Wind and Lightning

I. Wind and Lightning

As Benedikta walked through the endless piles of sand, she could see the debris floating through the air, hitting the back of her throat. She coughed, feeling herself grow weaker with every step.

"Keep moving!" yelled the commanders. Benedikta could see just how strong their grip was around their swords, ready to strike if anyone even slowed down. There would be no slowing down. You moved forward unless you died. And she was not quite ready to do that yet, even if she thought about it achingly as she fell asleep, wishing the cold would stop nagging at her bones. That she could be free.

People—others who had been captured and enslaved—surrounded her. She thought of how slowly all of them seemed to move, as if they were all just made up of one sad pile of people without purpose. She was one of them. Her handcuffs tight against her wrists, drawing blood with every move. They were deep in the Dhalmekia Desert, getting closer to the inn with every step. Where one of two things would happen: the soldier men would try to take advantage of her. Or she would try to escape, yet again. But Benedikta knew, that with every time she failed, she was only leading herself closer to her grave. There was only so much grace that could be given to someone of her kind.

She looked around, at the other sand-covered faces around her. Some had the marks of bearers. Others, like her, were not cursed to be a bearer—Benedikta couldn't think of a worse fate, to be lugged around and used. But still, she thought, hadn't she been doomed to a similar fate? Sentenced to be sold and bartered like a bushel of gysahl greens—devoured all the same. In this world, everyone was used.

The sound of yelling and the unsheathing of swords broke through her thoughts.

"All you bloody bearers best get ready. Coeurl incoming!" said the commander, his sword pressed against the neck of any bearer who didn't automatically run forward into the sand storm up ahead. To their death.

That's when she saw it. The Coeurl. The largest one she had ever seen. It darted out from the sand, its jaw finding a bearer. The image paralyzed her while it sent everyone else into motion. Bearers were running, commanders were too, but only to catch the bearers.

Every step seemed to be the wrong one, for no one was going after the Coeurl. Bearers and slaves had their minds on survival, the commanders on control. Either way, everyone was playing the role of a fool.

The Coeurl leaped at everyone. Once the violence broke out, Benedikta knew that this is where she would die. And if she somehow lived, then she would spend the rest of her years remembering the sounds—the crunching of bones, the screaming. The hissing of the Coeurl, the eagerness in which it devoured everyone's bodies. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fell to her knees, ready to give up at last. She had thought of death, but she thought it was a distant thing, something for her

She could feel something coursing through her veins, so strong it was as if she could feel the blood flowing through her veins. Her head throbbed and her back ached, as if something was being unleashed out of her. Something she didn't understand. Something she couldn't control.

The sandstorm around her grew stronger, the wind whipped against her face, violently ripping against her skin.

Benedikta felt like she was inside a hurricane. One that would consume her.

She heard thunder.

The last thing she remembered was the bright flash she could still see through her closed eyelids. Then the world went black.

*

When she woke, Benedikta wasn't in the desert. She threw the blanket off her body, taking in the details around her.