Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  I turned to meet the voice. Benji stopped a few strides away, straight-backed and proper as always. Even here, in the desert. Even after four months on this new expedition. Four months without Tala.

  “Sal’ah!” he greeted me.

  I sighed. “You know you don’t have to call me that.”

  “I do, sal’ah. You’re—”

  “—the one in charge. Yes, so you’ve been telling me. You still don’t—” I shook my head. “Never mind. What is it?”

  “Ab’Tanadu and Adar—spotted by the crossing.”

  “Good. It’s about time. Go meet them, help with the camels. Got it?”

  “Of course, sal’ah.” He marched off.

  Guardians and Labourers went constantly between Anuai and Shyandar, carrying a train of water with them to feed the swelling northern cistern. Sometimes they traded off. Sometimes our numbers grew.

  Work was progressing—slowly, but satisfactorily.

  I stopped at the build-site for the new Labourer’s Quarter. Builders took shifts on the construction to avoid exhaustion, but a large sun shelter had been stretched overhead between four poles and Mani went regularly between them with fresh well-water.

  “Ab’Admundi,” the foreman acknowledged me.

  “How goes it, Kamrin?”

  The man had impressive muscles beneath his wiry frame. He straightened and mopped his brow.

  “Hate to say it, Guardian, but we’re slowing down.”

  “Your men are tired,” I said. “Reinforcements were spotted just over the pass. Fresh recruits.”

  The man scratched his balding head. “Eh . . . that’s good and all, but it’s not the crew. These lot do fine work.”

  “As I’ve noticed.”

  “Thank you for that, Guardian. But see here . . .” He shrugged. “It’s the materials, ab’Admundi. We’ve picked the cliffs clean hereabouts, and the best stone’s been taken. The rest just won’t hold up.”

  “We’re aware,” I nodded. “Trust me, Kamrin. I’ve a few ideas, and one of the new recruits might be able to assist: a stone-worker with a good eye for resources, so I’ve requested.”

  The man brightened. “Aye, that could help. Thank you, sal’ah.”

  Unfortunately, Benji wasn’t the only one who’d taken to calling me that.

  I caught Nolaan sneering at me as I moved away. He was crouched under the shade of the quarters-entrance, chewing a hard tack of bread.

  “Sal’ah.” He snorted. “Ridiculous. But secretly, you’re rather pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

  I frowned. “Did you requisition Mani for that?”

  “I was hungry. Morning meal was pathetic. Again.”

  “I see.” I lowered my brows. “And you think your opinion of the rations dictates what is and isn’t lawful?”

  “Lawful? Please. It’s just a stupid hunk of bread. Besides, it tastes like dust and shit—like the rest of this sand-shitting desert.” He bit off another corner, grimacing.

  I didn’t bother arguing with him. I strode over and snatched it from his hand. “That’s double shift for you on construction.”

  He spat. “Make me—sal’ah.” He gave an ugly laugh.

  “You’re one word from being whipped, Guardian. Is that what you want? Again?”

  He shrugged, but rose, wavering. “Go ahead. Anything to cut the boredom of this place. Anuai.” He chuckled and staggered. “As if they gave it a name. A real name. Like it was a real place, and not some shit hole for second-rate Guardians. If I wanted to dig holes and stack bricks, I’d have been a Labourer, you stupid bastard.”

  I snatched the front of his robes, dragging him towards me. A sour smell hit me. “Are you drunk?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mani and Jil draw close, watching with troubled expressions. A few of the Labourers glanced up from their work. It wouldn’t be the first time Nolaan had gone and made a fool of himself. This was definitely going to have to be dealt with.

  “Mani, check the stores,” I said.

  She nodded and disappeared into the Guardian’s quarters.

  Nolaan glared at me, but when he tried to twist out of my grasp, I tightened the neck of his robes.

  Antaru noticed. He broke off a conversation with some Guardians from the sixth and approached, hand on his keshu.

