Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  The Al’kah took one look at me, then barked out a laugh. It cracked through the chamber like a denunciation.

  “Insufferable boy! You think you can toss your keshu back and forth like a quill? You think you’re a withered scribe? Yl’avah’s blasted might, you’re a Guardian under oath. You don’t get to resign anything unless I say so. Understood?”

  “Of course, sal’ah Al’kah.”

  I pulled the keshu back in, still gripping it in both my hands, eyes still trained on the floor.

  “Good. Now you’ll speak with Neraia sai’Kalysa and answer her questions regarding these two rebel upstarts. And if she should, by some marvel, be satisfied with your answers, then we shall proceed to the dismantling of your crew and kiyah.”

  “Yes, sal’ah Al’kah.”

  “Excellent.” He stomped towards the door, then abruptly stopped and glanced at me. “I trust everything else is as it should be.”

  “Yes.”

  “Shatayeth’s not giving you too much trouble?”

  I started. Had he just said . . . ? “W-who, sal’ah Al’kah?”

  The man grunted. “The man in the desert. The one they told you about. They did tell you who it was, didn’t they?”

  “No, sal’ah Al’kah. No one’s given me that name. I . . . I think I would have remembered it.”

  “Huh.” His eyes glittered at me. He knew. He knew exactly what they’d told me, and the uncomfortable feeling of being scrutinized washed over me, squeezing my chest, sending a single bead of sweat down my back.

  “Never mind then. Neraia. Questions. Go to it.” The door rattled in its frame, and the Al’kah’s plodding footsteps disappeared into his private chambers above us.

  I was exhausted by the time Neraia and Umaala were done with me. The questions were hard and accusatory.

  “Why did you ask for Adar ab’Dara?”

  Because I knew he was a good foreman.

  “How long did you suspect him?”

  On his last return.

  “Why?”

  He started questioning my authority.

  “So you sent him back?”

  Yes, sal’ah.

  “What did you tell Benajin ab’Ibatu?”

  To watch him closely.

  “But you chose not to pass on your suspicions to the Circle?

  I had no evidence, sal’ah.

  “Then you weren’t aware of any missing items amongst your supplies?”

  No, sal’ah.

  “And you don’t think it’s vital to keep track of supplies and provisions in Anuai?”

  Forgive me, sal’ah. We’ve kept track of everything. I wasn’t aware of any stolen goods.

  “And the meetings Adar held in the Labourer’s tent. You weren’t aware of these either?”

  No, I knew about his meetings.

  “But if you suspected him, why did you never observe them?”

  As I told you, I only suspected him recently. Arkaya was often on duty.

  “And has she ever approached you with suspicions?”

  No, sal’ah.

  “Do you trust her?”

  A pause. Yes, sal’ah.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Another pause. With my life, sal’ah.

  “Even knowing she’s the daughter of Adar ab’Dara and the half-brother of Hamanda ab’Adar?”

  You can’t choose your family, sal’ah.

  The questions hammered away in that vein for a long time. When they had grilled me about Adar, they moved on to Hamanda, then to the execution of Nolaan, then to everything I knew about each member of my kiyah, and then back to Adar, concerning his activities in Shyandar, who he was close to, who he might have shared his rebellious convictions with.

  By the end of it, I wasn’t even sure of the truth, never mind the lies—which was, of course, the point. Neraia was cold the entire time. Umaala interjected his own questions, but for the most part, he stood cross-armed and grim, observing me with an ominous air of disappointment.

  Yl’avah’s might, let it be enough.

  Then abruptly, Neraia bowed her head. When she lifted it again, I knew the interrogation was over.

  “We are suspending your kiyah until further investigations are complete. Once we deal with the most pressing matters of justice, you can expect to face the Circle.”

  My stomach tightened. Matters of justice. That meant an execution. It was happening just as we suspected.

  “And my orders in the meantime, sal’ah?”

  “Think, Ishvandu. Think of the last four months you’ve spent in the desert, and if anything suspicious comes to mind, anything at all, you would do well to report it. You’ve cooperated. You’ve even found it within yourself to show a little respect.” She arched a brow. “But this is far from over.”

  I bowed and left.

  I felt scathed and humiliated, and no doubt worse would come. But I had my keshu and my authority—whatever remained of it. For now, that was all that mattered.

  Chapter Sixty

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  I reached the dark confines of my room and sank into the wall. I had barely stopped to think. Everything was happening so fast.

  “Tala, help me,” I whispered. I gripped the Sending stone. I was never more tempted to try. But I knew what I would find—the Chorah’dyn, a blazing wall between us.

  No. Tala was gone.

  And yet being here, back in this room after so long: I could swear the scent of her lingered, the shadow of her presence, her laugh, her touch.

  I swallowed. Now wasn’t the time for those emotions. Time to work.

  “Adar ab’Dara,” I whispered to the pulsing stone.

  I flashed through the Unseen. Unreal colours, textures, the shape of light itself—all slipped past me like a stream, no longer as dizzying as they once had been. All the Realms seemed to move, while I myself stayed fixed. Not a copy of a person, but a person displaced in time, and therefore in two places at once. Out of sync with the rush of reality.

