Against the Wind

3.1 || Amina

When Amina's tongue seized up, she knew she was in trouble.

The curse she'd been about to splutter lodged in her throat, hard and rough like a stone, an extra weight within a jaw that felt like lead. Her muscles cracked and spasmed as if they were made of clay, baked until solid by the furious sun. Dry prickles coursed over her skin in a staticy blanket.

The air had her by the throat and all she could do was dangle, limp as a doll. The fury that tumbled through her tossed more kindling to the fire building in her lungs.

Even more infuriating than her inability to breathe was the steeliness in her mentor's stare. Isra had eyes like daggers that barely blinked and bore into her forehead with jagged points, watching, waiting. Her outstretched hands weaved a myriad of patterns, flicking at the storm of glittering dust that assaulted the edges of Amina's vision and stuck like razor blades into her very cells. She paced a predatory circle. Her lips twitched, a tiny crack in that emotionless stare that betrayed a mocking smirk.

Amina was grateful she still had the strength in her to glare. Thick, swampy heat stirred the core of her blazing chest, tearing in a pit of aches until her head felt light, but she didn't release her focus. Boiling itches heaved through her veins and skittered to her fingertips until her pores were soaked with imaginary flame. Sand skidded beneath her as her feet slipped.

Pushing against Isra's power was like ramming herself into a wall of tight-packed sandbrick, yet she shouldered it again and again, a silent growl rumbling in her throat. The dust jerked and arced around. A shiver licked up her spine, rippling through her bones.

Her ears popped. Like brittle, splintered wood, the air snapped.

For one, fleck of a moment, silence ruminated, bleaching out the wind, until it all rushed back in as one. Her scream tore the last of the air from her lungs. She fell hard on one knee, the jolt shuddering through her as exhaustion shook her limbs. Her other leg kicked out at nothing. Sand stung the bare skin of her calves and piled in her sandals. She sank her fingers into the ground in the shape of talons, anchoring herself there as her vision split into rocking, lapping waves, working only on shovelling in as many greedy inhales as she could.

Like a sparkling ribbon dangled before her nose, Isra's musing hum teased her, descending in slow, leaf-fall curves from above. "Good," she remarked.

Amina's head snapped up. A film of sweat clung to her face and trickled down her neck, sticking to wild swirls of her loose, dark hair so that ragged curtains fell across her vision. The gold medallions that dangled from her headpiece clanked against one another and thudded into the bridge of her nose. The tangles and unruly chaos of it all did little to temper her rage. "Good?" she spat. "We were in the middle of a conversation! That wasn't fair!"

The words rasped against her dry throat, pitching them low and detached, still lacking in breath. With a huff, she swept her hand over her face to shove back her invading curls and create a clear view of the infernal woman standing over her.

Isra's figure was one of needles and arrow-points, built like the wedged-in splinter to the behind that she was. Her yellow cloak was tight against her narrow shoulders and straight, slim waist, forking out into two skinny strips that swayed beside her thighs. Shimmering green-and-gold jewellery clasped the thin, webby fabric of her dress in place, right up to the choker that hid her high collar, and rings of matching shade tapped against one another within the neat clasp of hands she held before her. Her angular face accented her frown and the hard look in her eyes.

"You should have reacted sooner," she said simply. "Magic is easier to deflect before it takes its hold."

"Thanks, genius." Amina rolled her eyes. "I could've reacted sooner if you'd given me any kind of warning."