s counting on me—”

  “The Al’kah? The Al’kah demands your obedience, Ishvandu ab’Admundi, and your utter loyalty. You want to be a Guardian? A Guardian would go straight to the Circle. A Guardian would sacrifice everything for the safety of his people. His own life if needed. A Guardian would never wander off and start compromising with the enemy.”

  “I’m not compromising.”

  “Aren’t you? Aren’t you every moment you think you can handle him on your own? He’s a danger to us all. He’ll be out there in the desert.”

  “I know. I know.” I groaned, fingers white where they held her. “But he won’t interfere, I promise.”

  “Oh, you promise. You’re bringing Labourers out there. Crafters. My people. And can you guarantee their safety? From him?”

  “You’d rather I tell the Circle? Is that what you want?”

  “At least Umaala. At least one other person who knows the truth, a superior who can make a decision on—”

  “They’ll rope me for it, Tala.”

  “We don’t know that—”

  “They will. At the very least they’ll stop the expedition, they’ll never let me into the desert again, and how will I explain the Sending stone? How? I’ll be killed or banished or—”

  “This isn’t about you, Vanya,” she cried. “It’s about them. Your people. You’re supposed to be a Guardian. So be one.”

  “I’m trying. Yl’avah’s might, who do you think I’m doing this for?”

  “Yourself.”

  The word was like a slap. She stared me straight in the eye, then rose and marched from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kulnethar ab’Ethanir

  The tension was building, a little more every day. I watched the new High Elder. Melanyr ab’Kulatyn was playing a dangerous game—but why? What could he possibly hope to achieve?

  “We will not bow to the Hall,” he said, standing at the head of the Elders’ council. He wore clean robes, bound with the wide blue sash of his office. Strange, after all these years, to see someone other than my father wear it. It looked ill fitting.

  “We are not asking for subservience,” said Neraia sai’Kalysa. The Guardian Lord was given a seat in our midst, her red cloak swirling to the floor behind a commanding posture. “As ever, we seek partnership.”

  “Then perhaps you should have come to us first,” said Ragana. “This expedition is clearly significant to all Shyandar. And now we hear you are taking Labourers with you? Into the desert?”

  “There is work to be done,” she replied. “The more hands we employ, the less time in the desert we need.”

  “That makes sense,” replied Vadiyah from next to me. “But this is no reason to hide the expedition from us.”

  “Hence why we’re speaking to you now,” Neraia replied. “And not the day of departure.”

  “Yes,” Vadiyah returned. “Now—after you’ve set things irrevocably in motion.”

  The Guardian Lord looked remarkably unflustered, despite the entire council of Elders being set against her. She simply nodded. “We have set things in motion. And we would appreciate your partnership. There will be men and women on this expedition in need of care. Our outriders are trained in the desert, but they are not experts in medicine and aid. The assistance of two healers could mean the difference between life and death. Furthermore, it would be a sign to all Shyandar of our unity.”

  “Exactly,” High Elder Melanyr replied, pacing forward. “Unity. Unity under your direction. But what if we don’t approve of this expedition? What if we’re against the principle of allowing untrained Labourers into the desert?”

  “Why would that be?” Neraia asked, tilting her head. “What are you afraid of?”

  The High Elder shook his head. “We won’t allow it. I won’t order my healers to follow you.”

  “Then you risk greater harm to the people of Shyandar.”

  “Only those you put in harm’s way. Take them with you—but let their lives be on your head, Guardian. The Temple shall not be responsible.”

  “The Temple is responsible for all Shyandar.”

  “Then let us make decisions that involve the welfare of our people.”

  “Indeed.” Neraia stood. “This very moment, you’re making such a decision.”

  I groaned inwardly. This was a disaster, and how could these Elders and Guardians—the wisest and more respected of Shyandar—not see it? I thought of the so-called “E’tuah” waiting for us in the desert. I thought of Ishvandu, rushing into danger, dragging all of Shyandar with him. Hadn’t he read the scroll? Hadn’t he seen the truth? Why hadn’t he done something to stop this?

