Shadows of Blood

by L. E. Dereksen

  “I already have.”

  He nodded, like he’d barely heard me. “Yes. Yes, of course you have.” He touched his brow again. “And Kylan, I . . . I want you to come talk with me. In person.”

  “Isn’t this good enough?”

  “Not here.”

  “Yes, here. You can explain yourself now, Vanya. Plainly.”

  I crossed my arms. He fell back further into the shadows. His face spasmed, first with anger, then fear, like something had pained him. “My keshu,” he whispered at last.

  “What?”

  “I . . . I need you, Kylan, to come and . . . to come and take . . .” He took a trembling breath. “You have to take it from me.”

  My breath ran out in a groan. His keshu. “Vanya—”

  “No. I know what you’re going to say. I can’t trust anyone else with it. You have to hide it for me. And after the Choosing, I’ll want it back. It is mine, but not right now. Not . . . not until after . . .”

  I glanced up in shock. “Wait. Did you say the Choosing?”

  “Yes, I’m trying to explain, Kylan. I’m trying. Yl’avah’s blasted might, this is hard for me. Don’t you see? I can’t do it without your help, but—”

  “But you’re going to do it?”

  He looked at me. His eyes were wet with the threat of tears. “Yes.”

  “You’re going to come to the next Choosing?”

  He nodded.

  “Like I said you should?”

  He nodded again.

  “You really mean it?”

  “I’m not ready to die, Kylan, but I can’t live like this either. Trapped in the desert. Nothing. Nothing. All my friends killed or turned against me, or . . . I want to follow her. I want to learn the truth. Whatever the cost.” He nodded, a flash of determination in his eyes. “If I can make it.”

  “But without your keshu, won’t you be vulnerable to Sumadi?”

  He shook his head. “They don’t come after me. We’re too much the same now.” He laughed bleakly. “Besides, Shatayeth is close. They don’t like him.”

  I shivered. I saw the madness in him again. If he could make it. Yl’avah’s might, this was it. He was reaching out. One last time. One last chance. And if I failed, I would lose him forever.

  “Okay,” I heard myself say. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “At the north gate.” His eyes found me. “Please hurry.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Ishvandu ab’Admundi

  He would come.

  I knew it. Yet every moment was agony. I paced along the top of the wall. I examined the shadows. I listened to the Unseen, but could see nothing beyond the pulsating emptiness at the heart of Shyandar. It was growing aware of me again. It could see me. There was not much of a voice this time—only a single, irrefutable command.

  Once, a night patrol passed and I fell onto my stomach, not daring to breathe. Twice, I nearly fled back into the desert.

  How many times had I climbed this wall as a boy? How many times had I longed to leave Shyandar forever?

  Now, those dreams loomed in sickening reality.

  He would come. I knew he would. And that’s what I feared most of all.

  Sure enough, a figure emerged from the Temple. The white robe hesitated at the entrance to the gardens. He saw me, the shadow above the walls. We regarded each other, and I wondered what regrets and longings had brought him to this decision. Did he hate me? Pity me? Or was he acting out of a mysterious instinct as necessary to himself as breathing?

  I watched him for a moment longer, then descended the wall to meet him.

  Given I was now a criminal and known killer, he approached with surprisingly little fear. He stopped two paces away.

  “Ishvandu,” he said.

  I took a deep breath. “You came.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Kylan, you . . .” The words rose up to choke me.

  He took another step. “I need to be clear about something,” Kulnethar said. “This is not because I agree with you. Not because I condone a single thing you’ve done. And not because I think that somehow, deep down, you’re a better person. You knew this could happen. You planned for this. And instead of standing to take the consequences with your people, you abandoned them to the ropes. Arkaya. Jil. Hamanda. Mani.”

  My face twisted at the names. “You think their faces don’t haunt me every night? So why did you come? You think you can save me?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But I think she can.”

  “She?”

  “The Chorah’dyn.”

  I laughed—a harsh, biting sound.