  I stepped calmly into the holds. The light was dim, but enough trickled down I could make out the grey shape of a man. I had executed my shift perfectly, a step away from him, at the bottom of the hole itself.

  “Adar,” I whispered.

  “Sand-shitting sands!” The foreman clutched his chest, and for a moment I thought he was going to collapse in a fit. He took a deep breath, spat out another few curses, then straightened.

  “Don’t—ever—do that again,” he hissed. “I don’t care if you’ve got some blasted shiny stone.”

  “Adar, listen to me. They’re going to rope you and Hamanda.”

  There was a pause. “You sure?”

  “They’re holding my whole kiyah, your Labourers. They’re questioning them one by one. But Baraaba came to us—”

  “Baraaba?” I heard the fury in the man’s voice. “Don’t trust that rat. He’s the one who—”

  “I know. He came to me, confessed it himself. He’s worried about his people. We knew something like this could happen, but Baraaba gave us the warning we needed. Now we’re going to make the most of it. If my people hold to the plan and say what they’re supposed to, we can make it to the execution.”

  “Good for you,” Adar grunted.

  “Good for us.”

  The man eyed me through the dark. “You have a plan, young blade?”

  I nodded. “Be ready. This blasted rebellion needs you, and sands take me if I let them murder our best chance for making this work.”

  “Look, kid. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t want people dying on my account. You shouldn’t have come back.”

  “That’s not your choice to make. Now we have an opportunity here. An event that gathers all of Shyandar in one place.”

  A grunt came through the dark. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “It’ll never work.”

  “It might. You know you’re a popular bastard, so don’t even pretend otherwise. We take our
stand here. Now. I can use the stone to reach whoever I need, so just tell me their names and I’ll visit them tonight, spread the word. Your people will rally around you, just give the word.”

  Adar said nothing for a long time. The darkness sighed. I heard Hamanda pacing in one of the neighbouring holes, probably listening, but thankfully clever enough not to call out.

  “You want me to name the most influential members of our rebellion?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you can turn them over to the Circle and save your own sand-shitting ass. You think I’m a fool, ab’Admundi?”

  I sighed, clenching my fists. “They sent my wife off to die and expect me to do nothing, like I’m a slave to their whims, like they have every right to humiliate me and my people. You think I’m so pathetically desperate I’d give them everything we’ve worked for just for a sliver of indebted life?” I leaned in till I could feel Adar’s breath, his bated distrust, prickling out of him like thorns. “Adar ab’Dara, I hate them. And I will not bow to them, not while there’s a sand’s chance we can succeed.”

  “You bowed quickly enough to put my son in the holds.”

  I snorted. “That? We hatched a plan so I could get us to the execution with blades. Practically his idea, by the way. I think he just wanted to fight me. Now we’ll do everything we can to avoid violence, but this is our best chance to be heard. So are you with us?”

  There was silence. I heard the growl in his throat, the tension trembling in his fists.

  Then quietly, piercing from the darkness of the next hole, Hamanda spoke: “Let’s do it.”

  I waited in the dark of the Labourer’s hut, head tilted to listen. There were whispers without. I gripped the hilt at my side. Bringing a blade through the Sending stone remained impossible, but after nauseating amounts of practice, I’d managed the illusion of one. It stuck out now from an empty sheathe. Appearances mattered.

  I waited.

  At last, the woman entered. Lidyana—the same woman Tala had caught storing weapons under her floor. The woman she’d shown mercy to, on account of the girl sleeping in the corner of the room, threadbare blankets tucked to her chin, toes poking out into the cooling air.

  Lidyana saw me. She stood poised in the entrance, muscles taut. One hand curled against her back, and I wondered if she had a weapon there, even now.

  “If you have a concern, Guardian, you’ll broach it properly. Tomorrow in full daylight. I won’t be threatened.”

  “I’m not here as a Guardian.”

  “Then get out.”

  “My name is Ishvandu ab’Admundi, the husband of Atali sai’Neraia. Do you remember me?”

  Worry flickered across her face, but she held her ground. “What do you want?”

  “I bring word from Adar ab’Dara. Soon, they will rope him and his son. Very soon. Spread the word and be ready. Can you do that?”

  “Be ready for what?”

  “Freedom.”

  She watched me. Her hand hadn’t moved from her back, but a light sparked in her eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  “An ally. There are more than you know. Be strong, Lidyana—for you and your daughter. Spread the word. We will stand together at the Flatrock, and this time, the judgments of the Circle will be on their own head.”

  Lidyana nodded. I backed further into the shadows then slipped through the Unseen.

  I moved quickly amongst the names Adar had given me. Some pretended ignorance, others looked ready to attack. The message was always the same. Be ready. We would make our stand at the Flatrock. We would defy the Circle. We would demand freedom from the Avanir—freedom for those who chose it.

  Then last of all, I visited my Guardians.

  “No way,” Jil hissed. “No way.”

  We stood huddled in Antaru’s room. Mani leaned against the door. Arkaya brooded next to her. Jil paced, wringing his hands, while Antaru stood like a wall in the centre of the room.

