Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “This man,” I said, “stole rations in clear sight of us all and indulged to the point of drunkenness. Furthermore, he has acted disgracefully, disobeyed orders, and defied the authority of Anuai—not once, but several times since the founding of this settlement four months ago. Nolaan ab’Ytashnu, do you confess your guilt?”

  Nolaan stood sneering and pale. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’re nothing, you stupid mudfoot. You think you’re some blasted Guardian Lord? You’re a rebel. A traitor. Koryn told me your secrets. Something about a . . . an exile. And how convenient Koryn ended up dead! He would never have allowed this. He would have stopped you. He would have revealed you as the little traitor you are.”

  I shook my head. “Really, Nolaan? Can’t you do anything with a shred of dignity? You always were a little pathetic, but with Koryn gone, I’m sorry you couldn’t stand on your own two feet like a proper Guardian of the third.”

  “A proper Guardian? You think this dirt-scratching nonsense is proper? You’re not all seriously going to stand there and let this happen?” He glanced around, jeering. Looking for an ally. Looking for Koryn.

  But Koryn wasn’t here anymore.

  Neither was Tala.

  I saw her eyes. They found me across the open ground. They cut through me like a Guardian’s blade. Vanya . . .

  I turned away. “I think we’ve seen enough.”

  “Oh, have we?” Nolaan cried. “Didn’t you hear me, you stupid louts? He’s a traitor! He’s hidden things. Lied to you. He probably had Koryn killed. And now he’s standing there calling me a thief and a coward.”

  I held back my words. To defend myself would only raise suspicion, especially in front of the Guardians of the sixth. And ab’Tanadu. Better to let Nolaan die a raving madman. Unanswered.

  I drew my keshu. The blade rasped as it caught the morning sun. Destroy the guilty . . .

  Nolaan had ceased to take anything seriously—his duty, his role, the order of Anuai.

  I turned to face him. He was ragged, his face splotchy and red, his Guardian’s braids a mess. He had a thin rat face with bulging eyes. I had always detested him.

  “Kneel.”

  It hit him then. He shook his head. “You’re not serious. You’re not actually going to do this.” He glanced at ab’Tanadu and was met with stony regret. Then at Antaru.

  The big man shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ve been a rock in our rears since this whole thing started. Now on your knees, or we’ll hold you down and it’ll be ugly.”

  Nolaan’s face drained. “No . . .”

  “Yep.” Antaru nodded.

  “But . . . no. I didn’t do anything wrong. I . . . I drank some stupid old cider.” He bucked, struggling against his captors.

  Antaru gave me a pained look. “He’s not going to make this easy.”

  Of course not.

  Tala stood facing me again, now on my left, away from the others. No. I shook my head. She wasn’t here. She had gone with the Chosen, taken by the Chorah’dyn to be turned into a shadow of torment.

  Protect them.

  I growled. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  Antaru kicked the back of Nolaan’s leg. The man folded. Now he began to plead. He was saying something about not being in his right mind. The desert. It was doing something to him. He couldn’t think straight anymore. It was the desert, not him. “Don’t, don’t, please don’t!”

  I pursed my lips. Ab’Tanadu and Antaru held him down, but he kept jerking his head all over the place. I gripped my keshu a little tighter. My palms were wet. I swallowed, trying not to think of his cries.

  Hurry. Now. Just do it.

  I swung. The keshu slipped and shaved off part of his head instead of hitting the neck. Blood spat out like a sneeze. Nolaan started screaming. I swore. I swung again. And again.

  At last a thunk—and merciful silence.

  My hands were shaking. Blood pumped onto the sand. I took a step back, waiting for my heart to settle, for my breath to return. It didn’t.

  I shut my eyes. Stay calm. I had to be a leader. I had to hold on.

  Ab’Tanadu hurried to gather the mangled head in a sack, and a few Guardians took hold of the body, intending to dump it somewhere beyond the rocks.

  We had planned this, talked about it. Yet there was an awkward, stunned silence, as if we’d told ourselves what was going to happen, but something entirely different had happened instead.

