Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  He was sobbing now. “I don’t . . . want to die.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Mag. I should have gotten here faster.”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  Tandra just nodded. Her face had gone hard with grief. All she could do was keep nodding while Mag wailed, twisting in pain, the blood pumping out of him. His breath was coming in fast, desperate bursts, squeaking and wheezing. He arched his back.

  “Stay with him,” Alutan said. “I’m going after Garden.”

  “You’re not going without me! If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me!”

  Alutan gripped her shaking hand. “Killing him won’t do either of you any good now. You want your nephew’s last moments to be eaten up with revenge? He needs you.”

  Mag clutched her hand, trembling and groaning. “Don’t . . . don’t . . .”

  “Damn it!” Tears filled her eyes and she issued a stream of curses, pressing a bloody hand to her face. “Yes.” She finally snapped through her tears. “Yes, go after him. Don’t let him hurt her, you hear? You look after her!”

  Alutan nodded and jumped to his feet. Then he looked down. The spot where Jerad had lain was empty. The young Imo’ani was gone.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  The sounding horns rang their grisly summons at dawn. Not the usual call, but a long, low wail, penetrating Shyandar, commanding all to the Flatrock.

  I was expecting it. Even still, fear dropped into my gut like a stone.

  An execution.

  I rose and met ab’Tanadu. The rest of our kiyah fell into step behind us. Four of them were on our side—two were not. Four of them would make a dangerous stand. Two would have a choice: join us, or turn against us.

  Yl’avah forgive me.

  “They’re doing it!” Benji said, drawing alongside me. I was shocked to see the satisfied smile on his face, far too confident in his own judgments.

  “Well, now you get to enjoy the fruits of justice.”

  The young Guardian missed the bitterness in my voice. His chin tipped even more. He gripped his keshu. Pompous, self-assured brat.

  Then he shot me a disarming grin, a sparkle in his eye, and in a flash, it was like looking at Bray—proud to be a Guardian at last, proud to be useful, far too enthusiastic. Memories slammed through my mind. Enough to feel a knot of grief. Enough to wonder if Benji would die today.

  I looked quickly away. No. If violence erupted, it would not be my doing. Let any blood spilled be on the Circle’s head. Freeing Adar would have consequences, but my task was to speak the truth. Nothing more.

  The alternative was to do nothing, to watch as Adar and Hamanda died horrible deaths, to accept the authority of the Circle and the Avanir without question. Now—and forever.

  Impossible.

  I strode out with my kiyah, following the grim crowds, the anxious eyes of the Labourers, the fearful whispers.

  But I recognized a difference, here and there. A knowing look. A Labourer that walked deliberately, head down, eyes sharp as he clutched something in his hand. A pair of Crafters who were watching me, speaking in hushed and careful voices. And there was Lidyana.

  “Be ready,” ab’Tanadu spoke beside me.

  I glanced at him in surprise. “For what?”

  “Something isn’t right here.” He frowned. “Trouble.”

  I nodded slowly. “Adar was popular with the Labourers. It will be a hard execution for them to swallow.”

  “Aye.” He paused. “For you too, maybe.”

  I gave no reply. The Flatrock opened ahead of us. The crowds streamed towards it like irrigation channels: Labourers, Crafters, Acolytes. They murmured and soughed, then fell eerily quiet as they pooled around it. Twin scaffolds rose from the rock’s bald height.

  I moved into position near the scaffolds. My kiyah knew what to do. I watched them spread out as we’d agreed: Mani approached the foot of the rock where the Circle would gather, Arkaya slipped amongst the crowd, Antaru covered ab’Tanadu and Benji, while Jil took up position at the base of the Flatrock.

  Five keshu. Yl’avah’s might, how to lead a rebellion with only five keshu?

  Ab’Tanadu noticed the silent dispersal and shot me a look.

  “Getting ready,” I said.

  He nodded, though I noticed the frown along his brow. Sands, let him not get suspicious. Not now.

  Then a flash of white caught my eye. Kulnethar was edging nearer, eyes intent. His head jerked to the side.

  I frowned. Was he trying to—?

  He tilted his head again, then slipped back into the crowd, moving towards the outer edge.

