Braid of Sand

by Alicia Gaile

  Bang! Before the sound finished exploding in her ears a small geyser of dirt spewed up just off to her left. Raziela zigzagged. A moving target would be harder for their firearms to hit.

  Crack! Crack! Boom! The last one shuddered through her chest. Something hit the ground behind her and Raziela screamed as her feet left contact with the earth.

  She sprawled face-first in the dirt. A strange bitter taste filled her mouth. Thin luminous powder mixed with the dirt. A gray crust coated the ground, as if whatever the green stuff was it was sucking the life out of the soil. Raziela spat and tried to scrape the residue of it from her tongue.

  Boom!

  Another cannon exploded twenty feet away to her left. Dirt rose up like a wave, and Raziela covered her head with both hands.

  “Stop! What are you doing?”

  At first, the small voice seemed to come out of her imagination. It seemed impossible that one human voice could be heard over the ringing in her ears. Too her shock, the firing ceased.

  Raziela remained flat on the ground, but she lifted her head to see what had distracted the guards.

  A tall thin man ran across the field. His torso was bare, revealing his bones through his skin that glistened beneath a thick layer of sweat. Several steps behind him was a young woman wearing breeches and a thin, sleeveless linen shirt.

  “Stop!” The man repeated the cry even though the soldiers already had. “You’re destroying the seeds.”

  By that point four soldiers had slithered under the rising portcullis and were making their way across the empty fields. Raziela got to her feet, scurrying toward the farmer and the young woman.

  “Detain her!”

  “Don’t you realize what you’ve done?” The farmer didn’t even glance at Raziela. He gasped at the two craters caused by the missiles fired into his field.

  “The woman is a traitor of the highest order. Don’t let her get away!”

  “You’ve destroyed enough food to feed an entire city block!” The farmer moved to the edge of one hole. He mopped the sweat from his forehead and jammed his hat woven from palm fronds back onto his head.

  “I’ve fertilized this entire section with GrainGro! I could have tripled my yield and you’ve gone and destroyed them all.”

  “Father.” The young woman eyed Raziela warily. “We covered the entire field. The rest should make up for it.”

  “Hush, Yolande! Who’s going to fix my field?”

  “Sir, please. That woman is an escaped fugitive. If you hinder us in apprehending her, you will be arrested as an accomplice.”

  Raziela covered her ears. Her legs wobbled and her vision swam. Still she held her ground, cursing herself for flinging away her sword.

  “Oh-hoo! Is that how you want to play it? You go blowing holes in my field, destroying my crops, when I haven’t done nothing but exactly what those white coats at SIAR Labs tells me to do, and you want to haul me in as an accomplice?” Tendons stood out in his neck. The soldier made an impatient noise.

  “It was an unfortunate necessity. Now if you’ll just calm down you’ll see that you can just grow more next season.”

  “‘Just grow more? Just grow more,’ he says.” The farmer looked incredulously over his shoulder at his daughter, who ducked into her shoulders with shame at the scene he was making.

  “There won’t be a next season. Haven’t they told you? Once you use this stuff on your fields it wrings every last ounce of growing potential out of it that’s left. But no, I can see you lot don’t waste time asking questions. You’re all good little soldiers who can’t be bothered using the brains on your head when you could be out blowing holes in my field and destroying what little food we have left!”

  “Step aside, Sir. I—”

  “Wait, is that true?” One of the other soldiers stepped forward. “After this season there won’t be any more food?”

  “Why else do you think his Majesty is confiscating every single grain we’ve grown?”

  For the first time, the soldiers’ attention shifted away from Raziela. She eased her weight onto her toes. Her eyes scanned the distance across the field. She weighed her chances.

  The farmer’s daughter stuck her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and issued a shrill whistle. From across the field, a horse cantered toward them.

  “Father, that’s just rumor mongering. We need to get out of their way.” Her face was pale, as if she forced herself to believe the words coming out of her mouth because the alternative was unthinkable.

