“No tears,” Master Kenneth says gruffly. “You can’t spare the water.”
We all laugh at that. I hoist myself into our sled; the travelers are climbing into theirs. We ought not to waste the darkness.
Orion clambers up behind me. I quickly grab the reins so that I’ll get to drive.
Elda comes to stand at Master Kenneth’s side. Many more people from our kingdom fan out behind them. I wonder how many believe this to be a fool’s errand, and how many have real hope that Orion and I could return with the skin of the water dragon. If we were to even find one of the creatures, could our meager collection of spears and arrows be enough to bring it down?
“Go north for a spell—around the City of Stars,” Elda says. “The oasis has dried up, but there is another, according to the last traders who came this way.”
“How far north?” Orion asks.
“They spoke of a mountain shaped like a giant’s fist jutting from the earth.”
I nod. We’ll find it.
“And from there,” she continues, “you’ll travel past Whispering Canyon to The Salt. And then to the jungled Western Lands. Be safe.”
We will be safe. We will also be heroes to our people, no matter the cost.
Ben, Markus, and a few others roll aside the great stone gate.
The leather reins are soft against my palms. When the way is clear, I let out the low-high whistled command to get the wolves moving. I turn back once, lift a hand in a wave that is much more confident than I actually feel, then return to the business of driving.
Orion keeps his gaze on our people much longer. When he finally looks forward again, his eyes are shining like Master Kenneth’s were.
I tell myself we are merely going out for a nighttime patrol and will soon loop around the east to circle the city—that is how my eyes remain dry. Besides, as Master Kenneth said, I cannot spare water for tears.
The yipping of wolves less disciplined than our own alerts me to the traveler’s sled starting off behind us. When we clear the northernmost wall of the city, I expect them to head east, but they don’t.
“What are they doing?” Orion says, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the shushing of the metal tracks over the sand.
I shake my head. “I have no idea. Should I slow so they can catch up?”
“I don’t know.” Orion frowns and looks over his shoulder, then sighs. “I guess so—they seem to be hurrying to reach us.”
Whistling low, I signal the wolves to slow their pace slightly. The alpha’s ears prick and he obeys, slowing the rest of our team.
In a few moments, the travelers’ sled is abreast of ours. I raise a hand to wave at the driver, Fran.
“We need to refill more of our water jugs than Elda could spare,” she explains, shouting so I can hear her. “The oasis north of here is our best bet.”
I nod, glad we’ll have company for at least part of the journey, hoping for safety in numbers.
They fall back slightly, and I send a quick glance over to Orion. His expression is thoughtful, but it doesn’t give much away.
The diamond huntress constellation points west, but I steer us north of her bow.
We stop once, to give each of our wolves a few precious sips of water. The travelers pull ahead. As I stand on one side of our pairs of harnessed wolves, carrying a shallow water bucket, Orion does the same on the other side. They noisily lap up the water.
Looking to the skies, I inhale deeply, taking in the expanse of the world around us. The dunes seem to go on forever.
Orion has been quiet for too long.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him.
“How strange it is,” he says, “that the travelers never mentioned their plan to visit the same oasis while we were in the city.”
The thought has occurred to me as well. “But we didn’t know until we left, either, when Elda told us where to go. Besides, we can help protect each other during this early leg of the journey.”
“They have very little in the way of weapons,” he says. “Ben and I searched their sled that first night, because he didn’t trust them.”
All the wolves have had, if not their fill, at least enough to quench the stronger pangs of thirst. I give the alpha, a proud gray wolf called Brute, an affectionate rub between his ears, then make my way back to the sled and empty the last cups of water into the wolves’ water barrel. Orion does the same with the bucket he carried, and then we’re back on the sled.
Orion reaches for the reins, but I grab them faster.
“You can’t drive the whole time,” Orion says, giving me a sidelong glance.
“I can try,” I say with a grin, and I start the wolves forward.