  “Pardon me, Elders,” I said, leaning forward. There was a hush. Everyone turned to look at me. Speak rarely, my father had counselled, and your words will be deemed of rare value. I took a long, steadying breath. I had to speak carefully and effectively. I had to make my father proud.

  “Perhaps,” I said, “we can come to a mutual understanding here. We want to be partners with you, Neraia sai’Kalysa. The concern my fellow Elders are expressing is that we would have liked to be involved from the start. If our voice is important to you, then surely you would have consulted it sooner. Is that fair to say?”

  The Elders nodded, though I noticed Melanyr’s narrowed eyes. Choosing me for the council of Elders had clearly not been his idea.

  Neraia folded her arms. “That’s a simplistic understanding of importance. In the Hall, we follow a strict pattern of involving each voice at the moment it’s needed. Too soon, and there is unnecessary confusion.”

  “Precisely,” I said. “So the very fact that you’ve chosen to tell us now implies our voice was not necessary at the outset. And yet the initial decision—to plan the expedition in the first place—is our point of disagreement. Does that make sense to you, Neraia sai’Kalysa?”

  She nodded. “It does.”

  “And do you understand why we disagree on this point?”

  “You don’t want Labourers in the desert, as I understand your High Elder.”

  “Yes, but it’s more than that,” I leaned forward.

  “It’s not,” the High Elder cut me off—and was met with a few sighs.

  “Let the boy speak, Melanyr,” muttered Jakalu. There was a murmur of agreement.

  I waited. Neraia’s questioning glance pushed me to continue, so I stood, straightening my robes, allowing myself a moment to think.

  “The Avanir is our task,” I said quietly. “My father knew that, and he believed every decision of the Temple should reflect that. We understand your perspective: you think creating a supply of water besides the Avanir will protect us, and in some ways, you are correct. But by doing so, we are making a subtle yet significant statement about the Avanir. We are saying—to ourselves—that we no longer trust the Avanir, that perhaps the cycles of Kaprash and Renewing are punitory, or worse, arbitrary. We’re allowing ourselves to look elsewhere for our survival. But meanwhile, the Chorah’dyn knew exactly what awaited us here when she sent us to this place, instructing us to depend on the Avanir, to attend to its rhythms, to offer ourselves to its Choosing. Do you see, then, how seeking a source of water elsewhere can be construed as a first step of disobedience against the Great Tree?”

  Neraia didn’t reply at once, but I noticed a few nods from the council, a few thoughtful expressions. Good. Let them consider what this was actually about—not some petty-minded grab for power.

  At last, she spoke. “I hear you, ab’Ethanir, and I respect you for your careful words. The Al’kah has a different perspective, however.”

  “Of course he does,” I replied. “That’s the very nature of dual leadership. And in collaboration, two perspectives become stronger, better informed, and m
ore discerning. So can we collaborate? Can we bring our different perspectives to bear on one issue?”

  Neraia shook her head. “It’s a noble sentiment, young Elder, but I’m afraid it won’t help. We will not bend, nor will you.”

  She glanced at Melanyr as she said the last line, and the High Elder’s frown deepened.

  “There is your answer, boy,” he said. “The wisdom of the Hall. Intransigence. And so they force us to respond in kind.”

  Neraia bowed her head, signalling her withdrawal.

  “Wait!” I said, as she turned to go.

  “Ab’Ethanir—” she sighed regretfully.

  “Intransigence solves nothing. We all know it.”

  “Kulnethar, that’s enough,” Melanyr snapped. “Sit down and stop embarrassing yourself.”

  “I am the Elder of the healing rooms,” I replied. “The resources of that domain are under my authority.”

  “As you are under mine.” Melanyr took a threatening step towards me. “Sit down.”

