Page 2 of Blood of the Sands

As the verdant splotch of the oasis in the otherwise golden landscape drew closer, I realized I was no longer alone in my own head again. The whispers of power in my mind returned so gradually that at first, I believed it was just the wind brushing against the sand. With each step Alza took toward our resting place though, they grew in volume until their words tumbled over each other in a violent cacophony, always unintelligible. As always, their tone seemed to suggest they wanted something, and I did my best to placate them by healing the desert the only way I knew how. By now, my annoyance with the incessant chattering was tinged dark with resignation.

I clutched at strands of Alza’s mane that caught in my fingers so tightly she snorted in protest. I released her mane, but the frustration that held me only gripped tighter. Usually feeding blood to the desert bought me at least a day of peace, but this time I only had hours. Darkness whirled and eddied in my vision, and I closed my eyes, trusting Alza to lead us to our destination without guidance.

The sudden cease of motion beneath me caused me to look around, finding that Alza stood at the edge of a small pool, gulping thirstily. I jumped down beside her but did not drink. That would have to wait until I took my mask off for the night.

For now, I busied myself setting up a camp. I wouldn’t need a tent as I was alone, and a small fire would suffice to warm me. It was the dry season, so the nights didn’t get as cold, and Alza generated more than enough warmth if I needed it. As I collected fallen branches from the date palms surrounding the oasis for fuel, the back of my neck prickled. The ghost of a breath brushed over my ear. I whipped around, searching for the source of the whisper. Looking around, I found it to only be my own madness playing tricks on me. This was not the first time it had done so. Still, I couldn’t shake the notion that the desert was stirring around me, the voices echoing in my skull taking on an excited tone. Where normally they were angry, crescendoing in anticipation every time I rode into battle, their cadence was different now.

I grunted in frustration as I waved my hand over the pile of fuel, and it burst into flame with more enthusiasm than I intended. My magic tried to slip its leash, still fizzling from the earlier battle. I dug my fingers into my palms, pushing away the buzzing power at the base of my skull that threatened to overwhelm me. I was only paying it such mind since it returned much more quickly than I was used to. I had lived with the constant voice of the desert since I was a boy, and it never truly abated. I could only hope they would calm when I fulfilled my task of healing her.

Having finished refreshing herself, Alza trotted over to inspect my progress. I lifted my small number of packs from her back so she could rest completely. While I rode with no saddle or bridle, as did all who called the Ballan Desert home, I roped supplies to Alza’s back for multiday trips, much to her dismay. As soon as I released them from her back, she rolled gleefully in the sand, rubbing dirt and grime into her shining midnight coat.

I located my sleeping mat and laid it out next to the fire, grateful for its warmth as the desert air cooled rapidly with the sun descended below the horizon line. The sweat beneath my mask chilled with it, itching along my nose and jawline where the metal sat against my skin.

Looking around to ensure my solitude, for the volume of the chattering in my head somehow suggested that I was not alone, I reached up to release the catches of the contraption. The metal fell away from my face, skin greeted by the evening breeze and the grit of sand always carried along with it. It was a jarring sensation, as I never removed the covering outside of the privacy of my own tent when in Clan Katal’s encampment. Out here in the dunes though, there was nobody to witness me but Alza and the desert, and they already knew of my sins.

Chapter Two

Keera

The wind pulled my hood back from my face, and I didn’t bother replacing it. I was too busy thanking my luck because the desert surely hadn’t brought the traveler to my oasis.

Crouched behind my rock, I could spy a lone figure silhouetted in the setting sun, moving around making camp. While it was hard to tell from a distance, the large frame suggested that it was a man, and a powerfully built one at that. A horse dipped its head to drink from the pool of water, indicating he was not an exile, just traveling separately from his clan. I tore my eyes away from the elegant slope of the animal’s neck, a lump in my throat, to consider the traveler further. I couldn’t see many details at this distance, but he appeared to only be wearing gray clothing with no colored sash to tell me which clan he hailed from. At least he didn’t wear a maroon sash, marking him as a member of Clan Padra. Something in me boiled at the thought of encountering one of my former people. Robbing them in the night wouldn’t be a great enough punishment for abandoning me.

I shoved that ugly line of thought away, despite the simmering low in my belly, in favor of considering why this man was here and how I might take advantage of his presence. After all, survival was the highest law of the desert.

It was odd to ride without the caravan of a clan, especially this far out from the Great City, but not unheard of. A rider alone was likely to get lost unless they had the favor of the desert, and it was not as if there were any map they could follow.

When I was a girl, I heard it said that those who came from beyond the mountains to visit the Great City of Kelvadan often asked for a map, hoping to trade with the clans of the Ballan Desert. This request would only ever be met with a laugh and a shake of the head. The Ballan Desert was a living thing, ever changing with the winds and her mood. Only trusting the desert with your life—or death—could bring you to your destination. Even then, journeys that took the fastest rider days could take only an afternoon for another. One time, a member of my former clan had ridden in one direction for hours, only to find himself right back where he started. The desert was as harsh as she was beautiful, and without her favor, I was forced to remain at my oasis or risk never finding my way back.

