Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  Pain bloomed, stinging across his face.

  Alutan dropped into a crouch. It came for him again, and he launched his shoulder into it, using his heavier weight to drive the creature into the ground.

  They fell together. Hands flashed out, faster than Alutan could dodge, one struck him on the side of the face, another his jaw, his nose. The cartilage snapped in a gush of blood.

  Alutan ground his teeth through the blinding pain, ducking his head while he pummelled his assailant’s ribs. Then he dug his fingers into the torn and dirtied shirt and hauled the creature to its feet, driving it against the jagged edge of a snapped tree branch.

  It gave a furious yowl.

  Fingers clawed Alutan’s face. It latched on to his hair. It jerked forward and a moment later, teeth sank into his ear. Alutan screamed and wrenched away. He kicked at a knee. The thing buckled and Alutan slammed a fist across its head.

  It hit the ground. Alutan leapt onto its back, grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand, and started to pound the creature’s face into the rocky ground.

  The violent attack produced only snarls of mad laughter.

  “Can’t, can’t, can’t!” it cackled. “Can’t kill me!”

  It gathered itself like a spring. Unnatural strength burst out of it, flinging Alutan away. He rolled. He felt blood flowing down his neck, his face. His fingers were dark with it. He barely had time to orient himself before it came at him again. A foot struck him in the side, spearing him into another roll, and another.

  The cliff edge.

  Alutan clawed at dirt and stones. Sky flashed. His insides lurched as he dropped. The rest of his body flailed for something solid. He heard stones rattling down the slope, down and down—

  Then there was only air.

  Alutan’s leg hit rock. Bones snapped. He screamed. The rest of his body hit the ground, rolling. He slammed against a tree.

  He clutched the old wood, gasping and shaking. The forest was dense down here: black and old and thick with life. He fought against unconsciousness. Great Tree, give me strength.

  He blinked. Had something moved? He heard a rustle. He struggled back from the brink.

  And it was on him.

  Cackling with glee, blood streaming from its ruined face, the Aktyr sprang onto Alutan, throwing him down as he tried to rise, digging one foot into his broken leg, grinding it into the rocks. Alutan roared and twisted. The thing scrabbled for his throat. Clawed fingers found the soft spot under his chin and squeezed.

  Hot, frothing blood dripped from the creature’s mouth, splashing Alutan in the face, some in his eye. It burned like poison, blinding him. The pain overwhelmed him, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He kicked and struggled, tried to get free, to push off the mad, murderous form. But no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t dislodge it. It was throttling him, squeezing as hard as it could. Alutan’s heart was caught, like a thing dying to escape, lungs burning. All he could hear was that wild, panting laughter.

  “You didn’t listen, did you? I told you, you couldn’t beat me. You’re weak, Kylan! Weak!” He spat out a cackle. “Vanya’s mine. So is Anna. And next it’ll be your son. Ishvandu’s on his way now. He’ll be there soon. Balduin, Balduin, Balduin Na-es. Heh, heh, heh, heh . . .” Madness twisted that face beyond anything human.

  Then through his fading vision, Alutan saw something. It made him fight for one more moment of consciousness, readying everything for a last effort. A figure loomed over them.

  A branch clubbed the creature across the head, knocking it flat. Alutan raked in a breath. He was weeping with relief. He had a single instant to stare at his ally—the girl was weak and starved and bruised, eyes bloodshot and wild, skin lacerated, but it was her. Hyranna Elduna.

  “Got it!” Her teeth flashed, triumphant and vindictive.

  Then came a spluttering cough from their foe. The Aktyr was already stirring, gathering its bony limbs. Hyranna struck it with a cry. The branch cracked across its back.

  “You will not have me, you wretch!” She hit it again. “You will not have Balduin!” The branch snapped in two.

  It hissed, trying to scramble away, fingers clawing through the stone and dirt.

  They both dove at it: Hyranna seized one arm, Alutan the other. The thing twisted and spat, almost wrenching free, but Alutan hefted one of the nearby rocks and slammed it into the creature’s face.

