“Yes, sal’ah?” he sighed.
“Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He straightened and lifted his chin, grabbing the hilt of his keshu. “I’m not upset, sal’ah.” He replied with more confidence.
I smiled. “More effective, but still a lie. What’s bothering you?”
He shifted uncomfortably, glancing around him. I noticed Adar had made a subtle exit. The others were mingling under the shade tent. We were alone.
“I . . . I fell, sal’ah,” he finally admitted. “In training.”
“Good.”
He blinked. “Good?”
“Yes. It might save you from making the same mistake against real Sumadi. So why did you fall?”
“Because . . .” He thought about it. “Because I didn’t see the stone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wasn’t looking?”
“Not good enough. You’re well-trained. You know how to keep your guard up. So what happened?”
“I . . .” He flushed.
“Benji, what happened?”
“I wasn’t . . . thinking clearly.” Every word was a struggle. “I . . . my focus . . .”
“You’re distracted by something.”
He nodded miserably.
“What is it?”
“Sal’ah . . .”
“No, you don’t get to duck out of this one. Spit it out.” I struck my hands together. “It’ll clear your head.”
“It’s fine . . . it’s . . . no, it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m fine, sal’ah.”
“Say fine again and I’ll slap you.”
He glanced at me warily, trying to decide if I was joking. “O-okay.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”
“Good.”
“It’s about Nolaan.”
“I thought as much. An execution isn’t easy to watch.”
“Sure. I mean there was a lot of . . . but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“It’s . . . I’m sorry, sal’ah, but it’s what he said. About you.”
He met my eye, and a chill washed through me. I tried to look surprised and amused, though I knew exactly how keen this young Guardian was. One of the two I had to watch.
“What did he say, Benji?”
“You . . . you know. You heard.”
“Remind me.” My voice took on an edge.
Benji swallowed. “That you’re a rebel.”
The last word squeezed out from the back of his throat. I looked at him. He looked at me. “And do you believe him?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” he said, then turned pale, horrified at his own confession. “I’m sorry, sal’ah.”
I rolled my eyes. “By the Tree, kid, do I look like your blasted Guardian Lord? For the last time, stop calling me that and speak freely. Do you believe him?”
“Well . . . he claimed Koryn told him things, and Koryn is dead, and I have heard rumours.”
“Such as?”
“That it was your white-robe friend who did it. Then it wasn’t, and he was covering for your wife, only she was conveniently Chosen, so we’ll never know for sure . . .”
My jaw tightened at the mention of Tala, but I had practised smoothing my expression, letting the words wash over me as if the horrible day had never happened. “Go on,” I said.
Encouraged, Benji plunged forward. “Nolaan mentioned something about an exile, and a hidden valley. But we never found the valley, did we? We built our own well. Then you brought us all water out of nowhere, claiming we’d saved it from last time—which we didn’t, as far as I remember. So maybe the valley is real, only why wouldn’t you show us unless you were hiding something? And then there’s the whole incident with you getting thrown out of the Guardian’s Hall, but reinstated, presumably to build this well—but isn’t it strange that your old foreman Adar, a Labourer, is acting like your second around here? You put an awful lot of trust in him, for a Labourer. And I’m not really sure he deserves it. There’s something I’ve noticed . . .”
“Oh?”
“Well, just that he . . . never mind. The point is Nolaan. He was clearly undisciplined and needed to be dealt with, but instead of sending him back to Shyandar to be handled by the Circle, you decided to execute him yourself, hoping he would sound like a desert-crazed outrider.”
He stopped, breathless, but pleased with his deductions. Until he met my eye. I looked at him very hard and watched the smile fade.
“And is anyone else talking like this?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“You haven’t spoken about this to anyone?”
He hesitated, and I saw a spark of fear in his eyes. It would be easy...
“You . . . you aren’t going to deny it?”
“Why should I? You’ve clearly made up your mind.”
“I . . . I’d rather be wrong. Sal’ah.” He looked at me worriedly, begging to be contradicted.
I considered coming up with an explanation for each suspicion he had raised, but something told me that wasn’t the answer. Benji was too smart for that—smart in that not quite clever way that meant his brains would always get him into trouble. No. Benji required a different sort of tactic, and this was no time to go on the defensive.
“I’m impressed,” I said after a moment. “You really thought about all those things?”
He nodded.
“So tell me why.”
“Why?”
“Yes. You could piece together all that evidence, so do you have a broader theory? I mean, the Al’kah himself chose me to lead this settlement. Would he do that if he wasn’t absolutely certain about my loyalty?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t know . . .”
“Are you saying Nolaan, for all his lack of wit, figured out more than the Al’kah?”
“No, of course not!”
“And that you yourself know better than the Circle?”
“That’s not what I’m saying . . .”
“But all these things you mentioned—there’s nothing secret to them. They happened, and there they are, for anyone to see. If you could piece together those events into something suspicious, don’t you think a pathetic man might grasp at something, anything, to prevent his own death?”
“Well, there is that.”
