Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) (13 page)

As the grey dawn warmed into a rich spray of orange and red across the horizon, Alyea realized the teyanain weren’t assembling into a traveling configuration. Instead, they seemed to be packing up in a much more leisurely fashion than usual, and the athain sat in a triangle, heads bowed, chanting under their breath. Watching them, Alyea was irresistibly reminded of musicians practicing before a performance.

She shot Deiq a worried look. He lifted a shoulder, but the lines around his eyes were tight, and he said little as they waited. At last, everything loaded and packed away, Lord Evkit waved to them.

“Follow,” he said, grinning. “We go.”

Alyea cast a quick glance at the sun, already nearly free of the horizon and well on its way to heating up the desert around them. She said, tentatively, “Are we traveling far today, Lord Evkit?”

“Very far,” he said, his grin settling into smug lines. Deiq gave a short bark of astonishment.

“That’s not
possible
,” he said, but Evkit cut him off:

“No, ha’inn, you no spoil surprise,” Evkit snapped, pointing a stern finger.

Deiq shook his head, a dark frown wrinkling his face, but said nothing. Evkit waved again, beckoning them forward; Deiq nodded curtly to Alyea’s dubious glance. She bit back questions, but his evident startlement had laid a cold chill of fear down her spine that didn’t dissipate as they began walking.

They filed through the ruins at the head of a tidy column of teyanain guards, athain, and packbearers. Idisio’s usual, brightly curious gaze seemed dimmed this morning, and he stared more ahead or at his feet than around at their surroundings; he refused to look directly at Deiq.

Deciding to stay out of whatever was going on between those two, Alyea looked around as they walked. The great archways they’d camped among fell behind them, and the walls became thicker and less damaged; almost as though the palace had been the center of whatever disaster struck this place.

At last they reached a building that seemed nearly whole: pale walls with wide, rounded openings curved about one massive central chamber, the roof pierced by nine symmetrical, almond-shaped openings, two of which had crumbled together into one irregular, gaping hole.

Standing just outside one of the archways, Alyea could see that the floor had once been richly laid with an intricate mosaic of blue, red, black and white tiles. Many of the tiles had been pried free of their settings, and the few remaining pieces only hinted at the overall design.

“Blue tiles,” Evkit said, following Alyea’s glance to the floor, “have ground in sacred stone, blessing-stone, what northerns call lapis. White is finest marble ground in with finest god-milk stone, what you call chalcedony. Red had rubies, black had jet, sometimes even black sapphire. All sacred, all great value. Most go with refugees fleeing city. Some go to looters, but not many.”

He bared small teeth in a humorless grin.

“Teyanain guard this city. This
ours
. We not like looters.” He looked at Deiq, as though expecting a challenge to his ownership claim; the ha’ra’ha just stared back, expressionless. Evkit shrugged, his grin fading into a faintly disappointed scowl, and returned his attention to Alyea. “This was temple of city, the place for all to worship. Old gods, these. Before Three, before Four. Strong gods.” His scowl turned to a smirk again. “Not nice gods. Liked sacrifices.”

“Human?” Alyea said, one eye on Deiq, whose expression was rapidly darkening.

“Sometimes,” Evkit said. “Not always death, though. Sometimes just—”

“Lord Evkit,” Deiq said flatly. “Are you going to talk us to tears, or are we moving on at some point?”

Evkit grinned, as smug as Alyea had ever seen him. “Of course we go,” he said, and motioned to the athain.

The three athain knelt, each before a different archway, murmuring what sounded like prayers. Then they stood, one by one, and walked directly into the temple. Reaching the center of the room, each athain simply vanished, between one step and the next; Alyea let out a startled yelp.

Idisio and Deiq had identical grim expressions, but showed no surprise.

“I go now,” Evkit said. “See, you safe. You come next, ha’ra’ha—” he nodded to Deiq. “Then you, younger, and then the Lord Alyea. Order of honor, yes? Then the rest come through. Move quickly, door not open for long.”

Deiq scowled in black outrage for just a moment; then shook his head and went back to looking grim.

Evkit grinned and strutted out into the center of the room, vanishing as had the athain.

Deiq drew in a deep breath and glanced around at the waiting teyanain. He put a hand on Alyea’s shoulder for just a moment, then walked forward and disappeared. Idisio made a faint, choked sound, and his gaze darted around as though he might try to run; then his back stiffened and he marched forward, tight-lipped.

