Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  At first, there was no sound. Only the chill of something rising in the night.

  “Sumadi,” one of the Labourers whispered, and the dreaded word ran through the crew like a mist.

  “No,” Koryn hissed, pulling up his camel. “Worse.”

  I clenched my jaw. The sound began like a trembling under our feet. The air stirred. At first like a gentle breath, then a groan. Then the dust kicked into the air and my robe snapped.

  “Yl’avah, save us,” I heard Kulnethar groan.

  “Form up!” I shouted.

  Blurred figures stirred in confusion. The Labourers had no idea what was happening. Tala leapt off her camel, marching into the midst of them, and I heard her voice carry over the sudden noise.

  “Hold to your neighbour!” she cried. “Do not let go! Huddle close, and it will pass.”

  The Guardians pulled their camels into a wall. Benji and Arkaya struggled not to show their Novice’s fear. Kulnethar ran amongst the Labourers, herding them together.

  Then the storm hammered us. A maelstrom of dust and debris filled our ears, tore away our head wraps, and clawed into our lungs. No one could cry out, and if they did, they were unheard. We gripped each other for life. I was holding Lidyana, Yma’s reins under my arm, grimacing through the pain in my wrist. Everything else was beyond my control.

  The sky was beginning to pale by the time the wind subsided. I heard groans and cries, coughing, hacking.

  We counted heads. There should have been ten Guardians, ten Labourers, two Crafters, and a white-robe. Twenty-three. We counted again and again. We searched. We dug through the sand. We sent small forays out into the blackness. We waited for dawn and spread out, looking for signs. But at the end of it, there were only twenty-two of us left.

  Dayasha, the mason’s apprentice, was gone.

  Our second day of travel was bleak.

  We could have stayed and dug through the heaps of dust, searching for the body, but truthfully, he could be anywhere. He could have wandered off, separated somehow, despite all our efforts. He could have been taken by the Sumadi. He could have fallen asleep, buried by the sand—perhaps lost before the storm even began.

  But if we stayed, we lost more precious time—and for what? To show them a body, to underscore the precariousness of our situation and increase their fear?

  In a coughing daze, lungs choked, air thick with dust, we dug up our supplies and shook out our clothes and our hair. Koryn looked at me like I should say something, but my mind had been emptied of any meaningful inspiration.

  It was Kulnethar who stepped up, gripping my shoulder as he faced our haggard crew.

  “Dayasha could still be alive out there,” he said. “He could have turned around back for Shyandar. Do not let fear take you.”

  He looked at me.

  I swallowed. Kulnethar offered hope, but I was an outrider. I knew. Dayasha was probably dead. A sudden urge to order everyone back to Shyandar rose inside of me. To turn around. To give up.

  To go back to the Avanir.

  “Never,” I snapped. “We push on. We will find water today. I promise you.”

  Some nodded, but most glared at me with stoic disbelief. Already they doubted me. They doubted the well. Water had become a myth, some intangible idea fed to them in scant drops—just enough to survive, and nothing more. A hope that would never materialize.

  I ignored them, but I could not ignore Tala’s eyes. Her sad, doubting eyes. I had promised to protect them, and already I had failed.

  But what else could I do?

  We would be there soon. They would see. The hole in the ground would have swelled with water by now, and everyone would drink their fill when we arrived. Spirits would lift. They would see.

  “We do not stop,” I said. “Anuai awaits.”

  Then I mounted Yma and rode on, and with weary steps, one by one, they followed.

  We crossed the Bones at midday.

  It was a vicious heat. It was worse than anything in Shyandar. Labourers groaned. Water and sweat flowed. I rode at the front now, not even glancing behind.

  We were close. Stop, and we’d perish.

  At least we had made the relative shelter of the cliffs. Not that there was much place to hide at full midday.

  Not even Kulnethar suggested stopping.

  And then it appeared: the sheltered place between cliffs, a mix of steep and jagged slopes, a dip in the earth, a few struggling bushes—and the place where the well was.

