Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  I sagged to the ground. I sat there, staring at the man’s body. Two dead. Two I had tried to save—to no avail.

  What sort of healer was I?

  Shatayeth Undying circled around, then crouched on the other side of the body, across from me. He just watched me, saying nothing, and I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being studied, like an unfamiliar species of plant.

  I decided to meet his eyes.

  They were absolutely pitiless. They were empty. They twisted inside me, a premonition that this was not the end. I would not die here. Not yet. But one day, whenever this man, this thing, was finished with me—then, I would die.

  The certainty of it settled in my gut like a stone.

  He saw, and smiled.

  “So,” he said at last. “What will you do now?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He lifted a brow. “Look around you, ab’Ethanir, and explain what just happened.”

  “You killed a man.”

  “I warned him. He chose to attack anyway.”

  “You spared Ishvandu’s life under the same circumstances.”

  He shook his head. “Not the same.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he never did. My grip tightened on Akkoryn’s arm. I felt strangely detached, like maybe this was all a horrible dream. I spoke, but the words sounded distant. “I’ll bring him back, wash his body, sing over him . . .”

  “A body.” Shatayeth nodded. “Yes. And who killed him?”

  “You did.”

  “Is that what you’ll say?”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it. I glanced down at Akkoryn. He was covered in blood. Blood from a knife wound. And Tala’s keshu still lay on the ground—bloodied.

  “Ah. There it is,” Shatayeth said. “Now you understand.”

  I groaned. He was right. How could I even begin to explain this? An ytyri stone, a moonlit sword fight, and Shatayeth Undying himself . . .

  “The truth will get them both executed,” he said quietly.

  “No.”

  “So who is at fault?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Who will take the blame for it?”

  “No!” I stood, heart pounding. “I won’t. I won’t lie for them again. I won’t do it. I . . . I . . . Go! Get away from here!”

  He laughed. “Think about it. Elder.”

  Then he slipped calmly into the night.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  The Sumadi came for us. A brief and vicious strike.

  This time, we were ready. We rushed into formation. We fought them off, striking two of them down, protecting the Labourers, and driving the shadows away.

  Except when we took count, two Guardians were missing—and one Elder.

  “Kulnethar!”

  Teams of Guardians and Labourers spread out, calling their names over and over again, letting them echo into the night.

  “Koryn! Tala! Kulnethar ab’Ethanir!”

  Tala. I groped for the Sending stone, wondering if I could use it to find her—and nothing. I slapped my robes, a dozen fears flashing through my mind. Had it fallen out somewhere? Had anyone seen? Had someone taken it? Koryn. Koryn knew about it now. But so did Kulnethar, and Tala . . .

  The three people who were missing.

  I swore and ducked behind the tents, sprinting towards the hidden place by the cliffs. She said she wouldn’t do it again! She promised!

  I found her doubled over in pain. She was trembling, sweating, struggling not to cry out.

  “Tala!” I cried, rushing towards her.

  She groaned and turned away, weeping into her arm, her whole body clenched and rigid.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you injured? Was it Sumadi?” My voice lashed out in panic.

  “N-n-n . . .”

  “What is it? Talk to me!” I crouched over her, afraid to touch her, thinking of my own pain after being attacked. Yl’avah’s might, if they’d gotten to her . . . ! Sands, where was Kulnethar when I needed him?

  She was shaking her head. She tried to breathe, and sobs wracked her again. “It’s not . . .” she finally gasped. “It’s not . . .”

  “Not Sumadi?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “The Sending stone?”

  She nodded again. Then I noticed a tiny milk-white stone half-buried in the sand. I snatched it up, even as I took her hand. Her grip was painful. Her nails dug into me. I swallowed.

  “Shatayeth?”

  She wept and buried her face. “I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry. I tried . . . I thought I could . . .”

  I pulled her towards me.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I realized her other hand was clutching her belly. The smell of blood and fear burst through me, as fresh as the day it happened. The baby. The cries of pain. Kylan! Kylan, do something!