  “On the contrary,” I replied. “The authority of the High Elder is not dictatorial, but collective, as set down by the first council of Shyandar. You do not speak on your own. You speak as a body. And we are that body.”

  “I will not allow healers from this Temple to go on this expedition.”

  “I’m not suggesting that.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?” He frowned thunderously at me, daring me to speak.

  “Myself,” I replied. “I will go myself.”

  “What—you?”

  A murmur ran through the council.

  “Yes, me,” I replied. “I will not risk the welfare of those involved, be they Labourers, Crafters—or Guardians.” I glanced at Neraia. “They are all under my responsibility as Elder of the healing rooms. I will respect the wishes of the council to send no Acolytes, but this council cannot refuse my personal decision, as an Elder, to accompany them.”

  Neraia gazed wonderingly at me. “Even though you disagree with our mission?”

  “My mandate to protect the well-being of each person of Shyandar remains regardless of my opinions. Yes, I will come—if you will have me.”

  She nodded slowly. “We will have you, ab’Ethanir. And gladly. Come see us at your earliest convenience and we can begin our preparations. Elders—High Elder—” she glanced around the room. “Good day.”

  Then she turned and swept from the chamber.

  A heavy silence filled her place. I felt the council turn to me, staring.

  Without a word, I took my seat and glanced back at the High Elder. Melanyr was clearly furious. Yet he couldn’t deny me. He had no authority over me as an individual. Over the Temple, yes. But as an Elder, I was by all rights equal to him now.

  “Dismissed,” he finally growled, waving his arm.

  “High Elder?” asked one of the Elders. “Aren’t we going to discuss the—”

  “Dismissed!”

  The council grumbled and muttered, but one by one they rose, probably eager to return to their various tasks. At least I would be. The healing rooms were getting crowded as Kaprash dragged on, and there was Nyashal to attend to. The poor woman had wandered off again sometime last night. I had things to do. People to help.

  “Not you,” Melanyr pointed a finger at me as I rose.

  “I have other duties, High Eld—”

  “You have a duty to me.” He seized my arm, steering me towards one of the smaller council rooms. As soon as we were inside, he turned smouldering eyes on me. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”

  “In fact I do, High Elder.”

  “Don’t give me that condescending prattle! You’ve compromised our authority, you foolish boy. You’ve embarrassed the Temple.”

  “On the contrary, I believe the only person I’ve embarrassed is you.”

  He struck me. His hand smacked loudly against my face—perhaps before he even knew what he had done. I gasped, then stared at him, too shocked to respond as the heat rushed to my stinging cheek.

  “There!” he said, stabbing a finger at me. “Act like a child and I’ll treat you like one. You want an enemy of me, boy? I know what you’re hiding. I know what your Guardian friend stole—and who’s to say you weren’t a part of it too? You think it won’t take more than a word? Just you wait. You’ll see. Not to mention that little wife of yours.” He sneered. “She would’ve been roped next to her brother if you weren’t protecting her, but don’t count on your father’s name to shield you now.”

  He lifted his chin, watching me, waiting, just waiting for the fear to slip into my eyes. To know he had me.

  I struggled to control myself, to keep each breath steady, to relax my clenching fists. Only when I felt my calm return, that quiet centre, did I trust myself to speak.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Melanyr,” I said. “You think you can threaten my wife without cause? Think carefully, next time you speak. Think of who controls the healing rooms, the medicines, the drugs. Think of what might happen if your food makes you sick, and you have no one to turn to. Think—and then next time we meet, you might want to consider an apology for your shameful behaviour.”

  Without waiting for a response, I left. I felt the stinging mark on my cheek, but as I passed through the lingering Elders, I made no effort to conceal it. Let them know. Let them know exactly what kind of coward they had made highest over them.

  “Elder ab’Ethanir!” someone cried as I began my descent down the outer stairs.

  A noticed an Acolyte hurrying up towards me, panting, eyes wide with fear.

  Yl’avah’s might, what now?

