Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  Balduin glanced at his bare feet and his hard-won coins. Maybe right now wasn’t the time to risk unwanted attention, but could he slip by without them noticing?

  The men leaned in close to one another, speaking in low voices. Then one glanced towards Balduin. He nodded and peeled off from the others.

  “You,” he said. “Kid.”

  Balduin blinked, hurriedly stuffing his coin into his pocket.

  “Me?” he said.

  “Yeah, the scrawny Ellendi oddo who’s been lurking around. Fancy helping your local Watch in a matter of justice?”

  Balduin felt someone behind. He looked. Another serious-looking man in a dark coat. Another gun. Maker above, what was going on here?

  “I…I haven’t done anything wrong. I just traded for some coin. My boots. It’s all I—”

  “Relax. We just wanna talk, kid. We have some questions.”

  “What…what questions?”

  The man spoke over Balduin’s shoulder in Manturian. There was a reply from behind, and a reluctant grunt.

  “Not here,” growled the second man and cast a glance towards Yol’s shop. “Come.”

  Balduin felt the urge to run welling up inside. There was some mistake here. Just a mistake.

  Yet what could he do?

  They just wanted to talk. And who knows. Maybe they knew something about his father?

  Even as he considered it, the thought seemed small and foolish. He dared not look at that impulse too closely, dared not think about what it meant. No, the thing growing in him was too painfully like doubt.

  “Okay,” he murmured. And before he knew it, he was following a member of the Manturian Watch into the back-streets of Calton.

  Outrider

  The Desert

  Year 456 after the fall of Kayr

  We’ve come at last to the emptiness at the heart of the desert. To this desolation she sent us, the Chorah’dyn. No drop of water in sight, no sign of life—save that which we carry.

  Cries of protest have long since vanished into despair. All, all gone! I can barely hold myself together beneath the gaze of its power. I can barely write under its pull.

  Our supplies are nearly spent. How many times did I fear my people would turn to consume their own future? Our seeds and seedlings, our animals and books—our bitter memories?

  But Eshala’sal has taught her Guardians well. Beneath their watch, our legacy is preserved. Our hope, in spite of everything, remains. Yes, I can trust Eshala and her Guardians. I am glad, because for me, the end is close. So close! The black rock with its twisted, grasping fingers, will be my end. It will consume me.

  Ah, but the Life in me is stronger. I believe it. I believe I’ve carried the Lifewater in my veins for this moment. I believe I’ve endured for this moment. Our hope will be born again.

  I believe it because I must.

  - From the Chronicles of the Last Age and the Ending of Kayr, set down by Andari ab’Andala, named Al’kah, first of the Age of Exile: scroll 84, lines 49-57

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  “It’s time,” I told the Labourers and Crafters gathered in the Task Hall. “Be ready. Two days.”

  “And you plan to join us?” one of the crew asked, looking pointedly at my broken arm.

  Adar ab’Dara was one of the most highly respected Labourers in the North Fields. He was also my old foreman. I met his eye. Was he asking if I planned to join them in the desert—or something more?

  “I do,” I said, letting him interpret that how he wished. “I have authority from the Al’kah to guide this expedition to success, and I will.”

  The Al’kah had been furious at the news of my “accident,” but he refused to postpone the expedition beyond a few days, never mind I’d gotten myself trampled by my own stupid camel—or so Kulnethar’s story went. Kaprash marched on, he’d said, and there was no time for sand-blasted bones to heal.

  I found myself agreeing. My arm was still in a sling, but the bruises on my face had diminished to dull splotches of yellow, and I felt a restless energy to be off.

  “But you’re injured,” another Labourer said. “How are you going to protect us? Those things are still out there.”

  “And in here,” I snapped, “behind every shadow. Kaprash is at its height. You think anywhere is safe? It isn’t. But at Anuai, you will have the protection and support of nearly a dozen Guardians, which is more than you could hope for cowering in your huts.”

  They exchanged glances. I caught Tala looking at me, lips pursed. Yl’avah’s might, I was doing this all wrong. Who did I think I was? I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. I wasn’t some leader of men like Adar or Umaala.

  I wasn’t even a Guardian.

  The words slipped through my mind like a stench. I scowled. It wasn’t true. Shatayeth might have humiliated me, but he had no authority over me. He had no right to say what I was or was not.

  I gripped the hilt of my keshu. Standing before these people, right now, I was their Guardian. I had to be. It was that or nothing.

  “Look,” I said. “You want me to say you’ll be fine? That you’ll be safe? And you would believe it?” I laughed. “I won’t do that. I won’t lie to you. This will be hard. You’ll have to work for your lives: your backs will hurt and the sun will beat down on you like a whip. At night, you’ll be cold. You’ll fear every sand-shitting shadow. You’ll get tight rations and little thanks. So basically, just like every other blasted day of your lives. Am I right?”

  That got a few knowing snorts. Adar crossed his arms.

  “I was a Labourer too,” I continued. “I get it. But you were all given a choice: stay here and dig ditches, or join me and do the best blasted work of your lives. In the desert, you get to make a difference. You get to pull fresh water every day from the well you dug. So what’ll it be? A hard life here, or a hard life out there? Make your choice and then shut up about it.”