  “You’re missing the point,” I said, leaning towards Nolaan. “The third is more than any other kiyah of the Hall, and do you know why? Because where others would wither and crack beneath the emptiness of the desert, we will not. We’re not the same pampered brats who sit around all day and eat and drink their fill. You think it’s shameful to work? You think it’s undignified?” I nodded towards the Labourers. “They have more honour than you in their fat toes. When they have eggs and milk, they work. When they have two pieces of dried-out shit someone calls bread, they work—and all the harder, to stave off their own starvation. So next time you plop yourself on the ground like a rotting, whingeing heap of dung and stuff your face and do nothing, I’ll rope you for shadow-bait, you pathetic waste of a man.”

  Nolaan finally managed to look startled.

  “You . . . you wouldn’t do that. Heh. Would you?”

  Mani appeared, holding two empty sacks. “Here’s our cider stores.”

  He chuckled nervously. “What? We’ve got full access to our own blasted fresh water, s-so who’s going to miss some sour old piss-vinegar?”

  “You think that’s the point?”

  “Maybe. Or m-maybe we’re supposed to die. Die one way or another: young, old, somewhere in between—what does it matter? They’ll come for us, like they came for Koryn and . . . and Breta. And I’m not so sure I’d prefer them to the ropes. So you—” he shoved a finger in my face— “can drink my piss, mudfoot.” And he finished this speech with a laugh.

  I held on, refusing to twitch an eye. “Nolaan ab’Ytashnu,” I said. “You’re a disgrace.”

  “I’m a disgrace? You think I don’t know what you are? You think I couldn’t tell them—?”

  I reached for my keshu.

  “Hah! You’re going to slice me open or something? Am I a criminal now because I stole a few drinks.” He continued to laugh.

  I struck the hilt into his head. It made a hollow knocking sound and he crumpled like an empty sack.

  I wrinkled my nose, glad to be free of that stench. “Jil, Antaru, tie him up and gag him. No use letting him talk till he’s right-headed.”

  They muttered their agreement.

  “Oh, and keep him out of sight somewhere. Adar’s bringing a few new recruits, and I’d hate their first impression of Anuai to be some babbling fool.”

  “Got it,” Antaru said.

  Then I turned away to decide what in the sands I was going to do about this.

  By midmorning, Benji was leading a small contingent past our freshly planted treeline and down into Anuai. We lined up to greet them: Guardians on one side, Labourers on the other, while I stood in the middle. Ab’Tanadu and Arkaya led the camels. Adar walked alongside. Behind them marched another four Labourer recruits. Two more of the sixth kiyah brought up the rear, leading the water-train.

  “Good to see you,” I clasped ab’Tanadu’s hand.

  He frowned and looked around. “Where’s Nolaan? He didn’t get himself killed, did he?”

  “Not yet. I’ll explain later.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  I turned to Adar. “What ridiculous promises did you make this time to coerce these poor sots out into the desert.”

  The foreman grunted and stepped back to make way for his people. “Larayis here—she’s actually from the Crafters, with a specialty in structural design, recommended by Chief Mason Baraaba himself—she wants her daughter to become a Guardian Lord, which I figured you could do easily enough. And these two strapping lads demand double rations, including sweets. They were very particular on that point. And the one in the back, that old pisser is just curious, but he’s also a bit useless, so not sure why I broug
ht him.”

  I laughed. “Welcome to Anuai.”

  They smirked, nodding as I glanced their way. They were strong, even the old pisser who was as thick as a camel. He gave me a keen eye, too, and I felt his scrutiny. No. This one was definitely not useless.

  “Alright,” I told them. “I’m Ishvandu ab’Admundi, and out here, you listen to Adar, who listens to me. You respect my Guardians and each other. Nothing here is easy, and every night you could die a gruesome death at the hands of Sumadi, so when someone gives you an order, act first, questions later. But if you survive, you get to do something no one else in all the history of Shyandar has managed.”

  “And what’s that?” asked the old Labourer.

  I smiled. “Tame the desert.”