  The lead soldier shook himself, remembering his purpose. The girl turned to greet the horse that had answered her call. Raziela sprang. Her feet slid in the soft dirt, but she blew past the girl and grabbed the horn of the saddle before kicking the horse hard with her heels. He whinnied in displeasure and bolted away.

  She held on for a heart stopping moment. Shouts called out behind her, but as soon as Raziela reached the end of the farmland the horse reared and she tumbled off. Her bones shuddered as she struck the ground, but she rolled to the side as the horse stamped and spun. The city doors were open again so the soldiers could come after her. Limping a little, she hobbled toward it.

  She was running in circles, prolonging the inevitable. Still, she refused to go willingly into the cage Herodes planned for her.

  “Great Mother, help me,” she whispered, pausing in the shadowed arch to scan the streets. To the left stood a row of great houses. Off to the right was the beginning of the market district. The King would expect her to run as far and as fast as she could. Though it didn’t offer much chance for hope, she gathered her courage and sneaked off to the left.

  Her knowledge of the city was faulty. Streets and side streets looked so different from memories a century old. Not to mention, she’d been a small child when she went with her parents to this quarter of the city.

  Booted feet stampeded behind her as what felt like every guard in the king’s palace emptied to come looking for her.

  Running made her a target. But so long as they were within earshot, Raziela couldn’t take a chance of stopping. She didn’t dare go to Pomona. She had helped her, yes, but it would be poor thanks to bring the King’s men to break down her doors. Besides that, it was too far and Raziela wasn’t sure she knew the way.

  If only she knew someplace that would offer sanctuary. Once, that would have been the Temple. All who passed through those doors and asked the Great Mother for mercy could find shelter there. She sent up a prayer, praying for Her to forgive her for failing in her duty.

  “Please. I cannot serve you if I am dead. Please, show me where to go.” A stitch stabbed at her side. If she was going to make her last stand, then she was going to make it count.

  She nearly collided with a figure wrapped in gray. She opened her mouth automatically to apologize and closed it again when she found herself staring at the most intense face she’d ever seen. His skin was nearly blue-black, and his even darker eyes stared into her face without expression. Raziela backpedaled quickly, But the man never moved. Not so much as an eyelash twitched.

  A rock thudded against a wooden shutter, making her heart leap in her chest.

  A set of steps led to the second story above a garage off to her left. It looked deserted, but at least she could bottleneck the soldiers so they’d have to come at her one by one. With any luck she could keep from being surrounded. And then... Goddess willing, she’d think of something.

  “There she is!”

  Panic sent a jolt of speed to Raziela’s feet.

  The door at the top of the stairs was locked. She threw her shoulder against it. It shuddered, but didn’t budge. The guards had reached the bottom of the steps. She reared back and kicked the door open. The wood splintered, and the door swung open to bounce off the inside wall. She dove in to claim the nearest object she could find as a weapon.

  A bronze knife lay on a table. It was better than she’d expected. By the time she grabbed it and spun around, the first of the soldiers stood in the doorway.
He glared at her, but he didn’t cross the threshold.

  “We have you surrounded. Drop the knife and come out with your hands up.”

  “Come and get me, coward!”

  The doorway was narrow enough that if they wanted to rush her they’d have to do it one by one.

  He glanced down the steps as if seeking permission. A muscle clenched in his jaw.

  “What are you waiting for? Grab her!” snapped one of the others.

  “You know what happened the last time one of you paid a visit while Castien wasn’t home.”

  The guard’s head snapped up as someone spoke from the roof. Her nerves jumped. Someone was on the roof? She thought the voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Fine. You do it,” snapped the young man still framed in the doorway, but his posture had changed from aggression to fear. He jumped back as a figure leapt down in front of him, and with a toss of his long braids, Barak straightened, looking smug.

  “Unlike you, I’m not a fool. Now, I’ll tell you what will happen. You and the rest of your little ants are going to turn around and march back to the castle to tell the King that you failed.”

