Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “Say it again.”

  I opened my eyes. He was standing over me, staring down the cold length of my keshu. Grim and unsmiling.

  “I don’t want to die,” I whispered.

  “Then get up.”

  He snapped the keshu away. Slowly, agonizingly, I turned over. I dragged one knee beneath me, then the other. I brought a hand to my face. I felt the broken nose, the wash of blood, the bruised jaw. My fingers came away wet with my own shame.

  He lifted my keshu, inspecting the blade, turning it.

  “Defend the righteous. Destroy the wicked.” He sneered. “How pretentious. As if you knew of such things or had any power to judge.”

  I couldn’t speak. I looked away, hating him. Hating myself more.

  “You could have walked away. I gave you an easy way out. We could have done this gently.” He lowered his voice. “But perhaps it’s better this way. A lesson you won’t forget, isn’t that right, Ishvandu?”

  I said nothing.

  “Don’t worry. Your shame will pass, and you’ll be alive. Won’t Tala be glad?”

  He stepped nearer, towering over me. I tried to turn away. Something was burning my eyes and running down my face. I couldn’t tell if it was blood or tears.

  He gripped my face and leaned close. “They’re coming.”

  “What?”

  “Two camels, still distant, but riding hard. One is a Guardian, the other a white robe.”

  Oh, Yl’avah’s might, no! A Guardian and a white robe. I knew. I knew who they were.

  “Go,” I whispered. “Please go.”

  “I’ll go,” he replied, “when we’re finished here. Now what am I holding?”

  “My keshu.”

  “Your keshu?”

  A stab of dread ran through me. If he kept it, if he claimed it as his own . . .

  “I swore an oath on it. It’s mine.”

  He laughed. “An oath. A real blood-oath.” He leaned closer. “I release you from your oath.”

  The words were like a slap. I swallowed the rising bile, the nightmare, shaking my head over and over. “You . . . you can’t do that.”

  “I took it from you, didn’t I? Don’t you have rules about that? A Guardian and his oath, sworn into his blade, only to be held by those who own you?”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” I spat. “You can’t just take it from me and—”

  “I didn’t just take it from you, did I?” He laughed. “I gave you a choice. Live, or die.” He tilted the blade, the edge glistening with a smear of red. “And you chose, sealed by your own blood. So let’s make it a new oath. An oath to live. To be better than them. Smarter. To see more. That’s what I give you.”

  He spun the keshu around, the hilt hovering within reach. Inviting me to take it. To take it from him. A sign of lordship.

  A shiver ran through me. This, or death.

  I choked down my humiliation. They were coming. I had to end this. No one could see. Not even Tala. Especially not Tala.

  I reached out and took it.

  Shatayeth’s hand closed over mine, trapping it against the hilt. He looked at me. “You understand what this means?”

  I could’t meet his eye. My face burned, jaw clenching.

  “You’re not a Guardian anymore.”

  A hole opened inside me. I could deny it. I could say he was wrong. I could say he’d taken my keshu by force and had no right to do anything.

  But I had made my choice.

  Live, or die.

  I would live. I would protect Tala, protect the people of Shyandar, be a shield between them and the lies. And one day, I would find a way to destroy Shatayeth an-E’tuah forever.

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “Go build your little well if you must, but remember: you can run from the Avanir, but sooner or later, every path leads back to the source.”

  He released me and straightened. “They’ve seen us,” he said.

  I swallowed, and with a shaking hand, I fumbled to get the keshu back in its sheath, still cradling my broken wrist. I stumbled to my feet. I glanced behind me. Yes. There was a cloud of dust rising. Two riders.

  I groaned. They couldn’t see me here. I staggered towards Yma. Everything spun, and I almost blacked out. The desert went dark. The sun vanished.

  I was leaning against the camel. Yma had knelt to catch me. I dug my fingers into her wiry coat. But the shuddering ground grew louder and a cloud of dust blew into my face.