“And if Nolaan really had secret information, why hasn’t he shared it before? He’s always hated me.”
“I see what you’re saying, but . . .”
“But what?” I leaned forward. “But you still think I’m a rebel? You want to run with that theory? Really?” I laughed. “You’re going to take that to the Circle?”
“I . . . I don’t . . .”
“Because that’s a very serious accusation, my young friend, and if you’re going to make it, you better have some serious information. Do you understand?”
He paused, then nodded. “Of course, sal’ah. I understand, sal’ah.”
“Good.”
“Please forgive my foolishness.”
“Not foolishness. You’re perceptive. You heard what others missed. That’s admirable. But don’t let it interfere with your training again. Got it?”
“Yes, sal’ah.”
“Good. Now I’m sending you with Antaru. You’re going to accompany Larayis on her surveys this morning. Talk with Mani for supplies. Understood?”
Benji nodded and hurried off, but I had the sinking feeling his accusations were more honest than his retractions. Another problem. I sighed.
It was like a disease. Kill one, and it would just crop up somewhere else. I could take Adar’s way. I could arrange an accident. Cut him off before his doubts reached more ears.
But what would they say? Two dead Guardians? How long before someone else remembered Nolaan’s babbled accusations? How long before ab’Tanadu remembered?
No. This time, I’d have to handle the situation with more
delicacy.
By evening, Adar was loaded up with two Guardians of the sixth, four camels, and a train of water. He didn’t agree, and he didn’t like following orders of mine that he didn’t agree with. But his reluctance was only proof I was being too lenient with him. About that at least, Benji was right.
Then ab’Tanadu approached.
“Ishvandu,” he said. “I’d like you to consider a replacement for one of the sixth.”
“Who?”
“Benji.”
I tried to ignore the prickle of foreboding. Just a coincidence. “Why?”
“Remember what happened to Nolaan?”
I snorted. “I doubt our keen friend is in any danger of repeating Nolaan’s shortcomings.”
“That’s not what I meant. Nolaan was starting to . . .” ab’Tanadu tapped the side of his head.
“You think Benji is desert-crazed?”
“Not yet. But that’s my point. If we expect this to work indefinitely, we need to start giving breaks to our kiyah. Including you.”
“Me?” I laughed.
Ab’Tanadu looked at me. “Ishvandu, you think I haven’t noticed?”
“Noticed what?” I kept my voice light.
“You talk to her when you think no one is looking.”
Pain ran through me like a bolt. “That’s got nothing to do with the desert.”
“Maybe not. You’re still on edge. I would suggest you go back, but I’m not that ambitious, so I’ll start with Benji. He’s the youngest, and sometimes a little too eager. He’s been more uptight than usual lately. He could use a break.”
“He won’t agree to it.”
“It’s not his decision to make. Don’t ask. Tell.”
And get his perceptive eye off my back.
It wasn’t such a bad idea. “Alright, call him.”
Benji appeared a few moments later.
“I’ve thought about what you said,” I told him. “About Adar.”
“Yes, sal’ah?”
“I’m sending him back. I want someone to go with him and keep an eye on him for a bit. Can you do that?”
The kid brightened, standing even straighter then before. “Understood, sal’ah! Absolutely!”
“Don’t get too excited. This is serious. If there is something suspicious going on, I want you to observe from a distance and report back to me. Can you do that?”
“Got it.”
“I’m counting on you.”
“Of course, sal’ah.”
I smiled. Adar was sharp enough for Benji, and maybe this would convince the kid I wasn’t a rebel myself. Silently, I thanked ab’Tanadu for solving another problem for me and started thinking of how best to dig a quarry.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Kulnethar ab’Ethanir
The Guardian’s Hall was bristling with midday heat, walls shimmering like liquid. The yard was empty, save for a few hurrying figures, and they’d left me to stand in this, unprotected.
I chose not to take it personally. Sometimes I forgot the luxury of being nestled against the eastern cliffs. The gardens. The birdsong. The scent of greenness and white-stone shadows.
I sighed and shifted, mopping my brow with my head wrap. The sentry on duty smirked. Your fault for coming at midday. He stood in the tower doorway, protected beneath the arch. Everything in me begged to join him, but if I was going to impress the Al’kah, I might as well start now. Stoic. Patient.
I waited. And then I waited some more. And then I began to calculate how much longer before sunsickness set in. Flushed brow, yes. Thirst, yes. A pounding headache, yes, light and all, yes. Next came nausea and cramping. Elevated heart rate. Shortness of breath. Panic. Madness. Death.
At last, I heard footsteps echoing from within the cool darkness. The other sentry appeared. I held my breath.
“Elder ab’Ethanir,” the woman said. “Follow me.”
I tried not to hurl myself into the tower. I followed her up the stone steps, relishing the relief from the sun. We came to a heavy wooden door, and with solemn intensity, the Guardian swung it inward.
The Circle Chamber was bathed in hot daggers of light. There were narrow slitted windows, a vaulted ceiling, a ring of stone chairs, raised up, far more imposing than our own gathering of council seats. A room designed for one thing only—intimidation.