  Yl’avah’s might, not now!

  My fingers twitched. I glanced around. Still no sign of the Circle or the condemned. I had time. What if he knew something? What if it was important?

  “Wait here,” I muttered to Jil. “I’ll be back.”

  I slipped off the rock and plunged into the crush of people. Instantly, they fell back, parting like a crop field. They looked away, but their eyes trailed after me, fearing the oppression I carried. Hating it.

  Protect them.

  My resolve tightened. They would follow. They were ready for the truth. Push, and they would rise up like a storm.

  Kulnethar appeared at my elbow. “Down to the lake.”

  “Kylan, what in the sands is happening?” I followed.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” His face darkened. “There’s something you need to know.”

  “Now?”

  “In case you’re planning to do something foolish.”

  “Like what?”

  We reached the edge of the crowd, and he pulled me out of earshot.

  “Like stage an execution as the grounds for something else.”

  I snorted. “You’re right. That does sound foolish.”

  “I’m serious. Whatever you’re doing in Anuai, it’s dangerous and wrong.”

  “So much faith in me.”

  “Then how many times, Vanya?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been gone for months. Out on the desert. How many times has he spoken to you? How many times has he mentioned the Avanir?”

  I went cold. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Every day.”

  Kulnethar didn’t even blink. “There’s your answer, Vanya.” He leaned close. “I know what comes next.”

  Something stirred in me, a hole of dread, like I knew exactly what he meant—and didn’t want to know.

  “Every day,” I said again, tapping my head. “But sometimes just in here. The desert does funny things to you.”

  Kulnethar snatched my arm. “Ishvandu ab’Admundi, sands take you, I know what comes next. Do you hear me? I’ve been in the scrolls. Alis nearly got roped trying to uncover that man’s secrets. There are patterns. There are warnings. Whatever you’re doing, you think you can control the Avanir or stop the Choosing. Maybe you think it’s Shatayeth’s idea, or maybe you think it’s all your own, but if you ever listen to me, ever, Ishvandu, hear me now.”

  I stared at him, startled at his intensity. Then the crowd stirred. I glanced over my shoulder. A line of red cloaks were making their way to the Flatrock, Adar and Hamanda escorted ahead of them.

  Yl’avah’s might, now wasn’t the time!

  I leaned in. “What do you know? Quick!”

  “I know it’s not the first time Shatayeth’s tried this. The Avanir at Kaprash. Power greater than he has—and far more dangerous. Power he would use if he could.”

  “Then why doesn’t he go get it himself?”

  “Because he can’t. For some reason I don’t understand yet, the Avanir repels him. He needs someone who’s open to the Unseen, a survivor of the Sumadi—which we know he can control. Think what that means, Ishvandu. And here you are: someone ambitious, distrusting of authority, desperate to try anything.”


  I tried to laugh off his accusations, though it sounded strained and hollow. “You really think I’d do anything for him?”

  “You’ve kept his secrets.”

  “I’ve kept my own secrets. Now . . .” I glanced towards the Flatrock. “Now get back to the Temple.”

  The Guardian Lords had taken their positions. Adar and Hamanda were being led to the scaffolds. I frowned. But they hadn’t confessed yet . . .

  “Back to the Temple?” Kulnethar looked at me sharply. “Now? Why?”

  “Just do it. And take Alis with you.”

  “Ishvandu—!”

  “Go!”

  I shoved him, then walked briskly towards the Flatrock, trying not to look like I was hurrying. The crowds parted less easily for me now than before. They were straining to see what was happening. Adar and Hamanda’s wrists were being roped behind them. Neraia was beginning her speech, her voice echoing over the crowds.

  “Before Yl’avah, High Ruler and One-Maker, before the Avanir, our Hope, and before all Kyr’amanu, with the authority of law, we stand in judgment against Adar ab’Dara, who has been found guilty of inciting rebellion against the authority of Shyandar, sentenced by means of witness and testament, and condemned to die. Will the condemned make confession?”

  The murmuring grew. This was unheard of, for the condemned to be roped before their chance to speak. The Circle was prepared for something. Sands, did they know? Had someone—?