  “Vanya!” I heard Tala’s voice. She vaulted off her camel. Her keshu sang free of its sheath. “Get away from him!”

  “No,” I said thickly. I tried to turn around, to stop her. She was between us, facing Shatayeth, sword drawn.

  “Don’t!” I cried. “Don’t!”

  I took a few faltering steps. My knees buckled, but Kulnethar caught me, arms wrapped around my chest from behind. He was breathing hard.

  “Light and all, Vanya,” he gasped. No. I didn’t want him to see this. He couldn’t. Couldn’t. Yet his grip was strong, holding me back, holding me up, oddly comforting.

  Shatayeth just stood there, watching us, the casual amusement back on his face.

  “What did you do to him?” Tala cried, brandishing her keshu, feet shifting into attack stance. “Didn’t I warn you, you wretch? You stay away from him!”

  I gasped. “No . . . no . . .” I couldn’t break Kulnethar’s hold. My limbs felt sluggish, my words heavy.

  “Tala,” Kulnethar said, giving voice to my plea. “I think you should back off.”

  Shatayeth smiled. A hand twitched at his side. He wanted to fight her. Yl’avah’s might, he wanted to, and I could see him struggling to control himself. He could kill her. He could do it easily. All too easily. And I would be helpless to stop him.

  “Another time perhaps, little Guardian.” His mouth twitched. “Let’s not damage him too much in one day.”

  Tala edged back.

  “That’s right. Take him.” Shatayeth lifted his chin. “I won’t stop you. Go clean him up. Say nice things to him. Spread your legs. All those important wife tasks.”

  She bristled, glaring at him with impotent rage. “I will kill you, Shatayeth.” She spat his name like a curse.

  He smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  “Come on,” Kulnethar muttered in my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I swallowed and nodded. He helped me onto Yma’s back. I clung to her, swaying, feeling sick.

  “Can you hold on?”

  I nodded.

  He hesitated, then climbed onto his own camel, clicking his tongue for Yma to follow. She did.

  I strained to glance behind me. Tala was hesitating, chest heaving in anger, trembling. But when she saw us moving away, she dragged herself back, and back again, then slammed her keshu home and leapt onto her camel, spurring it to join us.

  And all the while, Shatayeth stood, gazing after us until we vanished into the shifting sands.

  We were silent all the way back to Shyandar. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I faded in and out. My head was pounding. Something was leaking. Blood was smeared on Yma’s neck, on my hands. I stared at it, feeling detached, distant from what was happening.

  We reached the gate and stopped.

  “No one can see him like this,” Tala said.

  “I know.” Kulnethar dismounted. “You’ll have to get him fresh robes. I’ll do what I can to clean him up. We’ll wait here for you. Okay?”

  She nodded. She shot me a look—a heart-wrenching mix of shame and fear. Then she led her camel through the gate and rode away towards the Hall.

  Kulnethar gripped my knee, giving me a little shake. “Vanya?”

  “I’m here,” I mumbled.

  “Okay, good. I’m going to help you off.”

  I nodded. I swung myself out of the saddle, but misjudged my own weakness. I toppled, almost knocking Kulnethar over, jarring my broken wrist. The pain speared up to
my shoulder, snapping me awake.

  I dropped to my knees and threw up.

  Kulnethar just held me, steadying me. “You’ve had a nasty blow to the head.” He spoke quietly. “And you’ve lost some blood. I brought what supplies I could in a hurry, but we might have to get you to the Temple.”

  “No, no . . . no one can know,” I gasped as he helped me onto my back.

  “That’s going to be difficult.” He shook his head, frowning. “Vanya, you’re a mess.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. Let’s see. Broken nose, concussion, a knife wound—shallow, but nasty—broken wrist.” He probed the arm. “Looks like it got wrenched around pretty badly. I’ll have to set it. And bruised ribs, too, if I’m not mistaken. Yl’avah’s might, he was thorough.” He sighed. “But not obvious. No unnecessary pounding. So you got thrown by your camel and trampled.”