And there, on a simple wood stool, perched the Al’kah himself, long limbs wound tight like a spring.
It was hard not to be daunted by his piercing eye. Yet my father had been immune, unawed by such methods of control. I had to be like him, to see past all that. The Al’kah might be the most powerful figure in Shyandar, but that didn’t make my message unimportant—rather the opposite. Power without wisdom was the very worst of dangers.
The door closed behind me and boomed up to the high ceiling. When I glanced behind, I realized the sentry had gone. I was alone with the Al’kah.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Al’kah. I know custom dictates you should hold audience with only the High Elder—”
“Custom.” His face twitched. “I’ve allowed you up because you aren’t that fool, Melanyr. You have one chance to speak. Use it wisely.”
I took a steadying breath. Last chance to change my mind. “I have information,” I said.
The Al’kah waited. I wasn’t sure if I expected a burst of excitement, but the man barely moved. I felt myself hesitating.
Ishvandu would never forgive me. But this was for his own good, as well as Shyandar’s.
“I have information about the man in the desert.”
“I have a whole kiyah of Guardians in the desert. To which man are you referring?”
“You know which man.” I folded my hands quietly in front of me, waiting.
The Al’kah frowned. Then he gave the barest of nods. “Explain.”
“He is the one responsible for Akkoryn ab’Kindelthu’s death, among other things. He calls himself E’tuah.”
Again, a nod of acknowledgement.
“His real name is Shatayeth Undying.”
I waited for the gasp of incredulity. A flash of concern. Nothing. The man eyed me, more curious than shocked.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“I saw him, Al’kah. I was with Atali sai’Neraia when her brother was killed, and he admitted it with his own mouth. Besides, he speaks with authority. He is powerful. Ancient. And a constant threat to Shyandar.”
“I see.” The Al’kah leaned forward, hands twining together. “So you’ve come to inform me now, after months of silence—why?”
“Because you’re building a colony in the desert, Al’kah, are you not?”
“Outpost, Elder. Not colony.”
“Yet a colony it will become if it continues—a colony within the domain of Shatayeth Undying himself, the enemy of our people, and under the authority of someone who . . .” I swallowed my words.
A spark came into the Al’kah’s eye. “Someone who what?”
“Someone who has no idea what he’s dealing with.”
“Ishvandu’s been warned about this man in the desert, instructed not to engage, under any circumstances, unless directly attacked.”
“Shatayeth doesn’t attack. He manipulates. He uses people. He . . .” I stopped and frowned. “Wait. You . . . you knew? You knew all along who this was?”
“Atali sai’Neraia.” The man stood abruptly. He towered over me, not just with his height, but with the force of his presence. “Tala informed us, following the incident you alluded to. So you see, Elder, your information does nothing to change my mind.”
“But . . .” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But Al’kah—we aren’t talking about some nameless desert exile. If you’ve known all along, why? Why in the blasted sands would you allow your people so close to him?”
“I’ve put safeguards in place.”
“Safeguards!” I laughed incredulously. “Al’kah, there is only one safeguard against Shatayeth.”
�
�Which is?”
“The Avanir.”
His face darkened, but I pressed forward, heart pounding at my own audacity.
“The Avanir alone is infused with the Chorah’dyn’s power, with her purpose and protection. As we’ve always known, Al’kah—known but chosen to ignore for convenience’s sake. And now we’re sending our people, our Labourers and Crafters and Guardians, the last remnant of Kayr, into his influence. Into the desert. Beyond their only line of protection. Does that sound wise to you? Does that sound prudent?”
I was forcing my point and I knew it. I could already feel the Al’kah bristling at my tone, walls rising to enclose his guilt.
“You think I’ve acted imprudently?”
I shook my head. “Forgive me, Al’kah. It’s not my place to question you.”
He grunted, one eye still glittering at me.
“But it is my place to advise you. My role as an Elder allows me that much at least.”
“Indeed,” he replied at last. “And so you have. Now unless you can provide more specific details on the matter, I’m afraid this meeting has come to an end.”
“Al’kah, there are more details. This is Shatayeth Undying—I promise you there’s more going on than either of us can see. Can you swear otherwise? Can you say with absolute certainty your people are safe within the enemy’s influence? You don’t know who he’s spoken with, who he’s manipulating, what plots are spinning behind our backs as we speak.”
“Do you?” The man’s eyes pinned me.
I hesitated.
“Do you have information you’re not sharing with me, Elder? Information regarding the security of this city? Because withholding it would be tantamount to complicity.”
Yl’avah’s might. I could already hear the hammerfall of consequence. Had I said too much? Was it too late to soften the blow?
“Al’kah, I doubt anyone under your command would actively conspire with Shatayeth—but neither can they defeat him. Don’t you see? None of us can. Not directly.”
“Ah. So you’re here to denounce me.”
“To advise you, Al’kah—”
“Against settling in the desert at all?”
“Exactly! Shatayeth is dangerous. No one should be allowed near him.”
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