The travelers’ sled is a snaking line in the distance, stark against the moonlit sands of the dunes. I think of the booklet of prophecies they gave me and wonder, curiously, why they gifted me with it.
“Can you drive for a while?” I ask Orion.
“If you’re ready to relinquish control,” he says in a joking voice.
He takes the reins and I fall to the bench and tug the booklet from the outer pocket of my small food sack.
The moon is bright, a sharp half-disc above us, edges slicing the sky. Its light throws down to the booklet in my hands. I flip to the first page. Reading has never been my strongest skill, but I slowly make sense of the letters.
The rising of the dragon, as great as the rising of the sun, brings dawn of life to all the eyes in the jungle. Do not blink it away.
I read it several times over so that I know it well when I say it aloud to Orion, so he will not hear me stumble over the words.
“What do you think it means?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I was never much for books, you know that.”
He glances down at me and I look quickly beyond the edge of our sled to the sands beyond. Past our wolves, past the sled in front of us, I see what looks like a rocky hill. I point to it. As we crest the dune we are on, it looks exactly as Elda described—a giant punching his fist up through the sands. It looks to be punching up even now, the movement happening as we travel—an optical illusion brought on by our forward motion.
“And now we head west,” Orion mutters before whistling the wolves into action.
Dunes rise up in two rows, creating a gentle canyon. Movement at the base of it catches my attention. Squinting, I try to make sense of the shapes.
It’s the travelers’ sled, overturned. It crashed in the hollow dip between two dunes, where moonlight doesn’t reach. I can’t see what caused them to fall. Orion hasn’t seen their sled yet, so I whistle at the wolves to slow them.
Orion raises an eyebrow. “I thought I was driving?”
I point ahead. Faint shouts reach my ears, and then fire lights up the dark hollow. Someone shrieks in pain.
“Scorpion dragon,” Orion says, and curses.
“They have no weapons,” I say. “We have to help.”
“Wait.” He whistles to redirect the wolves.
“Orion,” I say, “we must help them.”
“We will, but we have to be smart about it. If we drive into that valley, we’ll be at a disadvantage.”
“We can go up the dune and come down from the right,” I say. “The dragon is on that side, and we’ll be behind it.”
I know he must be thinking the same thing I am—that there are only two of us, and the smart thing to do would be to go far around and avoid the danger altogether. But I promised myself, long ago, to be the hero in my own tale. And a hero doesn’t leave others to die.
Orion steers the wolves up the slope of the dune we’re on. The alpha falters momentarily; he’d been expecting the easy route through the valley. Our shadow is faint but long in front of us—the sun is rising. It reminds me of the prophecy, the rising of the dragon.
As we get closer to the travelers’ overturned sled, I can see three figures crouched on one side of it. There’s a fourth figure on the ground. Their wolves are gone, likely s
et loose to protect them, in the hopes they can be called back by any survivors.
A scorpion dragon faces them. It looks young, not too terribly big, but it’s lethal nonetheless.
It is also beautiful, in its dangerous way. The brilliant red-orange exoskeleton gleams in the reflected light of the fire it breathes out toward the sled. Nothing catches alight, which is lucky for the remaining travelers. Now that we’re closer, I see Petre nocking an arrow into a bow. It reminds me that I, too, should be prepping for battle.
As I reach along the side bench of the sled, where our people lashed extra spears, bows and other weapons, I say to Orion, “I thought you said the travelers had no weapons?”
He stares hard at Petre, and his face registers surprise. “They didn’t. We searched their belongings thoroughly.”
“Their sled, too?”
“Yes. Perhaps not as thoroughly as we thought.”
Petre pulls something else from the sled—a spear or sword—and he hands it to Fran. Caleb, next to Fran, already holds a weapon of some kind.
So it is Melina, with the ink-stained hands, who has fallen.