  An arm grabbed me. I whirled towards the offender.

  It was Kulnethar.

  “Ishvandu, whatever you’re doing, don’t. Yl’avah’s might, please! I know it’s terrible. I know you’re angry. I know you’re still upset about Tala. But this isn’t going to help you.”

  “Get off!” I hissed.

  He clutched at my robes. “Don’t do this.”

  “You want those men to die? Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not! I hate it. But the alternative is—”

  I rammed a fist in his side, as hard as I could without making a scene. I heard the breath blow out of his lungs and he doubled back, coughing. Then I broke into a trot.

  “Stop!” Kulnethar recovered his breath. “Ishvandu, stop!” His voice shrilled like an alarm.

  Eyes snapped towards me. Guardians, Labourers, the Circle . . .

  Sands take it. “Now!” I hollered.

  Jil shot me a panicked expression, but Antaru was already scrambling up the side of the rock.

  A whirring sound lashed across the murmuring crowd: sling-propelled stones. One cracked into the head of the Guardian overseeing Adar—a perfect shot. The man crumpled like a sack.

  Another pinged off the scaffold next to Hamanda’s executioner. The Guardian’s keshu leapt out of his sheath, in time for a third missile to strike his arm. He dropped the blade with a cry.

  “Slings!” Jarethyn shrieked. “Slings in the crowd! Find them!”

  Shouts tore through the confusion. Four more Guardians were knocked down. The Circle abandoned the Flatrock—except for Umaala and a handful of Guardians. Umaala was roaring orders behind him, pointing into the crowd, then towards Antaru.

  Antaru didn’t even blink. He leapt over the fallen executioner, seized the injured one and hurled him off the Flatrock.

  I ducked as the man flailed over my head.

  “Get him!” someone behind me shouted, encouraging me onward. I stopped, slamming my elbow back, knocking the Guardian down. Then I was leaping up the side of the Flatrock.

  I cut Adar’s ropes at the same time Antaru cut Hamanda’s.

  “Almost doubted you, young blade,” Adar grunted, vaulting off the scaffold. He scooped up the unconscious Guardian’s keshu. Hamanda grabbed the other.

  Together, we turned to face the Guardians.

  Four of us—against a wall of blades.

  The Flatrock was surrounded. Guardians below us. The Circle on our left. Jil had shrunk against the wall of the rock, pretending he didn’t exist. Benji stared, horrified, while ab’Tanadu’s face registered a grim knowing. And Mani—where was Mani?

  “Drop your blades,” Umaala’s voice thundered up the rock. His red cloak swirled, keshu held like a hammer.

  “We are not alone!” I shouted. “But we ask only for freedom! We ask only for what we have built!”

  The crowd shifted. I dared not take my eyes off Umaala, but I sensed a stirring, like an irrigation wall groaning, threatening to burst.

  “You are the traitor,” Umaala said. His denunciation fell on me, and a hush shivered out from the Flatrock.

  I held my ground. I took a steadying breath.

  “Umaala ab’Krushaya,” I called. “Put down your keshu and you will live.”

  “You will not.” His chin lifted. His eyes burned me like steaming metal. “Kill them.”

  The Guardians surged forward. A figure sprang up the far side of the Flatrock. A keshu flashed.

  “Stop!” A voice rang out.

  Everyone stopped. A blade had appeared at Umaala’s neck, its sharp edge gleaming in Mani’s hand. “Guardians fall back!” she demanded.

  Confusion washed through the ranks. Umaala’s face darkened.

  “Drop your blade, Guardian Lord.”

  Umaala hesitated. Then, with a rumble, he let the blade slip out of his hand. It clanged onto the Flatrock. The Circle stared, stricken and horrified. Guardians glanced between each other. Gently, almost deferentially, Mani circled around Umaala, her blade never leaving his throat, yet conducting him back towards our circle, away from the other Guardians.

  “You’ve got your chance,” Antaru muttered under his breath. “Hurry. And this better be the best speech of your life.”

  I felt breathless, like my body was cut off from the rest of me, but I stepped to the edge of the Flatrock, throwing my arms open to embrace the crowds. This was it. This was all that mattered.