  Kulnethar took another step, face creased with worry. “I heard your speech at the Flatrock. I know you think she’s turning our people into Sumadi. I know you think the Temple’s lying. But there’s more going on here than either of us know, and if you really mean it, Vanya, I think she’ll show you exactly what you need to see. She can give you a new purpose. A new oath. She can cut through all the lies he’s been feeding you. So . . . so . . .” He held out a hand. “So give me your keshu, Vanya, and I’ll keep it safe until you’re Chosen. Because I know she will. If you’re truly willing—she will Choose you.”

  My fists closed. Doubt crept over me. And fear—deep, paralyzing fear.

  “Oh, Kylan,” I whispered. “You really shouldn’t have come.”

  His hand hovered between us. His face, so open and hopeful, flashed with concern.

  “Vanya?”

  I let out a long, slow breath. I swallowed. Then I dared, for the first time, to look him straight in the eye. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  I struck him. The stone hit him across the skull and his eyes bulged like water skins. Then he dropped to the sand.

  The stone clattered out of my hand. I looked around, fearing I had been discovered. But when no one ran at me screaming, I knew it was only my own twisting shame. I breathed out hard, twice. Then I shoved down the cascade of emotions and stooped to carry him.

  I moved quickly through Shyandar—not letting myself think any more. It was done. It was already done.

  I slipped through the Labourer’s streets. I dodged the Guardian patrols. I dove into the fields. Crashing through thick crops would only alert them, so I leapt down into the empty irrigation beds. But I was weaker than I remembered—my bruises still aching, the beatings I had endured, my cuts from the escape. Kulnethar’s weight unbalanced me and I toppled back, dropping him and skidding the rest of the way. He hit the ground and rolled. A groan escaped him. He stirred, struggling back towards consciousness.

  Hurry.

  I ignored my body’s pain. I grabbed Kulnethar’s armpits and began to drag him. Sweat clung to me. It dripped off my face in dusty streaks. I knew I was drawing closer. I knew the dreaded moment was coming. But I couldn’t think about it. I couldn’t pause to catch my breath. Just keep moving.

  All too soon, I reached the edge of the fields. I glanced over my shoulder and saw it. The Avanir. It seemed larger than ever. It towered over me, demanding, growing. It was my only chance. The only path open to me.

  Live or die.

  Now only one thing stood between me and my doom: a dozen Guardians.

  Kulnethar hadn’t been lying. The Al’kah must have listened to him. They stood like a wall, stoic and strong. Their robes were neat. Their hair was braided. Their backs were straight. Once, I had looked like that.

  I swallowed.

  I couldn’t fight them all, nor did I want to. But I had another plan. I shut my eyes. I reached into the Unseen, to where the shadows waited.

  The Avanir’s presence hammered me. It rose like a mountain. It enveloped me, sweeping over me with hungry demand. Fingers clawed at me like grasping Sumadi, threatening to pull me into emptiness. The chasm grew. All was crushing blackness. All, all.

  I cried out—and fell back, landing in the dust next to Kulnethar, breathing hard, sweating and scared.


  The Guardians stirred. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I must have alerted them. I scowled. When I was ready, Shatayeth had said, the Sumadi would come. And if he failed me now? What then? Would I have to fight off a dozen blades?

  Yl’avah’s might, let it not be so.

  Yet any excuse not to approach . . .

  “Vanya . . .”

  Kulnethar was waking. He clutched the side of his head, fingers wet with blood.

  “You . . . you hit . . . me.”

  “Yes.”

  “But your keshu? What about . . . ?” His voice trailed off. He was looking up, eyes fixed on the hungry black pillar. He glanced at me, then back at the Avanir.

  “No . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Kylan.”

  “Ishvandu, no. Don’t do this. I . . . I won’t let you do this.” He scrambled weakly to his knees, swaying. “These are Shatayeth’s lies. Don’t—don’t—”

  I yanked his robes and he collapsed again with a grunt, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Too addled to fight me.

  “Be quiet,” I hissed.

  He clutched my arm. “You didn’t kill me in the desert. You won’t . . .” he gasped, “you won’t now.”

  “Now I have reason.”