I pass a spear to Orion, then find a bow and a quiver of arrows. If I can put out an eye or two, the scorpion dragon might retreat. Penetrating its armor is nearly impossible except at very close range. And getting into close range of a scorpion dragon is never a good idea.
As I pull the quiver free of its leather bindings, I see something by the bench that makes me smile—a large pot of tar and next to it, a mortar with flint, steel, and char cloth.
“Slow us down,” I say to Orion. “Give me time to get a flame going.”
He whistles at the wolves and I quickly dip the point of an arrow into the tar before hitting the flint and steel together over the char cloth in the mortar. The spark catches immediately, sheltered from the breeze by the mortar and my body.
I nock the flaming arrow into the bow and wait until we’re in range. The bright point of the arrow blinds me to my target momentarily, but then my eyes adjust.
Orion holds the reins with the crook of his arm and readies another arrow for me. I want to tell him that I won’t need it. But Master Kenneth would chastise me for overconfidence, so I keep quiet. Either way, I know this arrow will fly true.
I only need the scorpion to turn toward us. Letting out a loud whoop to grab his attention, I pull back my arm.
The scorpion turns. As soon as it rears back to spew another flame, I let loose my arrow.
It flies just where I need it to go. The scorpion dragon screeches and sends forth fire, but its legs carry it backward, a sign of retreat.
Wordlessly, Orion hands me a second arrow. I nock it into the bow, but it isn’t necessary. The scorpion dragon is scuttling past the fallen sled and over the opposite dune.
Orion brings us down to approach the travelers. Their faces are pale, ghostly with shock. Melina, on the ground, doesn’t move. I catch the overpowering scent of singed flesh and hair.
Orion stops the sled, points to Melina. “Is she—”
“Dead,” Fran says in a dull voice.
“It happened so quickly,” Petre says.
“I’m sorry for your loss. May her spirit travel to the skies,” I say.
“We’ll bury her here,” Fran says. “Her body will nurture the beetles.”
I had forgotten that was considered good luck in some traveling cultures.
“And your wolves?” I ask.
Caleb whistles loudly, and faint barking reaches our ears.
“They haven’t gone far, thank goodness,” he says. “Let’s hope their harnesses are still intact.”
Orion and I climb down from our sled and help put theirs to rights while they bury their fallen friend. Orion subtly points to the underside of their sled, where several weapons are affixed with leather and metal lashings. Bows and crossbows, arrows, spears, swords.
I give a silent nod in response. First, I thought these people were traders, then hapless travelers, then religious zealots. The strange group, now minus one, is too full of surprises.
Their wolves appear over the ridge as the three carry Melina’s body to a newly dug hollow in the sand. Orion gives water to their wolves from our own supply, likely not wanting to disturb the three to ask about water as they pile sand over the corpse.
Once they are done, Fran and Caleb harness their wolves. Orion and I climb back into our own sled.
“How much farther to the oasis?” I ask.
“We’ll be there before midmorning,” Petre says. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears.
“We’ll see you there, then,” I say, taking up the reins and whistling to our wolves.
Orion is silent beside me, a warm distraction from the thoughts cascading in my mind. A few hours ago, Melina was alive, her long hair trailing behind her as their sled sped ahead of us. She had no idea her life was about to end.
My father, at least, knew when his time had come. The sand fever comes on slowly, and often strikes people who have lived sixty years or more. As an older parent, he knew it was likely he would leave me when I was young. It wasn’t fair, and it was terrible, but it wasn’t unexpected.
Yet still my throat clenches at the memory of losing him.
I can no longer stand the emotions filling my chest and throat. I let go of the reins with one hand and reach for Orion. His fingers are firm and gentle as he holds me fast to this one single moment, and the sun rises behind us.
Chapter 3
The dragon is as smart as anything; its intelligence gleams like its scales.
Ahead, the oasis waits, sparse trees around a too-small pond. Beyond that, the walls of a city. They glow orange and pink in the light from the rising sun.
