Sand and Blood

Chapter 3: Morning

In a culture that prides itself on survival and relationships, punishments frequently involve isolation.

—Laminar Gold, Growing Up in the Desert

Yawning, Rutejìmo pushed aside the heavy curtain covering the entrance to his family's cave and stepped out into the brilliant desert sunlight. Automatically, he whispered a quick prayer to Tachìra, the sun spirit. He still did the pointless ritual because if someone caught him skipping the well-remembered words, he would spend a week doing the more noxious chores around the clan's valley. He was already in a great deal of trouble and had no reason to add more.

He looked down into the valley. Only a few dozen people, all of them elderly or children, were making their way toward the cooking fires. The able adults were away, spread out across the desert as they delivered messages, contracts, and mail to the other clans.

Rutejìmo couldn't wait until the rite of passage would let him join his brother Desòchu on the sands. There was no set time when the clan elders would allow him to take the rite. He wasn't even sure he would know in advance that it had started. He'd heard of children being plucked from their beds in the middle of the night and tossed into the desert. Gemènyo's rite started when he was caught drinking too much fermented mare's milk, but Chimípu's father started his with pomp and ceremony.

He sighed and tore his thoughts back to the present. It would happen when he least expected it, and there was nothing he could do to speed it up.

To his right, he heard rhythmic thumping and the hiss of steam. He watched as Opōgyo, the oldest of the clan's mechanical dogs, came tromping up the beaten path. Made of iron and brass and powered by an arcane fire device, it stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Rutejìmo and easily weighed ten times his own weight. It was mostly legs and pistons with a pitted metal barrel for a chest. Despite water being precious in the desert, Opōgyo remained valuable for its tireless strength and ability to haul tons from one end of the valley to the other.

The dog struggled with the steep trail as it dragged a large sled covered in boxes and bundles. Steam escaped from the joints on its shoulders and back right leg as it steadily chugged forward.

"Come on, walk faster!" cried a young girl, Mapábyo. She bounced on Opōgyo's back as she encouraged it to walk faster by smacking its metal ears. Her movement caused the mechanical dog to stagger and jerk.

Rutejìmo shook his head. "Pábyo! Get off Opōgyo and let it do its job!"

Mapábyo, Hyonèku's adopted daughter, slid off. Like all desert folk, she had dark skin and green eyes. But where she was as dark as obsidian rock, Rutejìmo was the softer brown of sun-bright soil. She wore a simple dress of white, which was startling against her dark skin. A bright yellow ribbon cinched it around her waist, and she had a matching one in her long, black hair.

In contrast, Rutejìmo wore a pair of white cotton trousers and remained bare-chested. A few sparse black hairs dusted his pectorals. The only representative traits of the Shimusògo were hard, muscular legs and lean bodies adapted to running across the desert for hours.

Mapábyo bowed her head as she said, "Sorry, Jìmo. Mípu said I could ride."

Rutejìmo tensed at Chimípu's nickname. He forced himself to be polite. "How is Chimípu's mother? Has she beaten the poison?"

He and everyone else in the clan knew Chimípu's mother wouldn't survive, which was why Chimípu asked to hold off on her own rites of passage for her mother's final days. Unlike Rutejìmo, she was important enough to dictate the terms of her rites.

"No," sighed the girl. She patted the mechanical dog. "And that makes Shimusògo Opōgyo sad."

He fought a sudden urge of annoyance. She had been struggling with speaking clearly for months and none of the elders were correcting her. "It's Shimusogo Opōgyo. You only say Shimusògo when you talk about the spirit or the clan itself."