  I shook my head. “Yma? No, they’ll . . . they’ll put her down.”

  “Look,” he snapped. “You want me to spin a stupid lie for you? Again? Then it’s my decision and this is the only thing plausible enough to work. She was spooked by a blacksnake. It happens to the best of them. But she crushed the snake and saved your life, so maybe they’ll give her a second chance.”

  I grunted. “And the snake had a knife?”

  He thought about it. “You got dragged. The rocks were sharp. We’ll bandage that up, just don’t let anyone look too closely. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  He reached towards my face. “Vanya?”

  “What?”

  “I already knew. My father didn’t send you the scroll. I did.”

  What could I say to that? It was all out now. He knew everything. I looked away.

  “I kept hoping you would tell me,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “And say what?”

  “The truth.” His fingers touched my broken nose, searching.

  “Lies are easier . . . sometimes.”

  He nodded, then pushed. My nose snapped back into place. I grunted in pain, but clenched my teeth against a cry, feeling foolish and frustrated, embarrassed by the whole blasted situation.

  Kulnethar said nothing, got to work, passing me water, stripping away my robes, cleaning the cuts, giving me little sips of something that wasn’t water.

  He shook his head. “You think lies are easier? Your lies could have gotten you and Tala killed.”

  “The lies were to keep her away.”

  “And you thought she wouldn’t figure it out?”

  “She refused to let me go.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “I had to do something.”

  “Right. So let’s run off to face Shatayeth Undying alone. Good choice, Vanya.”

  “Tell that to your father.”

  “He tried to warn you.”

  I shook my head. “He sent me.”

  Kulnethar paused halfway through a dressing. “He what?”

  “He sent me. He sent me to kill E’tuah. Made me swear to it.”

  “That’s not true,” he stared at me, blinking. “Ishvandu, that’s not true.”

  “Whatever.” I turned away. “Believe whatever you blasting want. Your father sent me to die.”

  “But . . . but he wouldn’t!”

  I said nothing. I didn’t care anymore. Everything felt meaningless. Even the expedition. Like everything was just spinning around and around, a sand-blasted waste of time.

  The expedition. I couldn’t go into the desert like this anyway. So another failure.

  Once I was cleaned up and tended, we sat in silence, sipping water and watching the shadows spin against the sun. I wanted to fall asleep, but Kulnethar kept nudging me awake. “Not yet, Vanya.”

  Tala returned with the robes. I couldn’t look at her. She helped me dress, her hands oddly gentle. She should be furious with me. Why wasn’t she more upset?

  She wrapped the belt around me, tied it shut, and glanced up. Our eyes met.

  “Tala . . .” I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I should have told you.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

  “But I lied to you. I said I wouldn’t go after him and I did.”

  “I know. You were just trying to do what you thought was right. And . . . I should have been there. I should have stood with you. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Tala!” I gripped her hand. “If you were there, he would have killed you. You have to promise me—promise me you won’t go after him.”

  She was silent a moment, then squeezed my hand. “Vanya—why aren’t you dead?”

  I went cold. Shame washed over me—stronger than before, gnawing my mind into a bruised and bloody pulp.

  Live, or die.

  She couldn’t know. Tala could never know.

  “I don’t . . .” I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  She glanced worriedly at Kulnethar, then back at me. “He could have killed you, Ishvandu, but he didn’t. He wants you alive. What does he want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to know?”

  “Tala, I don’t—”

  “Your keshu was sheathed. Why?”

  “Because I failed.” I ground my teeth in frustration. “Is that what you want to hear? I failed. I failed.”

  “I don’t care that you failed, Ishvandu. But I need the truth. As a Guardian. If you promised him something, agreed to—”

  “Am I traitor?” I snapped. “Is that what you think? And you’ve never made compromises? What about Lidyana? She’s a rebel, but we don’t care because we like her. And you’re so ready to judge me? Don’t!”