  It was difficult to say which prospect was worse to the young man, facing Castien’s anger at invading his home, or going back to the King empty-handed. Barak leaned his hip against the railing and folded his arms as though he had all the time in the world for the soldier to make up his mind. He lifted his chin and peered off into the distance.

  “You’d better decide how painful you want to make this. Castien’s right over there.”

  The color drained from beneath the guard’s bronze skin. He whirled around, and if Raziela thought Barak was bluffing, she was soon proved wrong. The soldier raised both hands and the color seeped from his narrow face as his head tilted back to follow Castien’s as he made his slow, deliberate way up the stairs.

  “I expect someone to replace my door.”

  If he was out of breath from sprinting from the palace he didn’t give away even a hint. Raziela adjusted her grip on her weapon and shrank deeper into the shadows of the apartment.

  “We have our orders. I’d be in my rights to drag you back too!” The soldier’s voice wobbled even as he squared his bony shoulders. Castien’s mouth twisted.

  “And I’d be within my rights to throw you off the side of the balcony, but that won’t do much good for either of us, would it?”

  “So, like I said,” Barak unfolded himself from the left side of the door where he was reclining. “Go back to the King. Tell him you failed. Tell him we overpowered you if you think looking inferior as well as incompetent will help your case. Either way, get the hell out of here.”

  The soldier looked between them as if he expected them to plunge a knife in his back the moment it turned. Neither moved, and he bolted back down the stairs. His booted feet scampered off into the distance with a soft scuffling sound.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Barak. Now he’ll be after your neck too.”

  “Eh, where’s the fun if no one’s trying to kill you?”

  “Start my bike. I have to get her out of the city before they empty out the Academy to bring her in.”

  “Any plans where you’re going to take her?”

  “I’ve got a few hideouts that my father and brother won’t think to look.”

  “We’re here if you need us. Not everyone in this city is as bloodthirsty or stupid as those fools.”

  They clasped hands and then Barak hurried down the steps. Castien swung to face Raziela. His shoulders filled the entire width of the doorway. She felt trapped as she hadn’t when the other soldier stood in the exact same place. She grasped the handle of the knife—his knife—a little tighter as her palms began to sweat.

  “I’ll just need a minute to grab a few supplies. You can wait here or you can go down with Barak.”

  “Why are you helping me? You’re the one who told the others where to find me.”

  “You became a target the moment you left those cabbages at the altar for someone to find. If I hadn’t found you, someone else would’ve.”

  He was quick and efficient. He didn’t waste time gathering clothes, but uncovered an entire cache of weapons. Knives of all lengths, shapes, and edges. Thin strips of jerky and a hunk of traveler’s cheese disappeared into his bag. He slung a waterskin over his shoulder and then jerked his head at her. Time to leave.

  “I couldn’t get the thing started, Cas,” Barak apologized, stepping away from a faded black motorcycle with more than a few dents and scratches in the paint. “Someone must’ve siphoned out the gas.

  Castien cursed under his breath. Raziela shifted her weight restlessly, wondering what that meant for their escape. Castien walked across the shop to where a toilet was installed in a corner.

  He lifted the white porcelain seat. Raziela’s cheeks burned and she quickly averted her eyes. There was a hollow thunk before the lid banged shut. He returned carrying a small, steel jerry can. Raziela’s face contorted with disgust.

  “That look on your face is exactly the reason he hides it there.” Barak said with a snort. “Cas is the king of hiding things out in the open. I promise Priestess, that seat’s just a decoy. He found it in a junkyard and just cemented it to the floor.”

  Still, Castien was grim-faced as he poured a small amount of gas into the motorcycle’s tank. After he returned the can to its hiding place, he found a bar of soap on a nearby shelf and liberally scrubbed his hands.

  “I’ll go make sure the coast is clear,” Barak said, all joking aside. He went out to check the street while Castien and Raziela climbed onto the bike.