  Soon, I had them resting under the tent, drinking and nibbling their rations, while Mani lectured them on due process in Anuai. Benji was happily tending the camels in our dugout camel yard, and Arkaya went straight to work alongside the other Labourers. Then I noticed ab’Tanadu making a line for me from the Guardian’s quarter.

  He pulled me aside. “So what?” he frowned. “What now?”

  “You saw Nolaan?”

  “Of course.”

  I frowned. “I don’t have a choice. He’s a thief and a coward, and he openly disrespected me.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  “Exactly.”

  We stood there, frowning. We were both thinking the same thing, though neither of us wanted to say it aloud.

  Then ab’Tanadu spoke: “Should we take him back to Shyandar?”

  I thought about it. I thought about Nolaan’s last threat. You think I don’t know what you are?

  I shook my head. “This is our matter.”

  “It won’t lift morale.”

  “We’ll make it quick.”

  The old outrider frowned. “Are you ready for that?”

  “The Al’kah gave me permission to enact justice as required. Nolaan’s crime is obvious.”

  “Yes,” ab’Tanadu said. “But are you ready?”

  I thought about it, then nodded. “I will be.”

  “I could—”

  “No.” I met his eye. “This is my responsibility.”

  Still, my stomach lurched even as I spoke. Breta tipping, eyes wide, a scream—

  I glanced away, looking past the settlement, towards the cliffs. That was Shatayeth’s fault. He had turned her with empty promises, with talk of freedom and power. She thought she could use me, threaten me. But no more.

  “He was drunk on old cider, last we chatted. Did he talk to you?”

  “Gagged still. Antaru told me the story. But he seemed clear-minded as far as I could tell by his glare.”

  “Good. Then why put this off? Let’s gather everyone.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  Ab’Tanadu frowned. “I think we should wait a day. Let the new recruits settle in. The desert is shocking enough to those not used to it.”

  You think I couldn’t tell them . . .

  I grimaced, wondering what Nolaan knew. Was he guessing? Had Koryn told him things? Mani and I hadn’t even tried to bring him to our side yet, but if he started babbling his suspicions to ab’Tanadu or Benji, or one of the sixth who came and went from Anuai, our hopes would come to a fast and brutal end.

  “Alright,” I said. “But let’s keep him isolated. If he knows what’s going to happen to him, he might do something stupid.”

  “You mean more than usual?”

  “Then you agree with me?”

  I held my breath. I could force the issue, but I knew ab’Tanadu made the most frequent trips back to Shyandar. His was the voice the Circle trusted. His was the support I needed. He was my overseer.

  Even here, I wasn’t truly free. Not yet.

  The old outrider gripped his keshu, frowning across Anuai. Probably imagining this very conversation before the Guardian Lords. “I agree with you,” he said at last.

  “But what?”

  “But I think he wasn’t always this way.”

  “Not under Koryn, he wasn’t.”

  “It’s more than that.” He sighed. “Before I left, I tried to warn him about his behaviour. I offered to bring him back with me, to give him a break from the desert. He said the strangest thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said the shadows wouldn’t let him.”

  I frowned. “What do you think that means?”

  “The Sumadi have struck a dozen times in these last four months.”

  “A dozen times, and only one dead.”

  “Still. It takes a toll on you, this constant vigilance. This waiting. Waiting to die.” He looked at me. “I think Nolaan ab’Ytashnu is one step from cracking.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But aren’t we all?”

  I walked alone.

  The desert was endless. Shyandar was gone. Anuai was gone. I felt a deep ache, as if something terrible had happened, and I was helpless to escape it.

  I glanced over my shoulder, bothered by a shadow, a presence. Was I being followed? But who could hide out here in the openness?

  I turned back to my path—and there she was.

  “No,” I groaned. “Don’t do this. Not again.”

  She just looked at me, and her dark eyes spoke.

  You killed her.

  I woke.

  It was long past midday. Enough sleep for one day. I brushed the dream aside. Over and over again, the same thing. Sometimes Tala spoke to me, sometimes not. Yet I could never forget those eyes, that look.

  No matter. I stood and strapped on my keshu. Tala was gone, and I had chosen my path.