  “They needled each of us half to death,” Antaru muttered. “You really think this is still a good idea?”

  “This might be our only chance. They’re not letting us back to Anuai on our own, and if we don’t act now, Adar dies. We can’t allow that.”

  “Why not? Why risk our skin for that mudfoot?”

  “We already discussed this in Anuai. Hamanda risked his life for this chance. He trusted us. Now it’s our turn. Besides, Adar is the one the rebels follow. Without Adar, we’re just more Guardians for them to resent. Without Adar, the rebellion is over before it even begins.”

  There was silence in the room. I glanced at Arkaya.

  “I’m still in,” she said with the all the warmth of a blacksnake.

  Mani nodded. “Good. We have a moderate amount of supplies in Anuai. We have fresh water. Tools. Not to mention the seed I’ve been storing up. And we might even be able to barter water for livestock and supplies. If we can persuade them to let us go, we’ll have a real chance at survival. But the reality is we are five keshu.” She looked at each in turn. “Five. We must be quick.”

  Jil was still shaking his head. “I don’t like this. It won’t work. They . . . they won’t listen to us.”

  “We will make them listen,” I said.

  “How?” His voice pitched higher, stammering. “I didn’t agree to this! Building something in Anuai, yes. But . . . but this is an uprising! I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands!”

  “It won’t come to that,” I said.

  “How do you know? How? We’re going to what—sneak up on the Circle? Take Guardian Lords hostage? And you think they’ll let us just walk out of there with our rebel friends? Something w-w-will go wrong and—”

  “Jil,” Mani’s voice was quiet.

  “What?”

  “Breathe.”

  Jil’s collapsed against the wall, face going pale as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, Yl’avah’s might, we’re all going to die.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  A hush fell. They all looked at me, then looked away. Live, or die.

  “Maybe we will die,” I said. “But this is our chance to speak the truth. To all of Shyandar. We swore an oath to protect our people. To do what’s right. How can we stand back and let two of them die? How can we stay silent? I know I can’t.” My voice fell. “Not again.”

  After a strained moment, Antaru released his hopes in a huff of breath. “I’m probably dead anyway. Better a blade than the blasted ropes.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I said. “Jil?”

  The kid looked on the verge of being sick. But finally he gave a weak nod. “Alright,” he said.

  “Good. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Jerad Amanti

  It was half-dark when Jerad was snapped awake by the crunch of boots. He was up before they even had a chance to kick him.

  A heavy bag landed beside him.

  “Time to move, Feddel,” Garden said. “Your five days starts now.”

  Jerad said nothing as they unbound him. He glanced around. Two men aimed their guns at him, but others were still sprawled on the ground asleep. It was early.

  Garden pointed towards the river. “We’ll start that way. Softer ground, easier tracks. Ain’t that right?”

  Jerad nodded, then bent and hoisted the pack. He was feeling stronger. The double rations, the rest, no beatings, even just for a day or two.

  But as they started towards the river, he caught sight of the young Northman, trussed up and unconscious, far from the others. The cost of his reprieve. They passed close. There were fresh bruises from last night, and a new scar under his collarbone: a pattern of deliberate, hard strokes. They stood out sweltering red against the man’s skin.

  “You’re looking close, Feddel. You know what it means?” Garden sounded a little too pleased. “That there’s the mark of a traitor.”

  Jerad tried not to show his disgust.

  “Slaves get their own, eventually, ‘fore their sold, don�
��t you know.” Garden tapped a finger to his cheek. “Right here, where everyone can see it, plain as day. You’ll get yours too, once we make it north to Lenken. Add to that nice little scar you got started.”

  The captive stirred, then jerked awake, terror flashing in his eyes. Then hatred.

  Jerad knew what he had to do. It was no good going on like this, slipping step-by-step into abject servitude. Would he turn his face to the bite of uncaring steel? Would he have a choice?

  No. He had to risk it now, or never. He’d be alone with Garden and Rin. It might be his last chance. If he could wrest the gun from one, without getting shot by the other, maybe he could overpower them both. He’d have to make sure no word got back to the camp. And then somehow he’d have to turn around, one man against a gang of seasoned raiders, and somehow . . .

  His thoughts threatened to spiral into despair.

  “Hold it, now,” Garden halted. “Did we get this turnie a thing to drink? Clear me out, but I clean forgot. Rin!”

  He snapped some orders. The captive’s face lit up. His tongue flashed across his lips, licking and panting, eyes wide with desperation as they followed Rin hungrily back to the supplies.

  It was a quiet morning. Not a breath stirred the river. Jerad glanced awkwardly at the captive Northman, then back at Garden, shifting, palms sweating.

  It was just him and Garden. And the man stood nonchalant, uncaring, arms crossed. No hand on his gun.

  They were still in sight of the camp, but what if Jerad could make his move—now? What if Jerad could overpower him? Take his gun?

  And then what? Face the whole crew?

  Rin reached the supplies and bent over the water skins. Most of the Northmen were asleep. If he acted now, he could catch them unawares. He could kill Garden and make a run for it.