  I quickened my pace to meet him. “What is it, Shalinu?”

  “It’s the woman—the . . . the . . .”

  “Nyashal?”

  He nodded.

  “What happened? Speak!”

  “We found her, Elder.”

  “And?”

  “Elder . . . Kulnethar . . .”

  I shut my eyes. No. I didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Light and all, not her. We’d been making such good progress. She’d been improving. She’d been starting to speak with me, and every day she was stronger. She was.

  “Show me,” I whispered.

  “That’s the problem, Elder. Your wife, Alis, she insisted we not disturb the . . . that you had to see. But it’s not . . .”

  “Shalinu, tell me.”

  He swallowed, and for the first time I realized he was afraid. Not for Nyashal—for himself.

  “Elder,” he lowered his voice. “We found her . . .” He glanced over his shoulder, across the sprawling city, towards the distant rock of the Avanir. “We found her . . . out there.”

  “She left the Temple?”

  He nodded.

  “Did she hurt someone?”

  He shook his head.

  I gripped his shoulder, staring him straight in the eye. “Shalinu—where is she?”

  I was sweating and hot by the time we made it. The mid-afternoon sun was punishing. The cracked lakebed was as dry as old bones. Alis was waiting for me, standing alone in the shadow of the towering black rock. She looked so small: her wiry frame dwarfed by the Avanir, her hair blown loose in the hot wind. I felt a shudder of concern. Still, she stood defiantly against the elements, chin up, eyes focused on me.

  Light and all, she was lucky she wasn’t sun sick by now in this heat.

  “Alis!” I called.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I came as fast as I could.” I drew near, then stopped when I saw.

  Nyashal was slumped against the Avanir’s pillar. She was dead. I knew that. I’d guessed it from Shalinu’s first words, but seeing it sent a shock of grief through me. Dead. After so much progress. After everything.

  Nor was the death peaceful. The woman’s eyes were missing, heavy trails of blood spilling across her cheeks and body before disappearing into the cracked ground. I covered my face, just for a moment, then took a deep, focusing breath—and looked again.

/>   She was dead. Nothing could change that now. I’d done my best, everything I’d known to do. And I had failed her. I couldn’t dwell on that now.

  I moved closer, struggling against the heaviness inside.

  “Did you examine her?” I asked.

  Alis nodded. “A little. I forced them to leave her here. I’m sorry if that was wrong, but I thought you should see everything. Exactly as it was.”

  “Thank you,” I said numbly. I crouched next to the body. Not only were the eyes gone, but Nyashal held them clutched in her own hands, one in each fist. Alis had already checked, prying open the dead fingers. And there was dried blood on the finger nails, dried blood staining the hands.

  “Yl’avah’s might,” I breathed. “She tore out her own eyes.”

  “I know.” Alis made a face. “But I don’t think that’s what killed her.”

  I glanced up at her, waiting.

  “I’m still new at this,” she said, “but . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “But shouldn’t we be able to see some bruising by now? I mean look. Her skin is weirdly pale—everywhere. Doesn’t it get all blotchy when you die?”

  I nodded. “The blood should have pooled in her lower extremities.”

  “But it didn’t. It’s like it’s just . . . gone.”

  I sighed. “I should take her back to the Temple. We’ll get her cleaned up, and then we’ll check carefully before we send her to the South Grounds.”

  “That’s it?” Alis blinked at me, then back at the Avanir. “Kulni, doesn’t this all seem a little . . . suspicious? Especially,” she lowered her voice, “after what we learned? About E’tuah.”

  “I don’t know, Alis. I just . . .” I heaved another sigh. “I don’t know what to think right now. We knew she was sick. We knew . . . Yl’avah’s might, we should have watched her more carefully.”

  “But Kulni, why would she come here of all places? Why the Avanir?”

  “It’s a powerful symbol.”

  “Yes, but of what?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. But I think . . . I think it’s time for another visit to the Hall.”