  He felt the crunch of bone. He choked and hit it again, and again, over and over. The arms and legs jerked wildly while Hyranna pinned it down. Alutan knelt, poised for another blow if need be, but the creature twitched one last time and fell still.

  Then there was silence.

  Alutan swayed, breathing hard, gasping for breath. His whole body started to tremble. He just stared at the thing, the thing that looked like Vanya, but wasn’t.

  “It’s dead,” the girl panted, as if trying to convince herself. “It’s dead. Maker above, it’s . . .” She shuddered and fell back with a groan. “Where have I been? What now?”

  Alutan could feel himself drifting. “When you’re ready. You’re free. It won’t hurt you again. Just . . . wake up.”

  “Wake up?” She frowned. “Is this a dream?”

  “Not a dream.” He took her head. “This is the Unseen Realm. And I am Alutan.” He smiled. “Yes. Alutan. But hurry, Hyranna. There’s still . . . much to do.”

  Then he let himself go.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  “We can’t let this happen!” I cried, facing my kiyah in the Task Hall. Nolaan glared at me. Jil looked uncertain. Ab’Tanadu was frowning and shaking his head. Only Mani showed nothing on her face.

  I hadn’t invited the Novices for fear of how they’d react, especially Benji. But now I wondered. They were young. Maybe more impressionable than these.

  Breta would have stood with me. One voice. One might have been enough.

  And I had killed her.

  I slammed my fist into the table. “Cowards! We have a responsibility. The burden of truth.”

  “Ishvandu . . .” ab’Tanadu began.

  “No!” I stabbed a finger at him. “I am the head of the third. We need to make a stand against this atrocity. I won’t let one more person get Chosen to become Sumadi.”

  Jil faltered. “Are you . . . sure that’s what you saw?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Yes,” ab’Tanadu said. “We know you know, but—”

  “It’s true,” Mani said quietly, finally speaking up. “The Chosen are Sumadi. I saw Polityr’s body myself.”

  I sagged in relief and unclenched the fingers of my injured hand. Painfully. “See?”

  Nolaan looked like he was going to be sick.

  “Then why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Jil cried. “Don’t you realize what this means?”

  “It was my decision to hide the truth,” Mani said.

  Ab’Tanadu was still shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Why not?” I snapped. “Because it doesn’t fit with your perfect image of the Chorah’dyn? Because it means this is all a lie? Because we’re a lie?”

  Mani touched my shoulder. It was a brush of her fingertips, almost imperceptible, but for the steadiness that seeped into me.

  I let out a shaking breath. I had to calm down. I had to be more like her.

  “Our oath is to protect Shyandar,” she said.

  I looked at her. “Even if Shyandar is wrong?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. The weight of that sunk in. I saw Jil frowning in confusion and Nolaan retreating deeper behind a scowl. Ab’Tanadu wanted to deny it—but he kept looking at Mani. He might not trust me, but he trusted her impeccably.

  We all did.

  “No,” ab’Tanadu finally said. “Even if what you say is true, your suspicions would bring only chaos.”

  “Suspicions?” I said. “We saw Polityr, a fellow Guardian and a Chosen. We all recognized him, Breta too.”

&n
bsp; “I agree with you,” Mani said abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at her. Her face was as calm as ever, her eyes thoughtful. “But Ishvandu, now isn’t the time. Even if we did tell the Circle, they would need to weigh the risks and consequences in order to form a plan.”

  “What plan?” ab’Tanadu frowned. “There is no plan that could control this.”

  “They could ask willing Guardians to step forward,” she countered. “Those who could make an informed sacrifice for the good of the people. They could consult with the Temple and seek the wisdom of the Elders. But . . .” she turned to face me. “All that takes time, Ishvandu. Yes, you are the head of the third, but you are still young.”

  I scowled, knowing how true that was, feeling it in the uncooperativeness of my kiyah.

  “Wait,” she said. “One more year. A year of responsible service, with the whole kiyah behind you, will add more weight to your words than an impulsive accusation against the Chorah’dyn now. Not to mention your wife is still awaiting the Circle’s decision. Is this the wisest moment to come forward with a controversial revelation?”