  “My people!”

  “No . . .” Kulnethar’s voice was small. I saw him struggling through the crowd. “No, Vanya!”

  “Stand down!” Jarethyn shouted from the Circle. “This is madness!”

  “Be silent!” Mani ordered. “Or I will kill the Guardian Lord.”

  “My people!” I raised my voice. “These Guardians swore to protect you. They swore a blood oath on their keshu. And every one of them has become an oath-breaker. Have they protected you?”

  There was a mutter of dissatisfaction.

  “When you went hungry and weak, they forced you to work harder. When you were suffering, they beat you down. Have they sought your good? Have they protected you?”

  “No!” Lidyana shouted from the crowds. “They killed my husband!” Her cries were taken up, a great seething roar, like a storm mounting on the horizon.

  “They killed your people!” I agreed. “They took your loved ones. They lied to you!”

  The mob hung on that word, craving one more justification for their anger. Craving what they always knew, but could not explain.

  “They claim the Avanir is your hope.” I stabbed a finger towards the imposing monolith on my right. “They claim the Avanir is your mission, sent to you by Yl’avah. It is not.”

  The Circle muttered. Angry cries erupted on every side.

  “Stop this blasphemy!” Jarethyn shouted. “Guardians seize him!”

  “Wait!” Neraia shot out her arms. “Do not risk Umaala ab’Krushaya.”

  Umaala tensed. “Maybe you should.”

  I ignored the encircling chaos. “You think the Avanir protects you from the Sumadi? You think it guards you from the desert? The Avanir enslaves you. You think the Chosen go to cleanse the Lifewater? Your loved ones are taken by the Chorah’dyn and twisted into the very monsters you fear.”

  There was a gasping murmur. Disbelief. Doubt.

  “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They say the Avanir protects you from the Sumadi, but the Avanir creates the Sumadi. Your own Chosen are used to trap you here, to force you into an unending cycle of servitude. Your own C
hosen are the Sumadi.”

  My words slapped the rabble into silence. Bewilderment fell. Instead of the rush of understanding I needed, there was blinking confusion.

  Adar rose next to me. “Ishvandu ab’Admundi speaks the truth! My beloved Yashi was Chosen sixteen years ago—and four months ago, she appeared to me as Sumadi. With my own eyes, I witnessed the lie that is the Avanir. The lie they perpetrate for their own ends. To control you. To hold you down.”

  The crowd swelled again, now with a roaring cry.

  “You’re mad!” Jarethyn screamed. “You’ve lost your mind!”

  “They’ll deny it!” I shouted all the louder. “But we won’t sacrifice ourselves any longer to the Great Tree and her Avanir. There is water in the desert. There is hope outside of this place. We ask only for the choice!” I turned to address the Circle. “Let us go. Let us take our people and be free.”

  I was breathing hard. The exhilaration of this moment! To speak at last, to cry out the truth for all of Shyandar.

  The crowds began to push forward, to cast dark faces towards the Avanir, to mutter and brandish hating fists at the Circle.

  “Who is with us?” I called. “Who would join us in the desert?”

  A surge of voices.

  “Freedom!” cried one.

  “Anuai!” shouted another.

  “My Guardian Lords!” I addressed the Circle. “Let us go, and we’ll trade with you. We’ll work the mines and wells in the desert in exchange for supplies. We’ll make our own food. We’ll take our own risks. We’ll live at peace with Shyandar.” I pointed towards Mani. “Let us go, my Guardian Lords, and Umaala ab’Krushaya will live!”

  The Circle turned dark faces to one another, muttering in conference.

  “This is madness,” Umaala growled. “You’re desert-crazed.”

  The talk from the Circle was growing louder. I felt the crowd’s anticipation. The bated breaths. The sweat oozing down my back.

  “Sands take us,” Adar muttered behind me. “This might even work.”

  I didn’t dare hope.

  “When they give us the word,” I told Umaala. “You will come with us. You will be released when all our people are safe.”

  “Vanya!” A voice cut through the hush. Kulnethar was desperately trying to elbow his way towards me. “We need the Avanir to cleanse the Lifewater. These are Shatayeth’s lies. These are—”