  My voice lashed out, ringing against the stone wall. Tala looked at me, and something cold fell over her. Like a cord between us, snapping.

  She stood. “Kylan, I’ll tell Umaala your story. Just bring him back when he’s ready.”

  Without another glance, she turned and rode back to the Hall.

  Healer

  The Ellendandur Forest

  Year 799 after the fall of Kayr

  What if this world of blood and earth is not the limit of our existence? Don’t you feel it? The Heart of the World beating in your chest? She is calling you, my child, and one day, you will learn to hear her voice. Don’t ignore it. Don’t be afraid of it. Follow where it leads you.

  There is power in the Unseen, and one day, she will teach you how to put it right.

  Spirit-Seer

  Towns, Balduin quickly decided, were wrong.

  Tellern was grey and shabby. There were no trees, no rivers bubbling through it, no birdsong—only the throaty menace of crows.

  And the people were just as odd. They had Imo’ani faces and Imo’ani hair, if occasionally chopped short, but clothes and mannerisms more of the Manturian Isles than the forest. Why did no one come out to meet him? Surely their Guardian had to make an appearance? Someone in charge would notice him—wouldn’t they?

  He hovered near the main road half the morning, waiting for someone to welcome him. He got nothing more than suspicious glances and hurried steps.

  Perhaps the customs here were different? Perhaps he was the one being rude?

  He took a deep breath, scrunched up his face in determination, and approached his first Tellern stranger.

  “He…hello?” he asked. “My name is Balduin Na-es of Elamori. I’m a visitor here. Can you help me? I’m looking for—”

  The man grunted and moved off without letting him finish.

  Maybe he was sick? Maybe he didn’t speak Imo’ani?

  Balduin frowned, but tried again, and again, earning cold glances and a laugh or two, when he got anything at all.

  “I’m looking for someone,” he managed to get out on his fifth try. “He looks like a Southerner: light hair, tall, maybe with a beard. And he’s a healer. His name is Alutan Na-es. Do you know him?”

  The woman shook her head, th
en directed him to a wayhouse.

  The gathering place looked almost promising. The woman at the front, Ember, welcomed him, and a man named Daryn struck up a real conversation with him.

  “You could always try south,” he offered, when Balduin asked about Alutan. “Calton’s a far more likely place to find Southerners, don’t you know?”

  “Where’s Calton?”

  “A pair of weeks on foot down the road, o’ course!”

  “And is it like Tellern?”

  The man laughed. “First time peeking outta your eastward village, eh, Patches?”

  Balduin ignored the jibe at his splotchy skin. “Well, it’s my first time in a city.”

  The table roared in laughter.

  “You think this here’s a city? Just wait till you look on Calton. Now that’ll drop your balls faster than a whore.”

  They smirked and chuckled, but if it was a joke, Balduin didn’t get it.

  “So what’s your take on the Road, then? Hm?” Daryn leaned close. “Your young sensibilities piqued by that marvel?”

  Balduin pursed his lips. The Road. The first time he’d seen it, he’d collapsed onto a dead stump and wept until nightfall. Only once it was hidden by merciful shadow could he find the strength to get up and stagger back into the forest.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Daryn continued. “Ten years or more took ‘em to build it, two month’s journey from Manquin to Tillex, used to be, laid stone by stone—so’s now a fast rider can make it in a week.” He chuckled. “Maybe two, if he needs to piss more than others. And I’ll wager you never thought such a thing was possible in all your sheltered little life. Progress, Patches. That’s what Northmen ways can bring you.”

  “You really think so?” Balduin eyed the man.

  “I know so. Look at us here. Fine clothes, good ale, those things they call books, and cast-iron skillets that’ll fry up an egg like snapping your fingers.” He laughed. “Not to mention a spot of gunpowder.”

  “You mean you want all that stuff?”

  “Course we do! Why else are we on the bleeding Road?”

  “But…but it’s dead.”

  Daryn laughed. “What’s dead?”