  I glared at her. Her points were annoyingly excellent. “Sands take you, woman.”

  She nodded, accepting my frustration.

  “Fine,” I said. “But when this is over, we will speak. Before going back into the desert.”

  Mani and Jil nodded. Ab’Tanadu still looked doubtful.

  Nolaan’s face went an ugly shade. “Back into the desert?”

  “Of course.”

  “But we don’t need the well anymore. Kaprash is over.”

  “Kaprash will return. As soon as the Choosing is over, we begin planning our next expedition.”

  He scowled and looked down.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Koryn died out there.”

  “And Breta died here. We’re outriders, Nolaan. Unless you’d rather stay and dig camel shit, this is what we do. Be ready, or I’ll find you a new kiyah.”

  He stood and faced me. “Nothing would make me happier.” Then he strode out of the room, slamming the heavy wood door behind him.

  When I looked up again, only Jil, Mani, and ab’Tanadu remained.

  The lake was already swelling as we made our way down for the Choosing.

  I walked with my kiyah—except for Nolaan, who hadn’t made a reappearance since his outburst. That meant it was a small kiyah indeed. Yl’avah’s might, even if they assigned Benji and Arkaya to us after their oaths, we would still be only six.

  I shook my head. The thought of training such young Guardians was ludicrous. I was barely sworn in myself. Not to mention my wrist, still crippled with pain.

  But I could do it. I could lead this kiyah. I could lead people into the desert. I could train them to embrace the challenge.

  Like Breta had.

  I frowned. The thought of her—again—was as ever-present as my aching wrist, a black pit in my stomach.

  It was over. It was an accident. Just cover it up and move on. Eventually the pain would fade.

  Then I glanced up and realized I had walked on alone. I looked behind me. My kiyah had pulled aside to make way for someone else.

  Tala. The Guardian escort trailed her, but was keeping a respectful distance. Everyone was mandated by law to come forward for the Choosing, even those in the holds awaiting sentence. She looked pale, almost sickly. Three days now they had kept her there, stuffed in a dark hole in the ground.

  I reached for her. She gripped my hand, sensing the stiffness of my body, the distance between us. Without a word, we continued on, side by side, fingers entwined, clutching each other in grim recognition of the truth.

  “I am with you,” I whispered. “Whatever happens, remember that.”

  “Will you speak?”

  “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “And what will happen to you?”

  She glanced up, her gaze cutting through my words, as if seeing me, seeing everything.

  You killed her.

  I looked away, shoving my doubts aside. I had to focus on the task ahead. The Choosing.

  As we drew near the Avanir, our grip relaxed. Our hands settled into the familiarity of that touch. I pulled her closer. I found myself aching to be with her. I glanced at her. She was looking at me.

  She smiled. And then something slipped through my memory like oil. I think you’re supposed to be Chosen.

  My heart jolted. She had said that to me. Did she believe it even now? I had never told her about the Sumadi . . .

  You’re the only one who can speak with it, Breta had said. The power of the Undying.

  I opened my attention to the Avanir, and there it was in the Unseen. A throbbing presence. A light. A voice. Like something just beyond the edge of words. During Kaprash it had been a gaping hole, forceful and strong, sucking everything towards itself, but now it moved out, subtle, yet undiminished. It seemed to pierce into the sky, to run under the earth, to ebb and flow like the waters, touching each of us with invisible lines of power. Was that the Chorah’dyn I felt?

  I shuddered, tempted to turn away. But what would that solve? Maybe Tala was right. Perhaps I could speak to the Great Tree herself through the Avanir. Was it worth submitting myself to her power? What if I could demand answers? What if I could take that power and bend it to another purpose? Chosen.

  My palms began to sweat as the possibility rose up before me. I rolled my shoulder, stiff and uncomfortable in its sling. Tala sensed my new anxiety. She squeezed my hand.

  We joined the crowd: Guardians and Labourers, Crafters and Acolytes, milling together around the Avanir’s lake, waiting for the start of the ceremony.

  We didn’t have to wait long.