  I saw a few frowning nods. They didn’t particularly like their choices, but they respected a straight answer. Kaprash stretched on with no end in sight. The death toll was rising. The crops needed harvesting, and Labourers had been sent back to work, regardless of low water rations. Several had fallen to exhaustion, though the numbers were kept quiet. There wasn’t much more to fear out there than what they already faced.

  “I for one can’t wait to see beyond those walls,” Lidyana said. “It’s an opportunity.”

  I glanced at the woman. Tala’s rebellious friend hadn’t exactly had a choice. It was this, or be exposed for her actions. Still, I appreciated her show of support.

  Mason Baraaba grunted. “That’s right. I’m happy to put my skills to a bit more challenge.”

  “I’m in,” the mason’s assistant added.

  “And so am I!” said a young Labourer, suddenly energized by his fellows’ enthusiasm.

  “Aye, we’re all in.” Adar glanced around. I noticed his gaze lingered on a few of the less eager recruits.

  Ask Lidyana for names, I had told Tala. One leader. Someone they’d never dare act without.

  Lidyana had agreed, with one condition: the leader of the rebellion would be included, but not singled out. Not yet. Seeing those gathered, it was unnecessary. I’d always had my suspicions. I knew who to watch. I knew who held the most influence here.

  I also knew I could use that.

  “Good,” I said. “Then you have your assignments. Two days from now, at last light, meet us behind the Hall. Dismissed.”

  Tala ushered them out of the room. Everyone followed—except for Adar. My old foreman watched me. “Yanebashi,” he said. “So this is your legacy, eh? Water in the desert.”

  “It will be ours together, ab’Dara,” I said.

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “Why? Aren’t you joining us?” I echoed his question with a raised brow.

  “I’m a Labourer, ab’Admundi. I don’t expect a second glance for my efforts. You, on the other hand, are a Guardian.
And—” he leaned in. “I always knew it.”

  I grunted. “Trust me, I didn’t.”

  “Well, here you are. And now you get to order me around.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m glad it’s you and not some other insufferably arrogant sand-shitter.”

  “I’m afraid there are a couple of those coming too. But don’t worry, I’ll try to do most of the unnecessary ordering around—mudfoot.”

  He snorted. “Careful, boy. I could probably still take you.”

  “Uh huh. And I could probably let you try.”

  “Then why don’t you? Unless you’re afraid of pissing yourself in front of the other blades.”

  I gave him a condescending little pat on the shoulder, glad the man was comfortable enough to bandy insults.

  “I’ll see what I can do, Adya, my old friend. I’m sure there’ll be opportunities for a little entertainment on this trip. Don’t you think?”

  He laughed. “Any time, young blade. Any time.”

  I followed him out. Tala was waiting for me at the end of the corridor, stone-faced and grim.

  I waited until we were alone.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “You know my thoughts.”

  “About them.”

  She studied the floor between us. “You gave them a purpose. Some will take hold of that, some won’t. But they’re afraid, Vanya,” she glanced up at me, “and they have a right to be.”

  “I won’t fail them.”

  She said nothing.

  “I can do this, Tala. We all can.”

  “If Shatayeth lets you.”

  I hissed under my breath, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. “Don’t speak of him.”

  “Vanya, this isn’t right. You should not be leading them out there, and you know it.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You do. Tell the Al’kah it’s not safe.”

  “Not safe? Weren’t you listening? Nowhere is safe!”

  “And some places are less safe than others.”

  “These are my orders, Tala. From the Al’kah.”

  “Then change your orders. Lie. Tell the Al’kah you can feel the Sumadi crawling in the desert out there. Tell him they’re waiting for us.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” She crossed her arms. “Why in the blasted sands not, Vanya? Because he wants this to happen?”

  Numb fingers twitched against the memories. The snap of bone, the infuriating helplessness. “I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

  “We’ve never had this conversation. That’s the problem.”

  “No.” I turned away.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She marched after me. “You want my help with this? I deserve the truth. I—”

  “Fine. Stay here in Shyandar. I don’t need your help.”

  “That’s not the point, you stubborn idiot!”

  I swirled to face her. “Would you rather I died? I should have taken the edge of my own keshu, like a proper Guardian. Is that it?”

  “What?”

  “You think I’m a failure. Fine. Maybe I am, but I’m alive. I came back for you.”

  “Then act like it!” she shouted, eyes sparking.

  I laughed. “I should have known better. I should have known you’d want a sand-shitting proper Guardian. Go find one, for all I care.”

  She screamed and shoved me against the wall, hammering my already bruised chest. Hammering it again. Then she marched away.

  I slumped against the wall, disgust welling up inside me.

  Go after her. Go after her and apologize!

  I didn’t.

  I swore and stomped down the corridor. I had to find my kiyah. I had to finalize our plans. I had too much to do to worry about—

  “Ishvandu ab’Admundi?”