  “Reason? Vanya, what reason? What . . . ?” He stopped to breathe. “Power? Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Freedom? Then go. If you won’t come to the Choosing, then find your own way across the desert, just don’t—”

  “I won’t make it!” I grasped his robes, shoving his face into the ground. I pulled out the bits of cord I’d brought with me and began to yank his arms behind him, binding him. “And even if I did, would the Great Tree listen? Would she speak to a single, lonely rebel, shaking a weak fist at her? This is the only way to be heard.”

  “As her enemy. Is that what you want? To be against her?”

  My face hardened. “The Chorah’dyn stole my wife. We’re already enemies, her and I. It’s time I learned how to fight back.”

  Kulnethar gazed up at the Avanir. “And I’m the price.”

  “I’m sorry, Kylan.”

  He gave a bleak laugh. “I came for you.”

  “I know.”

  “I let myself believe—I wanted to believe . . .”

  “I know. That’s why it’s you, Kylan. It can only be you. Because I only get what I’m willing to lose. Power for power. Do you understand? I have to break something. Something valuable to me. And sands take you, you’re the only one left who would fight for me.”

  “Exactly.” His face tightened. “And that’s why I . . . I won’t let you do this.”

  He shot up with a cry. I slammed him back to the ground, but it was too late. Guardians drew their keshu. I saw them moving in our direction. Two, three—no four blades.

  Sands. I could fight them, but I couldn’t hold Kulnethar here at the same time. I dug a knee into his stomach, then ripped the edge off his sleeve and gagged him. Then I was hauling him to his feet, driving him into the fields.

  “Run,” I said.

  We ran. The hemp stalks closed in around us. I pulled him in a snaking path, one way, then the other, trying not to damage the plants in our wake. He stumbled along with me, panting against the rag in his mouth.

  I pulled him down into a thick clump of stalks, pressing a hand against his back.

  “Be quiet,” I said.

  He lay there, breathing hard, saying nothing, though I could feel the tension in every line of his body. He was getting ready to fight.

  The Guardians spread out, two staying along the lakebed, while two dove into the fields to search. If I wanted to attack, this would be my opportunity. But I couldn’t lose Kulnethar.

  A Guardian was drawing close. I could hear the rustle of his robes through the crops. I could hear his steps. Slow. Measured. Then his careful breathing.

  Just one. One I could attack.

  I hesitated.

  Then a howl cut through the heavy night. A long, horrid scream. Shouts echoed. I felt Kulnethar’s breath tighten, eyes widening. He looked at me. Another scream, this time from closer, from one of the Labourer’s huts.

  “Sumadi!” someone cried. The shout was taken up. As if in answer, the sounding horns cut through the night. Sumadi! Sumadi!

  “Form up!” one of the Guardian’s shouted. I recognized that voice. Ab’Tanadu.

  My insides tightened. No. Not ab’Tanadu. Anyone but him. The Guardians leapt back to back. I couldn’t see much in the Unseen past the Avanir’s monstrous presence, but I knew the Sumadi were coming. Sure enough, one of the Guardians gave a shout, and I heard the whir of the blades.

  Where a moment ago Shyandar had been thick with silence, now chaos erupted. Shouts clamoured from one end of the city, screams echoed from another. Guardians cried out to each other. Sounding horns blasted. Help. Help. Attack!

  And it was my fault.

  I tightened my grip on Kulnethar. He began to moan beneath his gag.

  What have you done? What have you done?

  The same unanswerable question.

  I said nothing.

  “Fall back in line!” ab’Tanadu shouted. “Fall in line!”

  Someone cried out.

  “No!”

  The cries sharpened in pain.

  “Form up!” and ab’Tanadu blew his sounding horn. He would be calling for the six still at the Avanir. Four wasn’t enough to stave off an attack.

  I shut my eyes, then tugged on Kulnethar’s robes. “Come on,” I whispered.

  He shook his head, looking at me with wet eyes.

  I set my jaw, then dragged him to his feet. He fought me, trying to cry out through his gag.