  It roared to life with a growl that made her squeeze her arms around his waist. When Barak gave him the all-clear, he glided into the street.

  Each turn made Raziela feel as though she was going to fly off, but it was obvious that Castien was enjoying himself. Shouts rang out behind them, and Castien leaned over the handlebars, as if Hunkering down would wring more speed from the dilapidated machine.

  They didn’t head toward the main gate as she expected, but out toward Sestrand Harbor.

  “Get in.” He pointed to a small boat with what looked like an inadequately small motor. While she did as she was told, he went to park his motorcycle. The boat bobbed and bucked as she hopped in. Castien jogged back from securing his bike and untied the ropes tethering it in place.

  “There they are!” They looked up in unison to see soldiers running down the street. Castien swore under his breath.

  “Push off!” Raziela kicked the dock away while he unfurled the sail.

  The soldiers bore down on them as the boat slowly glided back. Raziela reached for the dagger she’d taken from his apartment, but before the men could leap into their boat, Castien a breeze filled up the sail, dragging them out toward open sea. One man brandished a pistol and Raziela ducked.

  “Don’t bother. It’s empty,” Castien assured her.

  “How long before they follow us?” Raziela watched the cluster of soldiers turn to run back up the pier.

  “Not until tomorrow—if at all.”

  “Why so long?”

  “Because not one of those cowards is going to take a chance trying to sail into that storm.”

  She turned, and her stomach nearly emptied itself at the sight of the black clouds rolling toward them over the horizon. Forks of lightning struck the waves and a hard wind blew in their faces. What good was trying to escape if they were going to commit suicide pitting themselves against the Goddess?

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No,” he answered without looking at her. “But it might help if you offered up a prayer or two to Naiara.”

  With no other choice, she clasped her hands and closed her eyes, willing the Goddess to show them mercy. She flinched as the first hard drop of rain struck her. There was a rustling noise as the clouds poured out their contents onto the now white-crested waves. The little boat jumped and bobbed. Raziela thought she was go
ing to be sick. In fact, as one wave tossed them from side to side, she upended her belly over the side of his stalwart little boat.

  “Steady,” he said. She shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the wind and rain and thunder. But he looked so calm as he fixed his eyes on some point she couldn’t make out in the distance, and it made her feel a little bit better. He wasn’t the sort of man who would drown himself just to escape a fight. He must have a plan. She hoped she survived long enough to find out what it was.

  By and by, they came to an island. They were soaked through as they leapt out of the boat and dragged it into the shallows. Castien threw her the rope and pointed to a wooden post.

  “Tie her off over there. Make it a good knot. If we lose this boat then we’re really in trouble.”

  She nodded and dragged the rope over to the post he indicated. There was an iron loop there. She wound the rope through it as many times as she could, desperate to secure it. The fear that the boat would wash away and leave them stranded made her hands shake more than the stinging rain and the fear of death that had chased them from the mainland.

  Castien came behind her when she was finished to inspect her handiwork. She didn’t know why she hadn’t expect him to make sure of her knot himself when it was also his life at stake.

  “There’s a cave this way. Come on. We’ve used it as a safehouse in the past. It’s small, but you can stay there until you decide what you’d like to do from here.”

  It wasn’t a gaping cavern like the pools where she’d swum beneath the Temple, but it was enough that it kept the rain off of them and blocked the worst of the wind. They huddled side by side, not quite touching but close enough that she felt the shivers rattle over him from the chill of the wind on his damp skin.

  “Can you build a fire?”

  “I’d need dry wood for that.” It wasn’t sarcasm exactly, more like grim disappointment that the supplies he needed weren’t available.

  A shiver swept over her from head to toe. Unlike him, hers wasn’t from the cold. What was she supposed to do now? Where could she go? Castien might find a way to ingratiate himself to King Herodes again, but she wouldn’t. She was homeless, cut adrift from everything she’d ever known.