The desert folk have a quaint legend that the sun, as personified by the spirit Tachìra, is in constant rivalry with the moon, named Chobìre, for the affections of the desert, Mifúno.
—Kalem Ratenbur, Primitive Legends of the Mifúno Desert
As the sun sank below the horizon, darkness flooded the camp. Rutejìmo pulled out a handful of glow eggs from the various bags and set them up around the camp. Each egg was carved out of rock with a glass globe blown inside. Inside, there was a clockwork mechanism attached to a metal spike poised over a crystal mounted in the middle. Rutejìmo wound a key in the bottom and released it. The spike began to tap rapidly on the crystal which created a tiny flash of bluish light. It flickered in the corner of his vision, but it was sufficient for his remaining duties.
Neither Tsubàyo nor Karawàbi helped pitch the tents, but Rutejìmo wasn't expecting them to. It was clear he was the weakest member in the group of three and it was his duty to do the servile tasks. It rankled, though, and he wondered if Pidòhu felt the same thing when forced to make dinner for the other clan members.
He dragged his bag and Pidòhu's to his tent. He tied the flaps shut before picking up the abandoned plates and heading some distance from the campsite to clean them. Without water, he used a handful of coarse sand to scrape the plates clean. Then, he found a patch of finer sand to remove the sweat and grime off his own face and chest. It wasn't a satisfying clean, but it would keep him for the night.
As he cleaned himself off, he pinned the glow egg against his bare chest with his chin and kept his back to the other clan's campsite. There was almost no chance that anyone could see such a dim light from such a distance, but the desert was filled with clans possessing remarkable talents. Just as his could run with speed, there were others who commanded fire, horses, or even rock.
Duties finished, Rutejìmo was ready for bed. He hoped tomorrow would help ease the guilt tearing into him and the feeling that he had made a mistake. He wrapped a leather strip around the plates for storage and headed back.
"Jìmo?" Tsubàyo stopped him as Rutejìmo was walking past.
"Yes... Great Shimusogo Tsubàyo?" The muscles in his chest tightened.
"Why don't you, Karawàbi, and I go check out that clan?"
Rutejìmo looked at the fires in the distance. "I don't think...." He gulped as a feeling of discomfort rose inside him. "I don't think we should do that."
"Why not?"
"It's night. We can barely see. And what if they are clans of the moon? We could be in danger by attracting their attention."
Tsubàyo rolled his eyes. "It is the middle of the night. For all the moon crap, I really doubt they can see in the dark. Just a check. And maybe see if we can get supplies to head home."
"You mean buy? We don't have a lot of money."
"Yeah, sure, I meant buy. Come on, they are only a mile or so away. It will take us an hour, tops."
"A mile in pitch-dark, Bàyo." At Tsubàyo's glare, Rutejìmo corrected himself. "Great Shimusogo Tsubàyo."
"Well," Tsubàyo said as he stood up. "We're going."
Karawàbi grunted. "I'm staying."
Turning on his friend with a glare, Tsubàyo snapped out, "What?"
"I'm tired. I'm going to sleep." Karawàbi yawned as he staggered to his feet.
"Fine! It will just be me and Jìmo."
YOU ARE READING
Sand and Blood
FantasyCan the power of the weak save them all? Growing up a disappointment, Shimusogo Rutejìmo has always struggled with proving himself worthy to his family and clan. All he wants is the magic to run faster than the strongest warrior, emulating his broth...