  Where it had been.

  The storm had blown through, burying everything, leaving nothing but drifts and rocks.

  I dismounted. I stumbled over the ground, kicking up sand, searching, searching. I straightened and began tracing a wider circle, wider and wider, until the horrid truth began to sink in.

  I staggered to a stop, unable to speak as twenty-one people gathered around me with anxious looks, wondering where the water was, beginning to mutter and glance around, the reality dawning in their eyes.

  “Is this your well?” Adar ab’Dara finally asked, stepping forward. There was a hint of challenge in his eyes. Are you going to give up so easily? Are you going to lead us out here for nothing?

  I wanted to lash out in anger, but something held me back. He was watching. Waiting. He was pushing me on purpose. He wanted this. He wanted the expedition to succeed as much as I did.

  “Shut it, mudfoot,” Koryn snapped as he dismounted. “Or you’ll taste the skin off your back before the day’s out—as will anyone who speaks against—”

  “Yes,” I said. It came out as a croak. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Yes!” I said again, louder. “This is our well. Are you idiots blind? It’s blasting beautiful. Now let’s dig it up before the desert kills us. And Koryn?”

  He grunted at me.

  “These are my people. Insult them again and I’ll take it personally.”

  “Then get them under control,” he muttered under his breath. “Or this whole sand-shitting debacle will be bloody and short.”

  I nodded. I could do this. I had to do this. Out here, I was Umaala. Time to act like it.

  “Alright crew!” I shouted, holding Koryn’s eye for just a moment. “First we set up base. You three, get the camels unloaded and I want rations there, tents there, water there. You’ll listen to Mani. She’s head of supplies. You four, follow ab’Tanadu’s directions to get these shelters up. Adar?”

  The man’s chin lifted.

  “You’ll organize shifts. I expect digging to start before sunfall tonight, here.” I stomped a foot where I was pretty sure the well had been.

  “You got it,” he said.

  “Masons—”

  “Just one of us, now,” growled Baraaba, arms folded.

  “Not anymore. Pick one of the Labourers to assist you. He or she will be under your authority until we’re back in Shyandar. You want Dayasha’s life to count? Then do this for him. Don’t fail him.”

  The man grunted but nodded.

  “What about water?” Lidyana called. “We can’t work in this heat without water.”

  “We have water.”

  “I don’t see any.”

  “We have enough for now, woman, and I will get you more. Understand? Question me again, and you’ll sit out the next time it gets passed around. Anyone has a concern, you’ll address it to Atali sai’Neraia. Anyone feels ill, you’re responsible to see our healer, Elder ab’Ethanir, whose orders take precedence. He tells you to rest, you do it. Now move.”

  I tried not to look shocked when they actually jumped into action. I glanced at Tala again. I couldn’t help it. Be with me. Please.

  She met my eye. She nodded—then looked away, a furrow in her brow.

  Talk to her. I had to apologize for my stupid words . . .

  Later. I would find her later, give her time to settle in.

  “Ishvandu.” Koryn approached me, voice lowered. “Where do you think you’re getting water from? You can’t promise them water tomorrow when it’s down
there.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  He glowered at me. “You might be the leader of this expedition, but I’m still the leader of this kiyah. If you know something, you’ll tell me.”

  “I have to look into it. Tonight.”

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with this hidden valley of yours, would it?”

  “I know where it is.”

  He snorted. “No, Vanya. I’m not letting you wander off in the night to get yourself killed.”

  “Let me?” I raised a brow. I had authority here. That’s what the Al’kah had given me, and sands take everything, if it meant the success of this mission, I was going to use it. “Koryn, there are twenty-two of us and enough water for one of two things: a fast trip home, or a slow death. Which would you choose?”

  “Sometimes retreat is wise.”

  “Oh, really? You want to face the Al’kah and tell him you wasted all these supplies in the middle of Kaprash—not to mention one dead mason—for nothing?”

  “It’s better than the second option.”