  Someone behind me groaned. I held my ground. I waited until the body was gone, until the trail of blood ran up, past the Guardian’s quarters and the newly-planted treeline and out into the desert.

  “Well, that was a mess,” Antaru muttered, breaking the tension.

  I nodded, not daring to glance towards the Labourers, afraid to see my own horrified expression reflected in theirs. I wanted to wipe my blade and sheathe it, like a dignified warrior. But I didn’t trust myself not to slice my own hand open. I wanted to say something, but I could barely breathe.

  So without a word, I marched back to the Guardian’s quarters, my keshu still drawn and dripping.

  “That wasn’t easy.” Ab’Tanadu found me later that afternoon, cloistered in my small, dark room. Crude stone walls wrapped around me, shielding me from peering eyes.

  I nodded and pressed a hand to my chest, struggling against a lingering tightness. “It’s done.”

  He just nodded.

  “How’s the crew?”

  “A bit shaken. Adar’s holding them together.”

  “Good.” I paused. “Should I say something?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. Better just let it go.”

  Our eyes finally met.

  “You knew it would be like this?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Yl’avah’s might, it’s . . .” I struggled to find something to say, but it was hard to concentrate on something as silly as words. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be . . .” I trailed off.

  “Yes. But don’t expect to be the same any time soon.” He grunted. “Too bad Nolaan drank all the cider.”

  I gave a strangled laugh. “Ab’Tanadu?”

  “What is it?”

  “I . . . appreciate what you do here. I know you don’t always agree with me.”

  “No. But I don’t envy your job either. You’ll figure it out. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And Ishvandu?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t lose too much sleep over him. The only thing I’d have done different was ship that fool back to the Circle and let others get their hands bloody. I don’t know. I’d like to think that makes me wiser, but maybe it just proves why I’m not head of the kiyah.”

  Then the old outrider left me to the lonely dark.

  I waited until after sunfall. Ab’Tanadu would arrange the watch tonight. Probably Mani and himself—the old rocks of our young kiyah.

  Young. I felt it again. Felt it suddenly, when I thought I was past all that terrible uncertainty. Had I really just done that? Had I killed a man?

  No. Executed.

  I took a steadying breath. My hands had finally stopped shaking. At some point I had cleaned my keshu and changed my robes, though I couldn’t recall doing either. Now it was time.

  I walked out into the night.

  I did a long, slow patrol around the camp, first acknowledging Mani outside the quarters. Then I opened my senses to the Unseen, listening for the barest scent of Sumadi. I wondered if they knew blood on the air, if it would lure them like carrion. But there was nothing. Nothing, of course, except that mountainous presence beyond the cliffs, waiting, always waiting, that deep, dark pool.

  I saluted ab’Tanadu when I passed him on the outpost. He saluted back. All quiet. I circled around. I let my patrol end by the Labourer’s tent where Arkaya was standing watch outside. A warm light glowed from within, and a murmur of voices.

  “Any trouble?” I asked under my b
reath.

  She shook her head. “Nolaan won’t be missed.”

  I winced at her coldness, but I knew she spoke for most of the Labourers. Then I noticed Mani slip up beside me, joining me. Together, we ducked inside.

  Immediately, the gathering hushed. Everyone turned to stare at me, most still wary with secrets. I was glad: it meant Adar was doing his job.

  “He’s with us,” Adar said.

  I watched their faces. Some looked at me in surprise, others glanced at Mani, then nodded and settled in. One or two scowled.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that execution,” I said. “But I hope you take it as a sign.”

  “You mean a warning,” said the old recruit.

  “I mean a sign. No Guardian here escapes the Law. No Guardian is given special privileges. We work together and feast together. If need be, we starve together.”

  “So is this our future? Starving together in this hole in the ground?”

  I looked at him. “What’s your name?”

  “Brudan.”

  “Brudan,” I echoed the rolling r, a strong, short name. “The Circle sees Anuai as a resource. They think I’ve built it for them. I haven’t.”

