Sand and Blood

Chapter 1: Rutejìmo

When a child is waiting to become an adult, they are subtly encouraged to prove themselves ready for the rites of passage. In public, however, they are to remain patient and respectful.

—Funikogo Ganóshyo, The Wait in the Valleys

Rutejìmo's heart slammed against his ribs as he held himself still. The cool desert wind blew across his face, teasing his short, dark hair. In the night, his brown skin was lost to the shadows, but he would be exposed if anyone shone a lantern toward the top of the small building. Fortunately, the shrine house was at the southern end of the Shimusogo Valley, the clan's ancestral home, and very few of the clan went there except for meetings and prayers.

He held his breath as he tested the brick tile on the shrine-house roof. It shifted underneath his bare toe and he stepped back. Braced on both hands and one foot, he tested the second brick. It held and he eased his weight onto it before lifting his other foot. He was light and thin, slightly over five stone, and thankful of that as he adjusted his balance. He glanced up to his destination, an opening in the roof to let out smoke and incense. It was only a few inches beyond his fingers, but he didn't dare jump for it.

Bringing his weight to his forward foot, he walked his hands along the tiles until he found two handholds that were more stable. Inching forward, he stretched his foot and tested the next tile. It was solid and he leaned to put more weight on it.

A loud crack shot out and he almost lost his balance when his footing sank an inch. He let out a cry, but then bit down on his tongue to avoid alerting the guard inside. A flash of pain stole his breath away. He held his breath and waited for it to subside into a dull throb.

As he waited, he listened for the guard. If it was Gemènyo, he would just be sent back to his home. But, if Hyonèku was on duty he would be suffering for days. His stomach knotted in fear, and he listened for the telltale blast of air that always followed when anyone in the clan used magic.

A sand fly landed on his neck, its little legs pricking his skin. He tensed as he fought back a whimper. Sand flies bit when disturbed. He tried to lean forward, avoiding the tile, to encourage it to fly off, but it just crawled up to his earlobe.

Another fly landed on his shoulder. He caught sight of it in the corner of his vision, its black eyes illuminated by the dim light spearing up from the opening. It fluttered its wings as it crawled along, looking for some delicate spot to bite.

He forgot about the first fly until it bit down. The sharp pain broke his concentration, and he let out a yelp. He clapped his ear but missed the insect.

The cracked tile slipped again, spreading apart. His foot, resting along the crack, twisted as the tile shattered and he lost his balance.

"Sands!" he screamed as he slipped down the sloped roof. His back crushed another tile before he rolled off. He tumbled in the air and saw the earth rushing up to him. Closing his eyes, he threw his hands in front of his face to protect himself.

A blast of wind slammed into him a heartbeat before he fell into a pair of muscular arms. The wind howled around him, quickly dying before Rutejìmo could finish slumping into the man who caught him. From the flowery scent that remained, it was Hyonèku who had caught him. His wife had a distinctive perfume.

"Damn the sands," muttered Rutejìmo as he looked up into the face of his rescuer.

Hyonèku was almost six feet tall, with the wiry build that all Shimusògo shared. He had a short-cropped beard, but the hairs were still as black as the night. In the light from the shrine, his green eyes glittered.