The Mayaware's reign must end.
In a world of demonic beings with a hunger for human flesh and thirst for blood, Hesi Renen knows it well. When her siblings are taken to the harvesting farms, she must do everything she can to get them out, even if it...
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If there was something staying with Hesi until her death, it was the heat. Scorching, infernal heat. She clicked her tongue, wiping the side of her face with her exposed arm. Her skin glistened with sweat, particles of sand clinging to it like hungry leeches. No matter what she did, the sand wouldn't fall off until the world cooled for the night.
She glanced at the sky. It was a long way off.
A squeal uncharacteristic of the harsh desert erupted behind her. She whirled in alarm, her hand swinging directly towards a pile of thorny stalks. Pain shot up her wrist. Darpeh.
"Give it back!" Pai, her sister, chased a smaller boy—their youngest brother, Unsu, her hands outstretched. In his hands was her scarf. Unsu darted around, arm raised. The scarf fluttered in the air, fighting the wind's direction. A deadly beacon. A flare in the darkness. The boy's wide eyes and slightly parted mouth were not welcome reactions.
But they were necessary.
A breeze picked up from the west, ruffling Pai's bobbed hair. She swiped at the thick strands blocking most of her forehead and growled, racing after her brother. "No, no. Don't put it—agh!" She clawed at her cheeks as Unsu gripped both ends of the scarf and pressed the middle smack into his sweaty curls.
"I just washed that!" Pai wailed. "Give it back, takfakhte!"
Hesi shot up. "Pai!" She cradled her hand, wincing at the faint, stabbing pain prickling in her skin. "We do not call anyone that."
Where did she learn it? From the merchants? The people of Agkhre? It was a hideous word; Hesi couldn't dare to utter it. Hearing it out of Pai's mouth—thrown to their brother, no less—horrifying.
"I know, but he..." Pai stomped her feet on the ground in a misplaced tantrum. For a girl nearing her moon-cycles, it was ironic. Her sister jabbed an accusatory finger in Unsu's direction, her eyes misting against the desert heat. "He touched it to his stinking sweat. His stinking sweat—"
Hesi marched towards the small boy, clamped a shoulder down his bone-thin shoulder, and yanked the scarf out of his grip. The whine ripping off his mouth couldn't have been human. A mule out for slaughter, maybe.
"Unsu, apologize to your sister." Hesi crouched and fixed his sleeveless tunic, which slid off the other shoulder. It was several sizes too big. It was their father's, after all—one of the last memories they have left. "We do not touch things that are not ours."
Unsu stuck a lip out. At least he stopped throwing the same tantrum as Pai did behind them. "Is that one of the sur-vi-val rules?" Unsu asked, stumbling over the word. At seven, it was long for him. But he would learn. He must.
Hesi had not an inkling of how to talk to other children, so she bobbed her head and dusted his trousers. The beaded cords they used to tie it up clinked against each other. "We are humans, Unsu," she said. "We do not liken ourselves to demons."