  “Unless there’s a third. Now as long as we’re out here, I’m the one in charge and you’ve been ordered by the Al’kah to obey. Are really going to try to stop me?”

  Koryn’s nostrils flared. “I know my orders, you little shit.” Then he leaned forward. “But don’t get too comfortable. My sister’s none too happy with you right now, and if you don’t man up and face whatever stupid thing you did, then orders or not, I’ll make you regret it.”

  “There’s the Koryn I know and love!” I flashed him my teeth. “Look, I can’t deal with that right now, but I will. Got it? Now just watch for the shades tonight. Can you do it?”

  “Hold on. You’re not leaving me to do your—”

  “I trust you.” I slapped him on the shoulder and decided his growling reply would have to be affirmation enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  I waited for the cover of night.

  Weighed down with dozens of empty water skins slapping my back and my thighs, stuffed into my pack and hanging off it, all strung together with rope, I began the climb.

  Even if Gitaia was just over the next peak, I had to bring back enough water for twenty-two people. It would mean a dangerous climb over precarious rock, one-handed, with more water than I could transport in a single trip. It would be a long night—perhaps several—but I had to do it.

  And I had to do it alone.

  The moon was heavy in the sky, lighting my way as I climbed. I went slowly up the jagged blackness. My robe was soaked through with sweat. My arm ached. The fingers of my good hand clung to the stone, bruised from gripping. I stopped to rest, then kept going, hauling myself up one painful crevice at a time.

  Soon, the slope had become a cliff. I pressed myself into the rock face, not daring to look down. One moment of imbalance, and I would fall to my death.

  Live or die.

  I growled as the humiliation of that moment speared back into my head. I hated him. Why hadn’t he just killed me? It might have been better.

  Live. Be better than them. Be smarter. See more.

  The words clanged around inside me. A new oath. The longings of a boy who’d gazed out over the wall. Selfish, faithless longings. And would I let those words define me? Would I let him?

  I stopped, resting against the cliff, feeling the tug of the wind. An invitation. A caress. Pulling me back, back to the centre . . .

  A clatter of stones.

  I tilted my head, struggling to look without losing my balance. Was it him?

  A bolt of fear shot through me. But no, there was no looming presence in the Unseen. Besides, he’d already had the chance to kill me—but he hadn’t.

  Why aren’t you dead?

  Tala. Tala. I groaned as I thought of her. Had I truly lost her trust? And over what? A refusal to explain my humiliation?

  I had to talk to her. I had to apologize. I couldn’t lose her over this. I couldn’t.

  But she would demand an explanation. She would want to know everything. Why aren’t you dead? Why, Vanya?

  I was panting from exhaustion by the time I reached the cliff’s edge. Three distinct rocks pointed up to my left. I crested the top. I groaned and hissed through the pain, the cramping muscles, the deep ache in my wrist.

  And there it was. Gitaia’s lake mirrored back a wrinkled moon. The treetops swayed. The shadows lay deep and sheltered beneath the green.

  But I had misjudged the distance. I was at the top of one cliff—and there were two.

  Directly before me, the rock plunged into a chasm before climbing back to a second peak. From there, the rocks stabbed and knotted together, creating a deadly obstacle, like broken ribs thrust into the sky.

  I slumped to the ground. I could see the water. I could actually see it. But it was unreachable. I would never be able to cross that alone.

  Except that I had to. A fast trip home, or a slow death. If I turned back now, no one would ever follow me again.

  I paced along the edge, looking for the easiest way down. It was a sheer drop. I thought of jumping. It was almost doable. But how would I ever get back? And if I fell, how could I hope to catch myself one-handed?

  I just had to find a way. I reached for one of the ropes, looping it around a pointed rock. I fumbled with the knot. It would have to be a blasted good one. My life would depend on it. Could I use both hands, even just to hold one end?

  I took the rope gently between the fingers of my injured hand, and immediately the pain shot up through my wrist.

  I grimaced. One-handed tying it was.