I jerk my chin forward. “Is that...”
“Lament,” Orion says.
Nobody knows the original name of these ruins, but early traders, horrified at the aspects of sorrow and hunched positions of defeat worn by the corpses within, named it Lament.
“We’ll skirt around it, won’t we?” I ask Orion. “There’s no reason to go through it, right?”
He gives a grim nod, his green eyes on the horizon. “Why do you think Petre and them have all those weapons?”
“To protect themselves, I suppose.”
“I guess I meant, why do you think they hid all those weapons?”
“That, I have no idea,” I say.
If their weapons hadn’t been hidden, they might have reached them sooner when they came upon the scorpion dragon. Then again, having them stashed on the underside of the sled would be useful in the event of the sled toppling, as theirs had. I’m already wondering if we have enough materials to configure something similar for our own sled.
I continue, “It could be that they didn’t want our city to know they could fight. The image they projected was one of utter helplessness.”
“A sled loaded with weapons would have belied that image,” Orion says, nodding.
One of our younger wolves yips with excitement when we reach the oasis. The morning sun is already blistering against my back. I want nothing more than a good, long drink of fresh water and the oblivion of sleep in my white canvas tent, hopefully set up beneath the shade of one of the palm groves.
I’m disappointed, though, when I whistle the wolves to a halt at the edge of what I had thought was a pond. There is a small circle of shallow water, maybe the depth of a man’s hand. The water is ringed by mud in every direction.
Orion and I unharness the wolves and they don’t rush to the tiny pool as they normally would. One of them growls and backs away from the mud.
I now regret sharing our wolves’ water with the travelers’ wolves. I had thought we could replenish our store here.
Orion moves toward our shallow watering buckets, but I stop him. “They can wait until this evening. Let’s just feed them, instead.”
He doles out the dried meat that Silas Wolfhandler packed them while I grab our tents from the rear of the sled. I walk towa
rd a grouping of palms, closest to a stone fence where we can keep our wolves stabled for the day. The ground beneath the palms is littered with rotten dates, smelling pungently sweet. This would make for an unpleasant sleep, inhaling the strong scent of rot.
After dropping our tent materials in the sand, I quickly move toward the other small groves and see the same thing—rotten fruit everywhere, insects buzzing around it.
Sighing, and trying not to inhale too deeply, I return to the first group of palms and set up our tents. We’ll learn to sleep with the stench, and the thick canvas will keep out the insects.
By the time I’ve finished with the tents, Orion has led the wolves to the stone corral and he joins me beneath the palms.
“The travelers should be here any moment,” he says.
“Let’s sleep,” I say. “I can’t bear to see the disappointment on their faces when they find what’s left of the pond.”
He nods. “And so soon after Melina.” Holding out a wrapped bundle, he says, “Don’t forget to eat.”
I wrinkle my nose. The sickly-sweet scent of the rotten dates has caused me to forget my appetite. Nothing sounds good. But I take the package from Orion with a thank-you and crawl into my tent. I pull off my sword and belt, then my long-sleeved tunic and linen leggings, grateful to be rid of them.
Normally, I would comb out my braids and re-plait them before bed, but instead I take a few bites of the flat bread Orion gave me, then fall back onto the floor of my tent. Trying not to breathe through my nose too much, I sleep.
Barks of alarm wake me. There’s an urgency to them, so I hurry out of my tent, grabbing my sword from its place next to my leggings.
“Orion?” I call.
“Put it down, now,” Orion says, his voice projected outward, away from me.
I shove the canvas aside and step out into the evening air. Darkness will soon descend. Orion stands rigidly in front of me, his trousers loose on his hips as if he tugged them on in a hurry. He hefts a spear in one hand and I look to where it aims.
Our sled is not too far away, and next to it is the travelers’ sled. Their wolves are harnessed, and Fran holds the reins and a bow. Petre and Caleb heave a barrel of water from our sled to theirs.
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