  “Then for who?” asked Larayis.

  “For anyone brave enough to come claim it. And that’s your first test. You passed.”

  A soft murmur greeted my words. “Alright,” said one of the younger men. “What now? You didn’t answer Brudan’s question. Is this our home now? Forever?”

  “If we need it to be.”

  “But we didn’t sign up to be exiles. We want to change Shyandar, not leave it.”

  “Change comes slowly,” I replied.

  “Not always,” said Brudan.

  I shook my head. “No fighting. Not unless we’re out of options. Here, we could be free. Better to live in Anuai than die in a failed uprising.”

  “So we just grub around in the desert and pretend to build? We thought you had a plan.”

  I glanced at Adar, who nodded.

  “Why are you here, Brudan?” I asked.

  “Adar knows.”

  “Now I need to know.”

  The man folded his arms, scowling at me. “Maybe I don’t trust you yet.”

  “I’m not asking for your trust, Brudan, but if you can’t tell me why you’re here, then how will you tell Shyandar? You think a stolen keshu, a few dead Guardians, a doomed uprising—you think this will create sympathy for your cause?”

  Brudan fell silent, but I saw others nodding.

  “Adar, tell them why you’re here.”

  The foreman cleared his throat. “We’ve all lost people. Larayis, your husband died working the fields. Then you lost the baby in Kaprash, same as Ishvandu here.”

  She shot me a look, as if surprised I could share anything of her grief.

  “Daya,” Adar glanced at one of the younger men. “You’ve a brother.”

  “Had,” he growled.

  “Dead in the last Kaprash. Beaten by overseers for non-compliance. Am I right?”

  “Right.” His knuckles cracked in the silence. “‘Cause he wouldn’t work without water. So they whipped the skin off him. Poor Dak. Rot set it. I still remember the stench of it before he died.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just promise me you’re different than those rat-shitting swaggerers that killed him.”

  “I’ll let you make up your own mind on that, Daya.”

  “I will.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Adar let it hang for a few moments before speaking.

  “Ham.”

  The other new recruit sneered. “Hamanda ab’Adar.”

  I glanced at Adar. “You have a son?”

  “More than a few,” the young man laughed. “He likes to think we’re a secret army or something.”

  “Ham, tell them your story,” said Adar.

  Hamanda crossed his arms. “Arkaya—that’s my half-sister out there.”

  “Half-sister?”

  “Yeah, another of Adar’s brood. Didn’t you know?”

  I grunted. I had, but it wasn’t common knowledge, and Arkaya kept such things to herself.

  “Well, she’s a Guardian now, good for her,” Hamanda continued. “But she wasn’t always. Just a few years back some blade took her in the fields. Forced her, that shitting bastard. Said he’d cut her family’s rations if she told anyone. Well, now she’s got her own blade, so at least one Guardian’s going to die in this uprising, you can count on it.”

  I nodded. I’d never heard the story before, but it didn’t surprise me. Arkaya was cold to every Guardian I’d seen except Mani.

  “Then another of my brothers was Chosen, three years now,” Hamanda continued. “Everyone acted like it was a good thing. But we don’t know where they go, why they never come back, what sacrifice they’re forced to pay.”

  There was a rumble of agreement.

  “That was your son, too?” I asked Adar.

  He shook his head.

  “My ma’s,” Hamanda explained. “From the weaver who raised us. He was a good sort—not like that loser over there.”

  Adar snorted. “Watch it, kid. I’ll put you on double-shift.”

  “Then I’ll do triple, cause we know I’m tougher than you.”

  “When you’re a week on the desert, tell me again.”

  “You think I’m gonna buckle? Like that crying ass-wipe of a blade who couldn’t even die decently? Pit me against any Guardian. I’ll outlast them.”

  “It might come to that.”

  There was both a wink and an edge to their banter.

  “I like your attitude,” I said. “But it might change once Sumadi come for you.”

  “They have.” He growled. “A friend of mine—killed. In that attack last year. Right in front of me.”