  A Guardian was standing near the entrance to the main yard. Just standing. Like he’d been waiting for me.

  Yl’avah’s might, how much had he overheard?

  “What?”

  “You’re wanted in the Circle Chamber at once.”

  “Now?” It came out with all the exasperation I felt.

  The older Guardian raised a brow. “Should I tell the Al’kah to wait for a time of greater convenience to yourself?”

  “The Al’kah?”

  “He says he’s very interested in the progress you’re making.”

  “Tell him it’s going fantastically.”

  The Guardian raised a brow.

  “Alright,” I sighed, giving in. “Tell him I’m coming.” Yl’avah’s might, I was growing exhausted with these constant reports—first to Umaala and Neraia, and now to the Al’kah himself.

  The Guardian didn’t move.

  “You’re going to take me straight there, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Those were my orders.”

  “Wonderful. Because sometimes I get lost between here and the big tower right in front of us.”

  “I can imagine,” he returned dryly. “Let’s go.”

  Two days later, we gathered at the back of the Hall: Guardians, Labourers, and Crafters alike swathed in the winding robes of an outrider. Only our red sashes set us apart—and the blades at our hips.

  The sun glared at us in its descent. The Labourers milled nervously around. The Guardians were making their last rounds, checking straps, passing out water skins, saying nothing.

  Only Tala’s voice could be heard as she circulated amongst the Labourers, speaking quiet reassurance.

  I glanced towards the Avanir. Its twisted peak was just visible above the fields and houses of Shyandar. I would be glad to see the last of it for a while. Even now, with that quick brush of my eyes, I could feel it digging into my brain. Louder. More insistent. And the longer I looked, the longer I wanted to look. The more I leaned forwards, as if straining to hear its voice. To hear . . . something.

  “I’m here!” a voice cried, snapping me out of the Unseen.

  I hissed. Angry at myself for getting drawn in again. Angry at the interruption.

  Bright hair flapped above a bright robe as Kulnethar jogged into view.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. There was a situation at the Temple. All’s well now. I’m here. Did I miss anything?”

  He was sweating from the long trek across the north fields, a wood-frame sack bouncing across his shoulders, belt loaded with supplies, water hanging off him like a camel.

  “Yl’avah’s might, Kylan, did you bring half the Temple with you?”

  He shrugged. “When one healer has to keep the whole lot of you alive, who knows what I’ll need.”

  “No one’s carrying that for you.”

  “I know.”

  “I could,” Benji piped up, sitting proud atop his camel, as if one journey into the desert and he was a full outrider now.

  I silenced him with a hard look.

  The weight on Kulnethar’s back would slow him down and tire him out. By sunfall, his feet would be screaming beneath the load. But I couldn’t afford to let my Guardians be seen as pack-animals. “Don’t fall behind,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  I rode at the back of the line, Tala at the front with Koryn. The gates parted. The world appeared. The red sun cut across the open ground like a wound, and a murmur ran through the Labourers.

  Their first glimpse of the desert.

  “We don’t stop,” I announced from the back. “We make straight for Anuai. There is water there and shelter. Everything we need. We make it before midday tomorrow, or face the full heat of the open desert. Understood?

  They nodded.

  “Good. Then what are we waiting for?”

  Koryn kicked his camel forward, Tala beside him. The Labourers hesitated, glancing at one another with dubious looks. It was Adar ab’Dara who strode after the camels without pause and the others fell in step behind him. My kiyah rode three on either side and Mani on my right, Kulnethar tromping along with the baggage camels.

  We passed through the gates. We pas
sed from the familiar into the unknown. And when I had cleared the walls, I heard the gates close behind us and the bar thump into place. And with that, it was begun.

  It didn’t take long for the muttering to begin: snatches of “dragging us out into the desert to die,” and, “all night without a break?”

  Koryn never slowed his pace. In the best of times, I knew the Labourers could keep up. But this was late Kaprash. Feet were heavy. Strength flagged.

  Kulnethar levelled with me once the sun had vanished.

  “Look Vanya, there’s a few camels that aren’t so heavy-laden. Maybe we could start giving them turns. Rotate a bit. Rest the feet.”

  “No,” I said.

  “It’s going to be a long night. We’ll get there faster if—”

  “How many outridings have you been on, Elder ab’Ethanir?”

  He hesitated.

  “How many?”

  “One,” he finally said in an exhale of breath.

  Trushya. The memory came back to me. My first sight of a Sumadi-scarred corpse.

  “One,” I echoed. “Stick to being an Elder, and let me be the outrider.”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it again and pushed forward to rejoin the others.

  Once true dark came, a hush descended. Second quarter. Stars brightened to painful spears of light, bringing the cold of midnight. Words ceased. Only camel hoofs and sandals could be heard, thunking against the sand.

  Backs drooped. Arms hung limp. A few stumbled with weariness.

  Always Kulnethar was there, propping them back up, speaking encouragement, sharing a sip of water. Never mind his own heavy load.

  No stopping. I couldn’t start this expedition by contradicting my own command.

  And then we saw it. The stars ahead went dark. The black horizon vanished.