  I slapped through the curtain over my door.

  The newly built Guardian’s quarters were small: a sparse barracks, with a cellar dug in the middle to keep food and supplies. But the separate rooms gave some semblance of privacy, and the stone and mud protected us from the worst of the sun.

  Then I heard a muffled banging came from within the cellar. Nolaan. I hesitated. But given how our last conversation had gone, I didn’t feel like getting spat on right now. Yl’avah’s might, the sooner he was taken care of the better.

  I marched out into the burning afternoon.

  Anuai was hardly a bustle of activity. With the well finished, our urgency had dissipated, and the time of day was just too painful for working. Still, I noticed the new recruits were out touring the well, testing its mechanisms.

  “What do you think?” I asked, coming up behind them.

  Larayis glanced at me in surprise, then waved towards the ropes and wheels that powered the hoist. “This pulley system! I’ve never seen anything like it. Double wheel, and a brace here. You could hoist a fair bit of water at once, with this.”

  “That would be Baraaba’s design, though he says its old, just got forgotten for a few generations. It allows the water train to work fast.”

  “I can see that,” she replied. Then grimaced. “That sounded rude, didn’t it? My apologies, Guardian ab’Admundi.”

  “Here in Anuai, we follow orders and sands take the rest of it. Speak as you wish. You’ll find I’m not easily offended.”

  “That’s good.” She grinned. “And refreshing. Adar said we’d like you. Am I going to get similar building tasks?”

  “It depends. We have limited tools out here, but an abundance of good rock and clay. I’d like to start with a survey of our best options for extraction within a quarter of a day’s journey.”

  “You mean . . . a quarry?”

  “Exactly.”

  Her eyes lit up. “New material! We haven’t had a quarry in decades!”

  “Exactly.” I looked at her. “I want Anuai to be the envy of every Crafter in Shyandar. Can you do that?”

  “With pleasure!”

  “Excellent. Starting this evening, you can accompany Antaru on a few preliminary scouts of the area. Now while you’re all here, why not start hauling water to load up the train?”

  The re
cruits nodded and got to work, some fetching the empty sacks, others starting to work the hoist.

  I took a step back to watch, then noticed Adar under one of the shade tents and strode over.

  “Good choices,” I said.

  “And these are just a sample.” He took a swig of fresh well-water, then handed it to me. I drank gratefully.

  “How many?” I asked.

  He furrowed his brows, thinking. “Nearly two hundred willing to join us.”

  I choked on my mouthful. “Two hundred?”

  “Give or take.”

  “You were busy this last return.”

  “Not only me. But yes. And Baraaba is close. I’ve talked to him. He’s thinking about it. To get the Chief Mason on our side would be a great boon.”

  We stood quietly, soaking in that information. I began to imagine what that would look like. Hundreds of allies. Hundreds. And yet . . .

  “Greater numbers come with greater risks,” I admitted.

  “Always.”

  I let it lie at that. There was only so much we could say in the open under a shade tent, and I could see Benji watching us from across the grounds. That kid was perceptive—too much for his own good. Possibly a problem.

  Then I remembered the other problem waiting for me in the cellar.

  “Adar, you might want to warn your crew when you have a chance. We’ve a delinquent Guardian who needs to be dealt with.”

  “A whipping?”

  “Worse.”

  He grunted. “So it begins.”

  “He’s a thief. This is a matter of discipline, Adar.”

  “Really?” His mouth twitched. “Then why don’t you send him back to Shyandar with the water train?”

  I frowned. There was that.

  “This is simpler.”

  Adar took another swig and wiped his mouth. “No need to defend yourself to me, young blade. What do I know?” Then with a wink, he disappeared back into the Labourer’s tent to rouse the rest of his crew.

  “I’m going to keep this short,” I told Guardians and Labourers alike.

  We gathered after the next Dawning, the morning sun just visible as it hung shimmering like the first coals of a furnace. Faces were sombre as they glanced at me, then at the wretched prisoner held between ab’Tanadu and Antaru.