  Then he fell silent, and I recognized that look in his eye.

  I decided now wasn’t the time to let anyone off easy. “Describe it to us.”

  His brow went up. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I want to know if you’re honest.”

  “Get shoved, you sand-shitting bastard. I’m not here for you.”

  “No, you’re here for yourself, same as all of us, but we’re still in this together. Now describe what you saw. All of it.”

  Ham hesitated, but glanced at Adar. Always Adar. I tried to stifle my irritation. It was only reasonable they would look to him, but sometimes I wondered if the foreman had a bit too much sway. I wondered if I should talk to Mani about it.

  “Tell them,” Adar said.

  At least he backed me up. For now.

  Ham sighed. “It was a shadow, just like they say. It came out of the dark, out of nowhere. We were up talking, three of us. I saw it first. My friend didn’t. It came at us, and suddenly it wasn’t a shadow anymore. It was all bright and I could see every detail. Like a man almost, but . . . grotesque and vicious. It grabbed my friend, and went straight into his eyes and nose.” He gestured to each place in turn. “And then my friend started screaming. It lasted a long time. It must have been . . . horrible for him.”

  “It was,” I replied.

  Everyone glanced at me, and I saw a flicker of fear in their eyes. Good. Better they understand.

  “How would you know?” Ham demanded. “You’ve got your blade. You’re safe. It’s us who die like rats on a spit.”

  “I didn’t always have a blade.”

  “Right. The old man says you were on his crew for a month or so. Must have been hard.”

  “I was born a Labourer,” I said. “I was raised a Labourer. I was Tasked to a Labourer. Remember the fire at the Guardian’s Hall?”

  “Sure.”

  “I followed the man responsible, Kynava ab’Ashnavas. I went into the desert to catch him. I was ten. I thought myself a hero. The man tied me up like the fool I was and left me, and before I could escape, Sumadi attacked us both. What happened to your friend happened to me. The only diffe
rence is, I lived.”

  There was silence. I caught Brudan frowning at me and Larayis nodded, as if she was beginning to understand.

  “You survived,” she said quietly. “That’s why you’re different. Why they say you can sense them, speak with them. Is it true?”

  “It is.”

  “Light and all, can you sense them now?” Larayis glanced towards the tent flap, thinking of the shadows beyond.

  “Within a half-day’s travel.” I didn’t add that a day’s distance for us could be travelled by them in a heartbeat.

  “So that’s your reason?” Ham asked. “You’re still sore about being abandoned in the desert or something?”

  “Or something,” I replied. “My wife was Chosen four months ago, but unlike you, I know exactly what’s going to happen to her.”

  Now I had their attention. They sat up straighter, exchanging startled looks.

  “Adar?” I said

  The man stood. Instantly, I felt his authority under this tent. I hated how he could do that, while I had to fight for every breath of respect. I rested a hand on my keshu, reminding myself of who was in charge.

  “Four months ago, Ishvandu ab’Admundi offered me a permanent place in Anuai. As you can imagine, I was delighted.”

  There was a scattering of nervous laughter.

  “I was prepared for the desert. I was prepared for the hard work and the isolation. What I wasn’t prepared for was the truth. Ishvandu knew about the stirrings of rebellion. He knew about the first of us who were quietly and carefully at work. He approached me with this information, but instead of arresting me, he offered to show me something that would bring the cause of our resistance alive. I accepted.”

  “Not much choice there,” Ham snorted.

  “He asked if I knew anyone who’d been Chosen. Three, I said. A young Labourer who’d worked on my crew, an old woman who was very dear to me, and finally, Arkaya’s mother. He asked how long ago. I said sixteen years. He said that would do.

  “I was confused. What did he care about some old love of mine? But I decided to go along with him. One night he asked me to join him on watch. He asked me to name the woman who had been Chosen. I did. Yashi. And then, before my eyes, she appeared.”

  The rebels muttered, exchanging looks.

  “What do you mean appeared?” Ham asked.