Page 9 of Blood of the Sands

He stepped forward, the tip of the blade level with my throat, just inches from where my pulse hammered beneath my skin. I stared at his face, and just for a moment, the light illuminated the dark pits of his eyes, and I remembered the proud nose and angular jaw hidden underneath.

I lifted my chin. We had been in this position before, and he had hesitated, just as he hesitated now. The blade inched forward, and as the tip touched my skin, it quivered ever so slightly, scratching me. A warm rivulet of blood dripped toward my collarbone, and I became aware of every millimeter it traveled, the cold steel barely brushing my neck. I could count the grains of sand beneath my bare feet and see through the metal mask before me to the closed off expression of my captor. Time froze, sucking away the shouts of the crowd and whistling of wind across the dunes into deafening silence. The only things to exist were me and the man in the mask. The Viper.

Fire exploded through me, accompanied by a crack so loud, I was sure my skull had been cloven in two. When the white behind my eyelids faded, and I peeled them open, unsure when I had shut them, I was greeted by the sight of my hands in the sand. Somehow, I had fallen on my hands and knees.

Looking up, the crowd before me scattered in panic, mouths open wide as if screaming, but I could hear nothing as my ears still rang from the noise. I glanced over my shoulder to see the pole I had been bound to split in half, charred as if it had been burning for hours.

Lightning flashed again, this time striking a nearby tent, which burst into flame. I staggered to my feet, coming face to mask with the man who had been tasked with taking my life. He stood frozen, sword no longer pointed at me. Before I could move, he spun on his heel and dashed toward the burning tent as lightning continued to flash around us, alternately blinding before plunging the camp into chaos.

Not pausing to consider my captor’s retreat, I turned and ran the other way. My bare feet churned through the loose sand, and I pumped my arms furiously, driven by a singular thought. I had to get to Kelvadan and warn them of the impending attack.

As weak as I was, the adrenaline of my escape fueled me, and the ongoing lightning strikes distracted those who might have stopped me. My sense of hearing returned, greeted by the crash of thunder and the crackling of yet another tent set ablaze. Horses screamed in fear in the distance, and I veered toward them.

Near the edge of the camp, I came upon an enclosure, horses bucking and stamping in agitation. One stood nearest the temporary fence, seeming calmer than the others, although its ears pulled back flat along its head, a full circle of white around its eyes illuminated by another bolt of lightning.

I sent a silent apology to whomever this mount belonged to as I clambered to the top of the fence. Horse theft was akin to murder in the clans, but I was already an exile, and I had a mission to fulfill.

With a leap from the top slat of the fence, I landed on the horse’s back. It whinnied and bucked, but I threw my arms around its neck, barely staying on as I squeezed with my thighs. This spurred the horse further in its frenzy, and it charged toward the opposite edge of the enclosure.

Desperately I readjusted my grip, trying to center my weight more firmly on the animal’s back. Fear gripped my heart as we approached the fence, but something came along with it: Exhilaration. My mount took to the air, my heart leaping into my throat as we soared over the barrier.

Then we were free, and the horse ran, me bent over its neck as it lengthened its stride. I chanced a glance back at the encampment. For a moment, a bolt of lightning illuminated a dark silhouette between the tents, but then we were cresting over a dune, and the clans were lost from view.

I didn’t try to slow my mount as we put distance between us and the spot that was to have been my grave. The storm seemed centered around the encampment, and the desert around us remained dark as the lightning grew more distant. The farther away we could get before anybody tried to follow us, the better.

Not only that, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up the wind in my hair, the powerful animal surging between my thighs as we dashed across the desert. I had missed this, these wild gallops under a star-spangled velvet sky. I threw back my head and did something I hadn’t done in far too long. I laughed, an unpracticed broken sound, but something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

Who would have known that I would come closer to death than I had ever been before to find a reason for my survival? Not only that, but now I felt alive, an energy still crackling through my body as if the lightning had struck me, and the sparks still danced across my skin.

Surely the desert would guide me to Kelvadan when I carried such dire news. Perhaps this is why she had allowed me to scrape by all these years. So I could warn the city that was the testament of the desert’s power and save it from the mad lord of Clan Katal—surely he must be mad.

For now, I let my horse carry me across the open sands, thinking of the Great City and how I had to save it.

As beams of light broke over the horizon, my mount slowed to a stop with a disgruntled snort. He had slackened to a walk long ago, and hours had passed as we traversed miles. At the stop, my head snapped up from my chest where it had been bobbing in a fitful doze.

My mount apparently needed rest as much as I did. Leaning to one side, I tried to swing my leg over and dismount, but only succeeded in sliding off and landing in the sand with a bone-rattling thump.

The stallion pranced and whickered as if amused by my ineptitude, and it surely was a stallion based on how far up I had to look to glare at him. After a moment, he settled, bending his forelegs to lay down on the sand next to me. Absently, I reached out to pat his nose, reveling in the velvety softness beneath my fingers.

I had certainly stolen a prime specimen. In the gray light of dawn, the coat that had appeared dark at night glimmered a golden chestnut. Even covered in sweat and dust as it was now, it shone silky, with a mane and tail to match. He tossed his head and snorted, as if he could sense me admiring him. I huffed in amusement at his pride.

“What are you called?” I asked, as if he might answer. Only a few days around people, and I craved conversation again.

He flicked an ear back and bumped his nose into my hand as if wondering why I had paused my admiration.

“I’m Keera,” I continued on, resuming my petting. I cocked my head consideringly. “How about Daiti for you?” A swift name for a fast mount, for he had certainly carried me far in a short amount of time.

He snorted, and I took that as acceptance.

We sat there in the sand as the sun rose, and I pulled my hood up over my head, wrapping the end across my face. I didn’t speak anymore, having become comfortable with silence, but unspeakably pleased with Daiti’s company. I continued to run my fingers through his mane, which he enjoyed if the way he stretched his neck to give me better access was any indication.

Soon though, Daiti began nuzzling my torso, investigating for food or water. He was right—we wouldn’t last long without supplies. I didn’t have anything on me right now I could use to hunt even if we were lucky enough to come across an oryx or a jackrabbit. We would have to hope to reach Kelvadan before either of us died of thirst or hunger.

The memory of Kelvadan rose in my mind at the thought, the city enormous against the backdrop in the mountains, magnified in size by the forced perspective of childhood memories. The hazy sight of the city walls and the plains beyond had only grown in my mind during exile—blown to mythical proportions. The dream of Kelvadan, as shadowy a hope as it had been, had kept me alive through many a harsh season. I couldn’t let it fall now—not when I had a chance to save it.

I crawled over to Daiti’s back and began to swing my leg over. He whickered unhappily at my rather undignified method of mounting when he still laid in the sand, but I slapped his shoulder lightly to tell him to get over it. None of the horses I had ridden before my exile from Clan Padra were nearly as large as Daiti, and therefore they’d been much less difficult to mount. Not to mention, I was out of practice.

While Daiti snuffled his disapproval, he suffered my clambering ineptitude before begrudgingly standing, little puffs of dust rising around his hooves as he stamped. With a slight nudge from me, he ambled forward. I didn’t bother directing him, as I had no idea in which direction Kelvadan lay. Daiti’s instincts would be better than mine, as I was far away from the oasis I’d called home. Besides, the sands had a way of speaking to horses, and direction hardly mattered in the Ballan Desert.