Page 8 of Blood of the Sands

I don’t know how long I watched, absolutely entranced and blind to all else in the world. By the time the riders stopped training, the sun was well past its zenith and evening fast approached. Soon, night would fall and bring with it the new moon.

My last day to escape, and I had spent it in stunned admiration of the one who had hauled me across the desert to serve as a sacrifice. I grit my teeth that I had wasted so much of a prime opportunity to get away, but some strange sense of stillness still lingered within me.

I looked around, wondering if I could still take advantage of the time outside my tent, but one of the riders broke from the group, walking back into the encampment and approached me. I recognized Izumi.

Sweat clung to her hair, turning the dark brown nearly black, and she breathed heavily but seemed used to the exertion of training. Her grip still hauled me to my feet with ease as she untied me from the stake.

“The new clan should be done with the supply tent by now,” she said by way of explanation, leading me back to my temporary prison. She deposited me there before scurrying away. While she hadn’t been harsh with me in my days with Clan Katal, even offering me her name and feeding me by hand when I had the feeling nobody would have faulted her for leaving me to starve, she refused to look at me now.

Maybe I imagined it and she was simply tired, or maybe she felt guilty about her clan sacrificing my life tonight.

I still had a few hours before nightfall to escape, but as I collapsed to the floor of the tent, my body urged me to rest. I let darkness take me, figuring it was a better way to spend the last minutes of my life than contemplating why I had been so enthralled by the man in the mask with his saber.

Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me from the escape of unconsciousness. Not waiting for me to rouse properly, they yanked me from the tent. The sun didn’t hammer down on me as we pushed through the flaps, indicating that night had fallen.

Smoke laced the air, as the dancing light from braziers illuminated the spaces between tents. The riders on either side of me barely spared me a glance as they dragged me back through the labyrinth of tents toward the large open circle I guessed would mark the center of the encampment. Catching sight of a crowd in the clearing, I began to struggle but quickly stilled. While days of sleep and shade had strengthened me, something in me stirred, telling me to be patient just a little longer. The opportune moment to slip away would come if I just waited.

I couldn’t wait too long though, as it seemed my time was limited. The crowd murmured in excitement and celebration as my handlers dragged me to a wooden stake driven into the ground and pointing straight up to the sky like an accusing finger. As they forced me to stand with my back to the pole, one warrior began binding my ankles to the stake, while the other untied my wrists, currently held in front of me. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as my hands sprang free. This might be my chance to escape. The urge to run was quickly dashed by the tight rope wound around my ankles and the throngs of clansmen blocking my way out of the circle.

Before I could consider my escape further, the guard wrenched my arms back, affixing my wrists to the pole behind me as well. Then, they left me, melting back into the surrounding crowd as I awaited my fate.

My gaze darted around my immediate vicinity; the area was more densely packed now than it had been during my day tied outside. I found myself curious after years without so much as hearing a human voice beyond my own on the occasions I had been desperate enough to talk to myself. The wave of chatter washed over me like an icy balm, simultaneously overwhelming and soothing. The general tone of the voices was that of excitement for my death, but as I listened closer, an undercurrent of something much more potent and sinister cut through—something I was far too familiar with: Desperation.

There were dozens of onlookers, but as I watched, they seemed to stay in self-contained groups, not mixing, even as they talked amongst themselves. A child with sunken eyes and tattered clothes eyed me from where he stood, clutching on to his mother’s hands with spindly fingers. Usually flourishing clans boasted the highest number, but while this was the largest encampment I had ever seen, many looked to be struggling.

A hush fell over the clearing, halting my musings. The crowd parted, and a tall figure came forward, approaching where I stood bound. I recognized the cold gray stare of the man who had commanded my sacrifice, the one the masked man called Lord Alasdar. He had the gall to smile at me, although it didn’t reach his eyes, before turning to address the onlookers.

“People of the Ballan Desert, we come to celebrate today’s great progress in restoring our home to its rightful state. Already we have three clans together here under one banner, and Clan Ratan joined us just today.”

My eyes widened as a cheer went up around me. I had never heard of clans uniting, let alone this many. The new arrivals today weren’t a faction rejoining with the whole, but a whole clan arriving to add their numbers to the encampment.

“While we face the wrath of the desert for the desertion of the old ways, united we will return our people to the ways of the past, giving the sands the blood they deserve. When all nine clans of the Ballan Desert are united, we will march on Kelvadan!”

The roar that went up from the crowd in response wasn’t enough to drown out the pounding of my heart in my ears. Kelvadan, the Great City, stood as the bastion of hope at the edge of the desert. A city where even an exile would be welcome if they were lucky enough to make it there and a testament to the power of the sands. The idea of violence against the only permanent settlement on this side of the mountains was unfathomable.

The lord continued, raising his arms and whipping the crowd into a frenzy with an impassioned tirade. The fervor in his eyes would have bordered on lunacy if not for the way it was mirrored in the gazes of many onlookers. It was a fanaticism that could only be bred into the desperate who saw no other options.

The clans weren’t just united—they were itching for war.

“The desert sends her storms, the disease, the hunger and the thirst to punish us for letting Kelvadan make us complacent. We clansmen have always been a warring people, spilling blood on the sands so they may give us life in return. With the peace brought by a unifying city, we have forgotten that the desert demands death in repayment for the life she gives us. The Ballan Desert does not want the peace and unity promised by the city. She wants blood.

“Those of us who still live among the dunes know this, although those in the city turn a blind eye. It has not even occurred to them that we would unify and attack them! They have truly forgotten the warrior’s way. But the nine tribes of the Ballan Desert will raze Kelvadan, spill their blood on the sands, and free our home from this curse. In return for blood, the desert will protect us from the storms and starvation that plague us more each day. The desert gives and it takes!”

“The desert gives and it takes,” echoed the crowd, rapping their knuckles to their temples in respect for their lord.

Panic rose in my throat, choking me. Kelvadan couldn’t fall. The dream of Kelvadan had always been hazy, but it still became the only real hope a clung to through the years. As my only real chance for a better life, Kelvadan was an aspiration that had etched itself into my soul. A haven from my exile, where one without a clan could still live among others. A place where it wouldn’t matter that I was cursed by the desert. The vision of Kelvadan had always represented in my mind the one thing I craved more than anything: A home.

They had to be warned.

It barreled into me with the force of a galloping horse. I had to be the one to warn them. That was why I still lived.

As if my newfound drive to survive hastened my death, Lord Alasdar now turned his gaze on me, formerly cold eyes burning with the fire of zeal.

“We will start with her. A promise to the sands that we will give them the battle they crave! A gift from the Viper himself.” The lord stepped aside and gestured into the crowd.

A familiar dark silhouette came forward, the backlighting of the braziers ringing the circle accentuating the width of his shoulders and his prowling gate. The flickering firelight danced across the metal mask, but the smooth surface still looked lifeless, like perhaps there wasn’t a person underneath at all.

He reached up to his shoulder where the hilt of the saber I’d almost stolen rested and unsheathed it with deliberate slowness. Unlike the sabers of many riders, it was too long to be worn at his hip. The power of his limbs and the light flashing off the lethal edge screamed of violence, but something within me stilled, like a wild caracal preparing to pounce.