Sand and Ash

Chapter 7: A Lending Hand

There are constant pressures to excel. The slowest and weakest are singled out to perform demeaning chores to encourage the strong and humiliate the weak.

—Funikogo Ganósho, The Wait in the Valleys

Six Shimusògo ran across the shifting sands of the desert. The ripples of power from the lead runners, Chimípu and Desòchu, spread out across the grains and solidified to give Hyonèku, Kiríshi, Mapábyo, and Rutejìmo a solid footing. It was exhausting to be the lead, but Rutejìmo always wished it were him in the front instead of being the one in the back.

Their speed created a plume of dust and rocks over a mile long. Flashes of golden feathers rolled in the cloud, bright as they streamed from the two warriors, but quickly fading as they passed Rutejìmo.

Chimípu and Desòchu could cross a hundred leagues in a day and then fight at the end. Rutejìmo, on the other hand, could barely run a tenth of that before falling over with exhaustion.

Even Mapábyo, who had found Shimusògo a year ago, raced a few yards in front of him. He strained to keep up, knowing they were running painfully slow simply to keep him near. A heartbeat of sprinting and they could have abandoned him. In ten years, they hadn't, but that didn't stop them from running ahead of him. The clan always ran at the speed of its slowest runner, Rutejìmo.

As much as he hated the constant back and forth between the Kidorīsi and Mafimára clans, it was a safe enough route that he could run it alone. While racing along the familiar route, there was no one else to remind him of his failures. He was just a courier there, faster than any mundane runner.

A set of Wind's Teeth, large towering rocks sticking out of the sands, rose along the horizon. Rutejìmo recognized the jagged shapes and his stomach twisted at the sight of them. Ten years before, the clan had taken him and four others to the rocks and had abandoned them to the desert to see if the stress and terror would open the gateway to Shimusògo's power. He survived, but he bore the scars.

Rutejìmo tripped on a hidden ridge and stumbled. With his speed, he pitched forward and slammed face-first into the sand. His impact left a long gouge across the ridge before he flipped over and bounced off the next dune to twist back onto his front. Small rocks cut at his face and hands until he landed hard on his stomach and face.

Humiliated, Rutejìmo remained on the ground and took a deep breath. The grains of sand tickled the back of his throat and the heat rolled over him. The ache of a day's run burned at his legs and back.

He exhaled, and the sand blew away from his face. He crawled to his knees. The searing heat burned his hands, and he brushed himself off to ease the discomfort.

Looking up from his landing, he saw that the rest of the clan members had reached the Wind's Teeth. The fluttering feathers of their run faded, and the plume of dust rushed forward, swirling around their bodies and the rocks before cascading to the ground.

He knew they would be waiting for him. He forced himself to his feet and started walking toward the rocks. Wincing from the burning sand, he crawled up to the top of a dune and then followed the ridge as it swept toward the rocks.

Ahead, he saw two people race off in separate directions, neither of them toward him. A few steps in, a large translucent bird appeared over both of their forms and faded away. Both runners accelerated with a crack of air. An explosion of sand rocketed out in all directions, but was quickly sucked into the wind behind the runners. Less than a minute later, they were a league away.

It was Chimípu and Desòchu, the only ones who could run fast enough to crack the air. Rutejìmo's speed wasn't enough for them to sate the euphoria of running at top speed. Like the rest of the clan, they ran to relax and to mediate, which meant they sprinted around the camp while waiting for Rutejìmo to catch up.