  I swallowed again, hard.

  “What happened?”

  She told me. She gasped it in painful snatches, clutching harder with every breath. “I had to stop him. I had to try. I didn’t think—never thought Koryn—But I needed my keshu. I thought I would go on by myself. Alone. I told him to leave, but . . . oh, Yl’avah save us, and then he was there . . .”

  She told me how they fought. How fast he was. How they attacked, again and again. She wanted Koryn to run, but he wouldn’t listen. Shatayeth killed him. Then he came for her, his knife . . .

  I went cold. “You still feel it?”

  She nodded and I ran my hand beneath her robes, looking for a cut, a wound, anything to clarify her pain. Nothing.

  “Sands, we don’t know enough about this stone.”

  “Kulnethar,” she gasped. “Kulnethar knows. I told him about it.”

  “Your brother isn’t the only one who went missing.”

  She stiffened. “Kulnethar’s . . . missing?”

  “He wasn’t in his tent. Can’t find him anywhere in the camp. They’ve spread out to look for him.”

  “No!” She tried to sit up, then fell back with a groan, clutching her belly. “Shit! Shit! We have to find him. We have to—”

  “Tala,” I lowered my voice.

  “What?”

  “If Shatayeth has him, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Sands take that man, I don’t care! I won’t let him hurt another person. I won’t!” She struggled to her knees, crying out in pain but refusing to give in.

  “Tala!” I gripped her.

  “Let go!”

  “Tala, you’re not thinking.”

  She roared and shoved me away, stumbling to her feet.

  “Stop!” I grabbed her.

  She lashed out, but I caught the blow, dragging her in close. “You want them to find out about the stone? About him? No one can know, Tala! No one!”

  “You think I care about your blasted secrets right now? People have died!”

  Her words struck me. I paused, breathing hard. Then she staggered back and collapsed, crumpling to her knees. “People I should have protected. My brother, my own brother . . .”

  I stood there, mind churning. I wanted to hold her, but something told me now wasn’t the time. Yl’avah’s might, was it my fault?

  No, I was doing everything, everything I could think of to keep these people safe!

  Shut up, Vanya.

  I scowled.

  A figure appeared behind the tents. “Vanya, is . . . is that you?”

  Breta. I stepped around Tala, desperate to intercept Breta before she saw too much. I caught her and steered her away. “What is it?”

  She gazed at me, a frightened look in her eye.

  “Well?” I cried. “What?”

  “We . . . we found Kulnethar.”

  “And?”

  She glanced around me, towards Tala. Her voice dropped. “And we found Koryn.”

  I pulled Breta further away. “Sands, woman. What happened? What?” I was clutching hard enough to make her wince.


  “I . . .” She twisted out of my grasp. “Just come and see.”

  I hesitated. Tala was still kneeling on the ground, crouched over herself in pain. She needed me.

  And so did everyone else.

  “Go,” Tala groaned. “Just . . .”

  I growled and hurried after Breta. My gut was rolling. I knew Koryn would be dead, Tala had prepared me for that. But Kulnethar? Yl’avah’s might, if he’d gotten himself killed . . .

  We reached the other side of the tents. Kulnethar was standing awkwardly in a ring of Guardians. His white robes were plastered with blood, Tala’s keshu was slung over a shoulder—and Koryn was dead at his feet.

  He met my eye. He saw my relief, and his face clouded over. Which meant he knew about Tala, and he knew I knew. And a hundred painful words passed between us in silence.

  “I’m sorry, Vanya,” he finally said. “I killed him.”

  I almost burst out laughing. Kulnethar kill a Guardian? It was ridiculous. It was impossible. Why—?

  And then I realized what he was doing.

  I shut my eyes.

  “It was an accident,” he said. “I . . . I snuck out of camp. I wanted to walk alone, to think, but I was afraid of Sumadi, so I . . . borrowed a keshu. I thought it wouldn’t do any harm. Akkoryn, he—well, he followed me. I heard the sound of the attack. I was scared so I drew. Akkoryn thought I . . . I was deserting, so he jumped out at me. I thought he was Sumadi . . .”