  Taking hold of the rope, grunting and cursing and dropping it, and grasping it again, I used one elbow to secure it against the rock, while my other tried to manipulate the knot. It was painful, and over and over again, my fingers slipped, or the knot pulled too soon, or something stabbed through my jolted wrist.

  “Need a hand?”

  I swore as I spun to my feet, fumbling for my keshu.

  Breta’s lithe form was crouched at the edge of the cliff, one hand wiggling in acknowledgement.

  I grunted and let the keshu slide back in its sheath. “Go back.”

  She ignored me, gaze wandering towards the distant lake. “Is that it? Yl’avah’s might, it’s beautiful. There were rumours, but I never thought . . .”

  “Breta, you can’t be here.”

  “Look at the trees! It’s like a garden down there.” She whistled. “Sands, but I can’t wait. And—” she clapped her hands. “I can bathe!”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Is it water or poison?” She laughed. “Oh, a bath. I haven’t felt clean in months.”

  “Breta, you should go back. Please.”

  She snorted. “Don’t be such a man. Here.” She snatched the rope from me. “Now if you’re planning on doing what I think you are, an extra set of hands—instead of, you know, one—might be the smart thing. I didn’t trot off into the desert just so I could stand around going sand-shitting nuts while everyone else did all the work. Besides, we can’t have Ishvandu ab’Admundi One-Arm come strolling into camp tomorrow morning with a cart-load of water, summoned up from the sands themselves. Best to share the glory around a bit, don’t you think? There.”

  She yanked the knot tight. Then taking hold of the rope, she strode to the edge.

  “Breta—”

  She shooed me away. “I’m not a child. Let me—oooo. That’s far.” She pulled back, but instead of the dizzying fear I expected, there was a glint in her eye. She looked at me, looked at the chasm, then measured up the far slope. It was slightly lower than us, without the menacingly sheer cliff face. But it was still steep, as if a part of the mountain had been cut away from the rest, slowly sagging over time.

  Breta nodded. “Okay. Doable.” And she began cinching the rope around her waist.

  “Will you just listen to me for a moment? I can’t let you come.”

  She backed
up a few steps.

  “It’s not the danger of the slope,” I continued. “The fall could kill you, yes, but there’s a reason I’m here alone, sands take my injury. Yl’avah’s might, you think I’m so stubbornly proud I wouldn’t accept help? I need it. Yes. Clearly I’m useless, but—”

  My words died. Breta took a running leap—and then launched herself into the dark. I heard the whoosh of air from her lungs, the scrape of sandalled feet, and then nothing. She hung over the chasm like a shadow. My breath caught. Panic flared up under my skin. The shout died on my lips.

  Then she hit the far slope. She bounced, rolled, twisted. The rope snaked out to its length, vibrating as she fell. One arm latched on to a crack, and as her body rotated, both feet slammed into the rock wall—bracing herself. And she stopped.

  She leapt back up, spun to her feet, threw both fists into the air, and whooped. The triumphant cry echoed across the valley, skimming over the lake like a war-call.

  My skin prickled. “Breta, you stupid girl!” I hissed over the chasm. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”

  She just shrugged. Her form was still visible in the moonlight. She looked entirely unconcerned as she pulled the rope taut, searching for an anchor point.

  “My way is better and you know it, Vanya!”

  Her voice bounced merrily over the rocks.

  I imagined E’tuah appearing from the shadows, knife glinting. All it would take was a breath, an instant. I shut my eyes. I couldn’t force her back—all I could do was hurry up and make sure she didn’t face the valley alone.

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming. Hurry and tie it to something.”

  “Maybe it would be easier without you. I’ll still let you walk into camp beside me. You can take your fair share of the recognition.”

  “Shut up! Just . . . hurry and tie the rope so I can shimmy over.”

  Breta laughed. “You’re just going to slow me down.”

  “Maybe because I’m carrying all the water sacks?” I jangled my arms.

  She had already found a solid rock jutting out of the slope and gave it a few good kicks—just to be certain. Then she lashed the rope taut around it.