The remaining teyanain all took one tiny step forward; the message was clear. Alyea fiercely blocked out fear and walked into the ancient temple before thoughts of how insane this was could stop her.

She passed from chill to cold and back into a damp heat in less than a breath; took a sideways step, not quite a stagger. Someone caught her arm and pulled her aside. Something about the warmth and size of the hand told her it was Deiq; she let him direct her without protest.

Blinking eyes clear of a strange haze, she looked around. Stone walls mottled with grey-black patterns rose into a dome overhead. The floor felt gritty, and glancing down, she saw it was covered with a light scattering of sand, seeming more as though it had been tracked in than spread deliberately.

The air felt odd: overpoweringly humid after the desiccated ruins, and hard to breathe. Idisio stood, ashen-faced, not far away. Deiq stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders and his warmth unpleasantly intense against her back.

Lord Evkit and a handful of other teyanain stood before them, and the look in the teyanain lord’s eyes drenched Alyea in sudden cold sweat. She felt Deiq’s hands tighten on her shoulders, a low growl building in his throat.

“Welcome, Lord Alyea,” Evkit said, bowing and flourishing out one hand. As he straightened, Alyea bit back a gasp at the transformation. All pleasantness had disappeared: now Evkit’s eyes held a murderous glare. Hatred changed his entire face from amiably wrinkled to demonically furrowed.

Deiq’s grip moved to just above her elbows. He almost lifted her out of the way, the growl emerging, then started forward. Before he completed the first stride, the air filled with a white dust. Alyea felt hands latch onto her from behind and draw her back, clear of the forming cloud.

With a choking cough, Idisio staggered and collapsed. Deiq let out an ear-bruising bellow and flung himself at Evkit, hands reaching for the teyanin lord’s throat. Alyea delivered a neat back-kick that should have connected with a knee—or, given typical teyanin stature, something even more sensitive—and found herself kicking empty air instead. Off-balance, she would have fallen but for the firm grip of teyanain seemingly all around her now. Glancing reflexively towards Deiq, she stopped struggling, too fascinated by what was happening to pay attention to freeing herself.

Deiq fought with his eyes shut, lashing out with hands, feet, and a speed and viciousness that shocked her. Evkit had withdrawn well out of range, and the teyanain fighters surrounding the ha’ra’ha grinned as they danced clear by mere hairs. They seemed to regard this as nothing but a game, an elaborate dance with bizarre rules.

At last one of Deiq’s blows connected solidly, and the unlucky teyanain tumbled across the room to crash into a wall that must have been over ten feet away. Expressions changed; knives appeared. The teyanain clearly weren’t inclined to play any longer.

“
Deiq!
” Alyea screamed, fighting against her captor’s grip again. “
Knives!
”

“He already knows that,” a calm voice observed in her ear.

She twisted and stared back at the teyanain behind her. He regarded her dispassionately, then returned his attention to the embattled ha’ra’ha.

Deiq had changed his fighting style; had been changing it, she realized, before she even screamed the warning. Now he was defending, as the teyanain pressed in even closer. In what seemed moments, a thin line of blood appeared on his cheek as a long knife scored; as though that had been a signal, the teyanain all backed away swiftly. A heartbeat later, Deiq simply collapsed, his knees giving way as though the tendons had been slashed.

Alyea screamed again, unable to help herself. In the back of her mind, she’d believed Deiq could win free and get them all out of this disaster.

The teyanain swiftly clustered around the tall ha’ra’ha, lifting and carrying him from the room. Another group ferried Idisio’s limp form away. Both Deiq and Idisio appeared to be breathing, but unconscious; so murder wasn’t, directly, the intent.

As soon as the two ha’ra’hain had been taken from sight, her captors released their grips, and Lord Evkit moved to stand in front of her. His expression displayed no triumph or sneer. If anything, the little lord seemed grave and concerned.

“Now you are safe,” he said.

Deiq opened his eyes, scrabbled upright and lunged forward before awareness even came clear—and slammed face-first into a hard stone wall.

“You fucking little
rotworm
!” he screamed, curling his fingers against the rock, searching for a crack, a flaw, any dent he could exploit to rip the wall apart.

The smooth surface defeated him. It felt oddly slimy, and his fingers slipped over what his eyes insisted was dry rock. Unable to gain any purchase, he stepped back and threw himself against the wall; his only reward was a blazing pain flaring through his shoulder and head.