  Kulnethar trailed off, breathless. One shaking arm held out Tala’s keshu.

  I took it without a word.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Vanya, I never meant . . . I tried to save him . . .”

  I looked down at Koryn’s body, the stab wound below his ribs, a bloodied eye, the face locked in frustration. “I’m sure you did.”

  “And I accept full responsibility for his—”

  “No. Stop. Just . . . just hold on.” I let out a long, heavy breath. “Ab’Tanadu?” The old Guardian looked at me, wary and troubled. “You and Jil, carry the body to the healing tent. Mani, keep order here.”

  “And him?” Ab’Tanadu frowned at Kulnethar.

  I nodded. “I will speak with the Elder. Alone.”

  “But shouldn’t he be . . . ?”

  “I don’t think ab’Ethanir is a danger to us.”

  “But Tala is still missing! What if—”

  “No, she’s not.” Breta folded her arms. “I saw her behind the tents with Vanya. But I think she’s hurt.”

  “That’s what I need the healer for. Now back to watch. All of you.”

  I motioned for Kulnethar to follow. He hesitated, then hurried after me. The silence between us was strained. I didn’t know what to say. Reject his lies, and I was opening up the situation to more questions—questions about Tala, and the Sending stone, and Shatayeth. Questions I couldn’t even begin to answer. Accept his ludicrous story, and my problems vanished. For now.

  Tala was in the same place I’d left her. She was holding herself, breathing carefully, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

  Kulnethar broke into a run. He landed next to her, face open and hurting. “I saw, Tala,” he breathed. “I saw. I saw everything.”

  Tears sprang out of her. She just nodded.

  “Can I look?”

  She nodded again. Kulnethar helped her onto her back. He was so gentle with her, hands calm and efficient. He opened her robes, looking for blood, some kind of wound, then probing more carefully, pressing into her side, feeling where the knife had struck, moving across her belly.

  My fists clenched. Shatayeth. I would find some way to kill him. I would.

  Finally, Kulnethar shook his head. “I can’t find any injury, either within or without. If there were damaged organs or internal bleeding of that magnitude, I’d know. I think . . . I think it’s in your mind, Tala.”

  She nodded.

  “But if it’s not letting go of the pain . . . I’m sorry, but he’s right. You could still trigger shock.”

  She nodded again, forcing herself to breathe.

  “Yes, slow, deep breaths. Look at me.” He touched her face, nodding. “I’m going to give you something. It’ll knock you out, but I’m hoping it’ll sever whatever’s still tying you to that place, the memory of that body. It’s the best chance I have. Do you agree?”

  She hesitated. “My brother?”

  “I’m sorry, Tala.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do it.”

  Kulnethar pulled something out of his robes. He twisted off a stopper, then propping up her head, tipped the contents into her mouth.

  She grimaced and swallowed, then curled onto her side.

  “I did it,” she mumbled. “I . . .”

  “Yes,” Kulnethar nodded. “It won’t take long—”

  “I cut him. The Undying.”

  My breath caught. She hadn’t mentioned that before. I glanced at Kulnethar, then back at her. “Tala, you injured him?”

  She nodded, eyes already closing, body shuddering towards oblivion.

  “Blood,” she said. “Blood on the keshu. His.”

  I eased her sword out of its sheath—until I saw. A glimmer of red, now dried, dark along the blade.

  There was a long silence. She fell into a stupor. Her breath deepened. Her body relaxed. I felt my own muscles unclench one by one, letting go, breathing in.

  Finally, Kulnethar glanced back at me with a sigh.

  “Well?” he said. “Ready to arrest me?”

  I grunted. “Do you have the faintest idea what you’re doing?”

  “Yes, Ishvandu. I do.”

  “You could get the ropes.”

  “Maybe.”