Try as they might, those who came from beyond the mountain couldn’t draw a map of the Ballan Desert. So, they were forced to do all their trading at the Great City of Kelvadan. The thought of the city that could be my only haven made me swallow around the dryness in my throat.

Even when the crushing isolation at my oasis nearly drove me mad, and I considered setting out for Kelvadan—the one place I might be able to make a home for myself—I hesitated. I had been trapped here at my oasis by the knowledge of what the desert often did to those who journeyed alone. Every time desperation gripped at my heart, and I began trudging away from my oasis in search of a reprieve from loneliness, my feet became leaden. Icy fear dripped down my spine, and I would be unable to continue, despite the overwhelming need to be free of the prison of my isolation. Sinking sands or terrifying mirages that made you wander for hours awaited those without the desert’s favor who set out on their own. The desert’s approval had abandoned me here at the same time Clan Padra left me alone among the sands to die.

I hadn’t been lucky enough to find a clan, yet alone a lone traveler, in far too long. My supplies ran thin, and without a new weapon, I wouldn’t be able to hunt for much longer.

Crouched behind that rock, I watched the man set up a sleeping mat. My thighs ached from my stillness as I waited for him to sleep, but he sat staring into the fire for hours. Still, I dared not move and draw his attention, or worse yet, look away to find that he had only been an illusion—a cruel trick of the desert in the face of my growing hunger or my unyielding desire for the voice of another human. It wouldn’t be the first time I imagined such a thing, although the last time I had been recovering from the venomous bite of a snake, delirious from the poison in my veins.

The moon hung high in the cloudless sky by the time the traveler lay down on his mat and I dared creep out into the open. My bare feet shifted silently over the sands; I was glad the sands cooled rapidly in the night air. My tattered sandals had given out two days earlier, and the soles of my feet already carried blisters from the heat of the sand during the day.

The man’s fire dwindled as he slept, affording me the cover of darkness. The horse lifted its head with pricked ears at my approach. I froze, both in fear and in awe of the beast’s beauty. Its coat was as black as the night sky, the sheen of the moon on the silky texture showing off the delicious luxury of thick muscle.

The horse blew out a breath through its nose at me but did not react otherwise. I suppressed the urge to coo reassuringly to the animal, not wanting to wake its rider. Even if I was a desperate thief, I would never harm my target’s horse.

I carefully picked my way toward the small stack of bundles on the ground where I was the most likely to find useful supplies. With quick fingers, I loosened the ties to look inside. While the man traveled lightly, my eyes burned in relief at the treasures I found in the packs. Dried meat, a spare length of linen that could be worn as a hood, a water flask, and sandals four sizes too big, but I didn’t care. These items would protect me from the harshness of the elements and keep me alive until the next clan passed.

I moved all the items I planned to take to one sack and quietly tied it to my back. As much as my hollow belly urged me to take the entirety of the man’s rations, I left a small portion with his things. Hopefully it would be enough to reunite him with his clan.

With dismay, I realized I hadn’t found a weapon. Even if the meat would last me a few days, I needed to be able to hunt. My sling was on the verge of disintegrating completely, and an eagle had flown away with the knife I needed to be able to skin a creature for a hide to make a new one.

I chanced a glance at the sleeping man, just a massive lump in the darkness, the gentle whisper of breath all to indicate his presence. Perhaps he kept his weapons closer at hand. I crept around his sleeping mat to the far side, the direction in which he was facing. I feared waking him, but the fear of starvation was even more present in my mind—a weight that rested between my shoulder blades and never truly abated.

In the darkness I couldn’t see his face, but I was too fixated on what lay in the sand, inches from his outstretched hand, to care. A saber, gently curved and longer than my arm, larger than any I had ever seen, called to me. My palm itched to grasp the cord-wrapped hilt, bracketed by gently curved quillons. A knife would be much more practical for my purposes, but my hands didn’t care, already reaching out for the awe-inspiring weapon. The way the moonlight reflected off the lethal edge called inexorably to me.

A rustle broke the stillness of the air, and I froze. Before I could so much as throw myself backward, the form on the sleeping mat leaped forward. His bulk bowled me over, driving me down into the sand. I kicked wildly, using our momentum to continue our roll, trying to end up on top. With his superior size and the sluggishness of my limbs, he managed to trap me between his thighs. I slapped at him ineffectually, but he gathered my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand, the other held threateningly at my throat.

Then he stopped.

At first, I thought it was simply because he had bested me, but the preternatural stillness of his muscles and the tick in his jaw belied something else. I shuddered beneath him, a bolt of adrenaline, more intense than any I had ever felt during my struggles to survive, coursing through my body.