  High Elder Melanyr ab’Kulatyn stepped out and waded forward into the lake as the sun drew near the horizon. His eyes scanned the crowd, and the soft murmur ceased.

  So this was the new High Elder, the one Kulnethar disliked as much as the Hall did.

  Then he began to speak. “The new year is upon us,” he cried in a loud voice. “Four hundred and fifty-seven years since the fall of Kayr, since our ancestors foolishly, and in great pride, broke the Laws of Creation. Three Pillars, for Three Laws—the Pillar of Blood, governing that which is Seen; the Pillar of Spirit, for that which is Unseen; and the Pillar of Light, for that by which we See. Contained within these three Pillars were all the Laws of Creation, which Yl’avah founded and which the Great Tree nurtured into the fullness of our world, from which flows the Lifewater, the sustaining power of all Realms. All of this our great nation was called to govern. We were chosen to oversee the Laws and guard them against the likes of Shatayeth Undying, who sought to undo Life and subvert all things to corruption.”

  I started at that name. Did he know? Had the Circle passed on Tala’s information so soon? Tala squeezed my hand, but I didn’t dare meet her eye. The crowd was silent. The story was familiar, yet for the first time in many years it would be told by a new High Elder.

  “Yes, that was our task,” Melanyr continued. “And we failed. We allowed ourselves to be led astray by our lust for power, for the Al’kah of that generation sought to overthrow the right order.”

  “That’s not true,” I hissed under my breath. “It was the Elders who—”

  “Listen!” Tala squeezed my hand.

  I glowered, but fell silent, aware of nearby disapproving eyes.

  “Armed with the discovery of new ytyri, the Al’kah coerced the Elders of Kayr to investigate the extent of its power. Could the limitless potential of this substance be used to destroy limitation itself? Could Law be Unmade by that which was before it? In dark places, the people of Kayr unfolded dark purposes and at last unlocked the secret to destroying the Pillar of Blood itself. In their foolishness, they believed this was the answer to yanebashi, the Great Unending, but they unleashed only destruction. Thus began the decay of our world.

  “The end would not come swiftly. Reality would not shatter in an ins
tant. But over time, its death was inevitable, and the Lifewater now ran foul with corruption into all the places of the world.

  “There was only one power that could cleanse it again. Only one source of hope. Gathering the faithful remnant, Andari ab’Andala, named the first Al’kah of the Age of Exile, was shown by the Chorah’dyn herself where to find it—and thus we set out into the wilderness. Hunted and harried by the creatures we had unleashed upon the breaking of the Pillar of Blood, weak with thirst, and faint from hunger, we came at last to this place of power—the very place I stand—to a bare and lifeless rock.”

  His voice hung over the Avanir’s lake, reminding us of our long Kaprash, of the seemingly endless drought, and all the fears and doubts we had harboured.

  “‘A bare rock?” the people cried. ‘You brought us to a bare rock to die?’ They lost heart. Some counselled the leaders to seek water elsewhere and cast themselves again upon the merciless desert. Many heeded their fears. Some fell away. Some were lost.” He swept his gaze over the crowd, and I swear it lingered on me a little longer than most. “But one was not. Jethyrai ab’Estaldir, a new Elder of the people, stepped forward, and as the last light of the sun faded, he reached out his hand to bless the stone in faith. And behold—”

  Melanyr ab’Kulatyn stretched out his arm and stepped back, even as the dying rays of the sun brushed the crown of the Avanir.

  “None of this is true,” I said. “It was Andari Al’kah who woke the Avanir—”

  “Shh,” said Tala.

  A hush fell. The wind ceased. Thousands of people stood together and held their breath. The sun slipped below the horizon in absolute silence, and swiftly, darkness stretched over the city like a shroud.

  Until the black stone began to shimmer. The light came first in flickering spurts. Then like tongues of flame, slipping across the surface, dancing and twisting. Patterns appeared and vanished. Words seemed to ripple across its surface. I could feel something growing in the Unseen, an enormous force building upon itself, reaching out to us. A question, brushing against every mind, tasting our resolve.