Sand and Blood

Chapter 29: Rescue

In the end, only the blood on the ground measures a woman.

—Chirodimu Funìgi, Queen of the Chirodímu (Act 3, Scene 12)

The wait for sunrise was excruciating. The false dawn refused to become anything more than a razor-thin line of light along the horizon. The dunes remained black waves in the ocean of sand. It was as if time had become fixed in place and he was frozen between the grains falling through an hourglass.

His body, on the other hand, refused to stop shaking. The cracked ribs and broken arm throbbed painfully. If he remained still the bones didn't grind together, but then, sooner or later, a muscle would twitch and fresh waves of pain ripped through him. He suffered; it was the only thing he could do.

Rutejìmo wanted to run. He wanted to scramble to his feet and just shoot out in any direction. Even if he could somehow loosen the ropes, the horses would catch up with him. If he had sun, he could outrace them, but Shimusògo's power came from Tachìra and, without the sun, there would be no magic.

He whispered a prayer to Tachìra and Shimusògo to pass the time. It wasn't empty words anymore, but honest hope that he would see the sun against his face and feel the dépa racing at his feet.

"Oh, just stop muttering, Jìmo."

Rutejìmo glanced over to Tsubàyo. The rites of passage had worn down on all of them and left their mark, but Tsubàyo showed the burden more than even Pidòhu. He was thin and drawn. Rutejìmo hadn't seen him eat or even try to drink. Tsubàyo's eyes were dark and inset, hidden in shadows, as he glared around. Even in the alchemical flames, they were only a thin circle of white in the pitch-black gaze.

The only two things that reflected light were his blades. He had his spear and Rutejìmo's blade. He toyed with both as he watched his prisoner carefully.

"Mikáryo," he said with a hiss, "seemed rather kind to you."

Rutejìmo glanced away and shrugged his one good shoulder. "I guess."

"I hoped she would gut you right there."

He had to fight the urge to deny Tsubàyo's words. Thinking furiously, he lied as smoothly as he could. "She is a clan of night; who knows what they do." He squirmed as a muscle twinged in his arm. "For all I know, she was probably seeing if I was edible."

Tsubàyo chuckled. "Probably not. Maybe I just need to give you and Dòhu to her? Chimípu, I'm going to kill."

"You can't win against her."

Tsubàyo smiled, his face tilting into darkness. "Maybe, maybe not. There are a lot of secrets in these shadows." He gestured to the rocks underneath the arch. The outcroppings were barely visible in the pale light of the alchemical fire and the light along the horizon that refused to brighten.

"More horses?"

He smiled broadly. "I can feel them. There are a lot more coming."

"Why not use all of them earlier? You just had the—"

Tsubàyo's smile dropped sharply "Shut up!" His voice rang out from the rocks.

Rutejìmo said, "You can't, can you? It takes skill to keep the herd."

"What would you know?"

"We live less than a league from the Ryozapòti for decades. I've seen them care for their horses."

"Ryozapòti is a riding spirit, not a herd spirit."

"What's the difference?"

"It is...." Tsubàyo's voice trailed off as his lips parted for a moment. He shook his head. "It is like being surrounded by friends, but they are close. Like lovers, maybe?"