  I shook my head. “Why?”

  “Because I’m an idiot. Because I followed the wrong sand-shitting Guardian instead of alerting you. Because out of the three of us, I’m the least likely to be executed. Pick your favourite, and let’s get this over with.”

  “I’m trying to protect you too, you know.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t make excuses, Ishvandu. This is a blasted mess, and we’re all in it. You brought us here, knowing this could happen. Tala led her brother into danger. I didn’t stop it when I could. Whatever. I’m past caring at this point, I only ask one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Take us home.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Good.”

  “But Kylan . . .”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Even if you get pardoned, you can’t go back from this. You stole a keshu. You killed a Guardian.”

  “I’m an Elder. It was an accident. I didn’t understand Guardian rules. I acted in ignorance.”

  “A hard blow to your reputation.”

  “Maybe enough to save me from the ropes—which is more than you and Tala could claim. So?”

  I frowned. I didn’t like this, but an uncomfortable sense of relief was curling through me. The truth about Shatayeth would stay hidden. The Sending stone would remain a secret. Maybe, maybe even the well could yet be salvaged.

  A tragedy, I heard myself explain to the Circle. But despite the horrible accident, we accomplished our mission. Water in the desert. A success, Al’kah. Exactly what you asked for.

  I shook my head. I had to prepare for the worst. A Guardian was dead—a Guardian and a Labourer, and a mason had gone missing our first night on the desert. The well was filling with water, but it wasn’t reinforced yet. Work remained to be done. Would the Al’kah side with me, or consider the whole thing a disaster?

  There was only one way to find out.

  I nodded. “Then I’m putting you under ab’Tanadu’s wardship. Clean the body. Shroud it. Hide anything that doesn’t fit with your story. Come morning, our camp breaks.”

  The camp folded like a toy city. Tents, sacks, and poles were packed and put away, one by one, until there was nothing left but baggage.

  The atmosphere was grim. I’d tried to salvage our work by
having Baraaba fashion a quick covering. He drove wooden spikes into the ground around the well, then stretched out a canvas, anchoring it with heavy stones, enough to keep out the sand and wind.

  “We will return,” I told them. “This is not a defeat. Your work will not be in vain, I promise you.”

  There were half-hearted nods and nervous glances towards Koryn’s shrouded corpse. We would bear it back, the heavy symbol of our failure.

  Then we loaded the camels and turned our gaze south towards Shyandar.

  Tala rode next to me in silence. She had woken groggy and disoriented, with only a dull ache in her gut, but she was troubled over Kulnethar’s story.

  “He can absorb the blame better than us,” I tried to convince her.

  She just shook her head. “It’s not right. I made a mistake. I got Koryn killed. I should be the one to account for it.”

  “And how would you even begin to explain the Sending stone, the things we know, that Shatayeth Undying himself killed your brother? It’s impossible! Besides, we’re in this together.”

  She sighed. “Maybe it’s time.”

  “Time?” My skin prickled.

  She nodded. “Time for us to remember. Being a Guardian is not about us, my love.”

  “Protect them!” I snapped. “That’s what it means. That’s what you made me swear. And I will. I will, Tala.” I swallowed, forcing myself to calm down. “Please. Don’t let this one incident destroy everything.”

  She twined her fingers through mine. “What is everything?”

  “All this! What we’re doing here. The change we can bring. The—”

  “Ishvandu.” She looked at me. “This expedition has brought nothing but pain.”

  Her words haunted me. She said nothing else, but I brooded over them the whole way back.

  We walked through one night and a day. No storms rose to overtake us. No Sumadi fell on us. Only weary retreat, feet dragging listless through the sand.

  I shook my head, frustrated at the result. This should have been a proud march of victory. We should have returned, triumphant, flushed with success, eager to spill our news. After all, we had done it. The work was nearly complete—a few days were all that remained between us and a finished well.

  Interrupted, that was all. I would return. I would see this work finished. I wouldn’t give up.