Reason caught up at last, and stopped him from another useless charge. He sucked in a deep breath between his teeth and turned in a deliberately slow circle, studying the prison. Idisio lay in a heap in the middle of the floor; still breathing, if shallowly.

The slick yellow walls climbed like those of a well: rounded, tall, and impossible to scale. Far overhead a thick-barred metal grate blocked the only opening. Sunlight streamed in from above, but with an oddly diluted quality. Squinting up at the grate, Deiq finally saw a thin screen laid over the bars; he grinned without any real amusement. Another Aerthraim invention: it would let in light, but block a large proportion of the heat. That told him that this prison hadn’t been built only for ha’ra’hain, who could easily regulate their body temperatures, but also for lesser enemies—like desert lords.

He took a closer look at the yellow stone as his rage faded, and sighed.

“Aenstone,” he muttered under his breath. “Bloody hells. And stibik powder.” He scuffed a foot against the floor, hopefully; but that too was aenstone, and cut as tightly as the rest. The only way he’d be calling out for help was by voice, and then only if someone stood directly overhead.

Their packs lay against a wall, apparently undisturbed, and nobody had searched their persons, either. One game ruled out, a thousand possibilities left.

He retrieved a full waterskin, took a sip, then crouched next to Idisio. “Wake up,” he said. “Idisio. Wake up.” He set the waterskin aside and shook the younger ha’ra’ha, reflecting rather sourly that here, at least, Idisio didn’t surpass him.

Idisio coughed, rolled to one side and dry-retched, his whole body convulsing and his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Gods damn it!” Deiq said, alarmed. “Idisio! Sit up. You have to sit up. Look at me. Sit up! Idisio!”

The younger hitched over to his knees and kept gagging, but nothing came up. Deiq looked closer: stibik powder coated Idisio’s nostrils and eyes. Of course: he hadn’t known to stop breathing and shut his eyes; nobody had ever told him what to do during a stibik attack. Deiq hadn’t even thought of it, because the godsdamned stuff wasn’t even supposed to
exist
anymore.

Idisio’s eyes were beginning to lose the whites, a black stain creeping across white and grey like spilled ink.

Gritting his teeth against the impulse to curse for the next two years, Deiq shoved Idisio roughly back into a kneeling sit and slapped him. Idisio rocked back with a soggy gasp, his eyes paling back to almost normal. He stared past Deiq without recognition.

“Idisio,” Deiq snapped. “Look at me.” He reached out and roughly jerked Idisio’s chin up as his watery gaze wandered to one side. “Can you see me?”

“Nuh . . . colors. Shapes.”

“Shit. Hold still.” Deiq reached for the waterskin, hating what he had to do; but human tears wouldn’t wash out the powder, and he had to get the nostrils clear too.

Idisio screamed, his back arching, as water sluiced through his eyes and up his nose; sneezed violently, and collapsed forward to hands and knees. Deiq shoved him over onto his back, planted a hand on Idisio’s thin chest, and kept pouring until the waterskin was empty, ignoring the flailing attempts to push and kick him away.

“Blink,” he ordered, his voice ragged with strain. “Don’t wipe your eyes. Just blink. Again. Again.”

Idisio’s eyes, though reddened, were now a sharp white against black, and the tears streaming down his cheeks held no sparkle of stibik powder.

“Good.” Deiq leaned back, lifting his hold, and let Idisio scramble clumsily to his feet.

Deiq stayed on his knees, looking up at the younger, ready for a retaliatory attack; but Idisio whirled away and slapped his hands against the walls, feeling his way along as though searching for some secret exit. Deiq watched for a time, amused, then hoisted himself out of the puddle in the middle of the floor and went to sit against the wall.

After making a complete circuit of the room, Idisio turned and glared at Deiq.

“What the
hells
is going on?” he demanded. “There’s no godsdamned
door
!”

He glanced up at the grate overhead, then back to the walls as though considering trying to climb; finally shook his head and looked back to Deiq. The grey color began to return to his eyes. Deiq let out a quiet breath of relief.

Idisio’s stare focused on Deiq’s cheek. “You’re bleeding—what
happened
?”

Deiq blinked, only then remembering the slicing sting of a teyanain knife down his cheek. He didn’t bother reaching to touch the cut. It would heal soon enough if he didn’t fuss with it.

He gave the only answer he could, in the circumstances: “What happened is that I was an idiot.”

He hesitated a moment; but Idisio deserved to know the truth of their situation.

“And it’s probably going to get us killed.”