Sand and Ash

Chapter 12: Speaking for Shimusògo

"I speak for" is a powerful phrase in the clans because it means the speaker's words have the full weight of the clan behind them.

—Rapinbun Finol, Politics of the Desert

Rutejìmo woke with the rising of the sun for the second time since he entered Mikáryo's tent. The power of Shimusògo and Tachìra woke inside him and his bones tingled from the energy. It seeped through his skin and he let out a soft sigh of pleasure. It didn't matter that he wasn't running or even jogging, but the feeling that magic was now possible sung to him.

The tent around him smelled of sex and sweat, a heady combination that had become as familiar as his own body's scent. He thought he would be a different man after losing his virginity, much like he once thought that finding Shimusògo would change him, but he remained the same man who left his home cave less than a week ago. He stretched, burrowing his hands through Mikáryo's black armored fabric. No, he did feel different. It wasn't magical; it wasn't a new body, or new powers. Just a sense of awareness, of a world he never imagined before Mikáryo.

"It is morning, and the moon is sleeping," said Mikáryo. She crawled into the tent. She wore nothing but her underwear, a black band of cloth over her breasts and her loincloth. Now, he intimately knew what lay underneath the fabric and the difference was like night and day.

He reached over to stroke her thigh.

She set down a tray of roasted meats and pushed his hand away. "Not now. Those damn scorpions are about ready to move, and we need to follow. I'll be glad when this trip is done; I'm tired of chasing after those things with wagons of wood. But we're leaving in an hour."

Rutejìmo sat up. "Now?"

"Yes, now." She sat heavily down next to him.

"You have to go?"

"Sooner or later, the jobs always call. I can't stand the cities." She scratched her ribs. "My joints always ache even this far away from those damned walls and their warriors."

It had been two days since he entered her tent. He only left briefly when nature called and each time he couldn't wait to return to find what new things Mikáryo would teach him. She was a humiliating teacher, one who berated him as much as she taught him, but every time she called him "pathetic," he found himself craving more of the her sharp words and soft body.

Mikáryo stuffed a hunk of meat into her mouth and smiled. "Time for you to go back to your world. I need to return to mine."

"W-What?"

Mikáryo pointed toward the entrance of her tent with her chin.

He scrambled to his knees, the blanket sliding off his naked lap. "Just like that?"

She reached over and kissed him. The taste of meat wafted around him. "Yes. I have a job to do."

Rutejìmo froze and struggled with the sudden change of emotions. He stared at her, working his mouth silently. He wanted to stay with her and even Tsubàyo. He hungered for the feel of her body and the warmth of her skin. He reached out for her, but she ducked her shoulder out of the way to pull her black cloth from underneath his other hand. The fabric scraped against his palm, the wires sewn into it tugged at his fingers until she yanked it free. He jerked back.

Unsure of what to do, he watched while she dressed and ate.

She didn't offer him her plate or water. Nor did she say anything else as she busied herself with packing up.

Rutejìmo glanced down to see his clothes scattered on her blankets, a stark reminder of the sudden withdrawal of her affection. Baffled and heartbroken by her coolness, Rutejìmo tugged his clothes on and crawled out of the tent. He hoped she would call him back, but there was nothing. He sniffed and stood up.