  “Kulnethar ab’Ethanir, this will happen!” I hissed. “And the faster we get to the Avanir and end it, the sooner I can call off the attack. Do you know how many Sumadi are here? Do you have any idea? I don’t want those men to die any more than you do, so by Yl’avah and the Tree, cooperate.”

  I yanked him again and he stumbled after me. I paused at the edge of the field. Sure enough, ab’Tanadu was whirling in formation with three other Guardians. One had fallen. Shadows came at them like smoke, striking in sudden white clarity, their bodies lined with starlight, shrieking and laughing. One died and three more came at them. The Guardians at the Avanir had heard and were running together across the empty lake bed. This was our chance.

  “This way!” I pulled Kulnethar along the edge of the field, swathed in as much shadow as I could manage. Eventually, we would have to sprint across a huge swath of open ground, but I could put more distance between us. If all went as planned, the Sumadi would distract them long enough for me to do what I came to do.

  Kulnethar staggered beside me, face like chalk in the moonlight. He kept straining to watch the Guardians, as if willing them not to die. Probably wondering if the fallen one was still alive.

  “You can’t save him,” I said, wrenching Kulnethar to a stop. “But you can save the others if you do what I say. I’m going to tell you to run, and I need you to run. As fast as you can. In that direction.” I pointed to the Avanir. “Do you understand?”

  He hesitated, then nodded, squeezing his eyes. A few tears slipped out, tracing pathetic lines across his ashen face.

  I tightened my jaw.

  Yl’avah’s might, I couldn’t do it.

  But I had to. I had gone over this again and again. Over and over. I had no choice. There was no other way. The betrayal had to be against Kulnethar. It was the only thing the Avanir would accept. And it had to be now.

  “Run!” I said.

  I burst out of the fields, dragging Kulnethar with me. To my surprise, he actually listened. He loped along next me, stumbling but upright.

  The Guardians hadn’t seen us yet. They were focused on the horde of Sumadi descending on them. Keshu flashed, as bright and hungry as the creatures. I remembered what it felt like to be in the midst of that, to feel the shadows bearing down, overwhelming you�
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  Fighting with Tala. Back to back against the enemy . . .

  I almost lost my footing. Pain flashed through me: the touch of her, the scent, the thrill of battle, her eyes.

  Protect them.

  I slammed the thought away. I dragged Kulnethar faster through the lakebed. Little pools were beginning to squelch under our feet. Spots where the water hadn’t drained or dried up. Kulnethar slipped in a muddy patch and crashed onto his knees. I hauled him back up, half-stumbling myself.

  The Avanir grew. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it, though it seemed everywhere, on every side, pushing and pulling as if I were bound and drawn against my will.

  We dove into the muddy pool that remained between us and the rock. Our feet slipped and splashed. Running became impossible. The ground had disappeared into a clinging slough and every step dug into the earth.

  Kulnethar stumbled, landing hard on his side, hands still bound behind him. I tried to pull him up, but he refused to move. His white robes were black with muck.

  He glanced up at me, shaking his head, groaning.

  “Come on!”

  He shook his head again. He looked at the Avanir, now terrifyingly close. The air was growing heavier. The sky faint and distant. Breathing was . . . difficult.

  Doubts rang through me. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.

  I growled and seized the front of Kulnethar’s robes, dragging him to his feet. “Keep . . . moving . . .” I gasped. I stumbled forward, hauling him bodily through the soupy clay. One step at a time.

  We were almost there.

  The lake rose until it was at our knees. The Avanir was before us. It was blacker than night. It was roaring in my mind. But I would not be defeated. I was the one who would emerge stronger. It was the only thing I could do to show them, to stop the endless cycle and expose the Great Tree’s lies. It was the only way I still had a chance—to find Tala.

  I threw Kulnethar against the stone. He stumbled, falling to his knees. My hands shook.

  I drew my keshu, but he no longer spoke. He just watched me.

  “I’m sorry, Kylan,” I said. “I don’t want to do this, which is the very reason I must. It . . . it would never make sense to you. But the Avanir needs this from me. Something that matters. Lifeblood that matters.” I swallowed. Stop talking and just do it. I was only trying to convince myself.