by T. A. White
"Standing around waiting will only ensure our capture sooner rather than later," he said in a light voice. "Chop. Chop. Show us why dragons are so superior to us mere humans."
Ryu's lips curled in irritation before he glanced at Tate. "He has a point. We can't do anything about this now. We'll have to keep moving and hope we're faster than them."
Tate nodded. "Peter, you have more experience with this place. What is your recommendation for the quickest way out of here?"
His eyes widened slightly and he glanced between her and Ryu. Tate's expression was expectant while Ryu looked like he'd bit into something sour.
"She's right," Ryu said reluctantly.
Peter's mouth pressed together. "Staying on top of the dunes is our best solution for now. It might make us more visible to the enemy, but our lack of resources make reaching the cliffs, fast, more important."
"We could walk along the crest for a short time before going down into a valley every so often in the hopes we lose our tail," Tate suggested.
Peter nodded. "Agreed. Either way we'll need to be in the valleys for the late afternoon when the winds pick up. The dunes will provide some protection against the worst of it."
"How bad is it going to get?" Tate asked.
Peter hesitated, before meeting her gaze. "If we're lucky, there won't be a taleseen. Those storms can strip flesh from bone."
"Great. As if this place couldn't get any worse," Tate said with irritation.
Peter's expression didn't shift. "We've seen no sign of the ghosts, so there's one bright spot. I'd count your blessings."
"Ghosts?" Tate asked, not liking the sound of that.
He inclined his head. "That's what we call them. The ancients set many things to guard this place. The ghosts have been known to kill and hunt any they judge unworthy."
Tate shot Ryu a wry look. "I'm beginning to regret not letting you call the dragon."
He arched one eyebrow, his mouth tilting up in a small, almost nonexistent smile. "There's still time."
"Maybe later." When their desperation grew truly critical.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As the afternoon deepened, wind whipped past with a wild frenzy, bringing stinging sand as it veiled their sight.
When it finally became unbearable, Ryu led them down the dune's side into the valley. The hulking form of the dune provided an immediate windshield, protecting them from the worst of the wind's fury. Like her, the men had pulled their shirts up to cover their mouths and noses.
Halfway down the dune, Tate's foot slipped and she fell on her backside as the sand shifted under her. She shot past Ryu and the others and slid all the way to the bottom.
For several seconds she lay there, blinking up at the dusty sky. That was one way to make a descent.
"Tate," Ryu shouted, a note of concern in his voice.
She stuck up her hand and waved. She was still in one piece, even if her racing heart argued that point.
Five more seconds, then she'd get up.
Time was up. Tate pushed herself upright, the task harder than it should have been. She blinked wearily, gazing down to where her hands were buried to her wrists in the sand’s soft embrace.
Ryu appeared beside her, his mouth pinched with concern. He set one hand on her back. He didn't have to say anything, but she felt his worry.
"I'm alive and unhurt," she assured him.
The last part was a bit of a lie. Nothing was broken, but she was far from alright. Both feet were blistered and aching, every step a trial. Thirst nagged at her, eclipsing any thought of hunger.
She was fast approaching her wall—the insurmountable obstacle everyone hit at one point or another. Sometimes you could overcome it; sometimes it overcame you. She had a feeling this wasn't one of those times she'd win.
A quick look around showed she wasn't the only one having trouble. It had been several hours since Christopher's last sarcastic quip. Now, he stared tiredly into the distance, looking even worse than Tate felt.
Even Ryu seemed exhausted as he knelt beside her; something she'd never seen in all the time she'd known him.
Only Peter appeared to be holding up well.
"Wind's picking up. We can rest down there." Ryu pointed to a hard structure jutting out of the sand.
Tate squinted toward the object, realizing what she'd at first thought was a rock, was in fact something else. From this distance, it looked red and gray. Metal maybe?
She nodded tiredly, unable to summon an argument or curiosity. She knew in her head they should keep moving. Her body, however, refused to listen; she was all too grateful for the promised respite.
Ryu helped her to stand, keeping one hand on her back as they trudged toward the structure and its pitifully small shelter.
Christopher and Peter trailed behind like lost little lambs. Tate and Ryu had long since given up on holding the rope, neither of them caring if the other two followed or not. If they ran now, she doubted Ryu or she would give chase.
Tate noted lumps in the sand all around them, evidence of similar structures buried just beneath the surface. She couldn't dredge up even a small speck of her normal curiosity as she trudged past.
The place they sought shelter in stood as high as her chest, straight and proud, its inside hollow. She thought it might have been the top of a building at one point, sand filling what might once have been a window. She'd been right earlier; it was metal, pockmarked and bare, the sand having blasted away any ornamentation over the years.
Christopher wasn't any more interested in its mystery than Tate, ducking inside after barely glancing at it before throwing himself onto the sand against the back wall. Peter trailed him with a weary shake of his head.
“The ghosts of my ancestors shelter and protect me,” he whispered as he passed.
"We'll stay here until nightfall. Hopefully the winds die again," Ryu said. "There are a few hours until then. It'll be better to travel during the dark anyway."
Tate was too tired to even nod.
He straightened, the skin around his eyes pinched and tight. "I'm going to take a look around. See if I can spot anything of use."
"You're as exhausted as I am. Stay. Rest. There'll be time enough for that later," Tate said. She tilted her head at the sand in unspoken invitation.
Ryu hesitated before sprawling beside her, his large body crowding hers.
He must be tired if he didn't even argue.
He made himself as comfortable as he could on the sand. She eyed the ground beside him before deciding against lying down. If she got horizontal, she wasn't sure she'd make it upright again.
Instead, she placed her back against the metal and stretched her legs out in front of her. She patted her lap and then waited as Ryu rearranged himself so his head was on her lap and his unfathomable dark eyes were staring up at her.
Once, she’d gone out of her way to avoid those eyes. She'd believed they harbored secrets that contained the potential to destroy her carefully constructed world. He'd been mysterious and intimidating, especially for one as paranoid as she'd been. He was still all of those things, but now he was hers.
Ryu took Tate's wrist, turning and lifting it before pushing up her sleeve to reveal Ilith in her slumberous splendor. His expression was filled with an amused awe as he ran one finger down Ilith's spine.
Tate shivered, feeling a phantom impression of that caress along her own spine. She released a shaky breath, meeting Ryu's knowing gaze. He knew exactly what he'd just done. Knew it and liked it.
"Careful now. Don't go starting things you can't finish," she warned him.
His grin was slow as he conceded her point.
"Something to keep in mind for later," he murmured, placing a chaste kiss in the crook of Tate's elbow, on the top of Ilith's head.
Tate didn't answer, feeling the tenderness of that kiss in the deepest part of her soul.
"Anything yet?"
She shook her head. "No, nothing."
There was frustration
in her voice and an ache she couldn't disguise. She wasn't used to being the only person in her head. It was unbearably lonely. She didn't know how she'd ever existed without her snarky, arrogant beyond all reason companion who was convinced she was graceful when she was a klutz.
Tate needed Ilith to come back soon. There was a gaping hole in her psyche in the shape of a dragon. She felt like a dim shade of herself. She didn't know if that was the effect of the bond or the exhaustion talking.
"Our pain is their pain. Our joy, their joy." Ryu ran his fingers along Ilith's sleeping body again.
Tate considered him. "You're saying she's unlikely to wake until I recover my strength."
Or at least didn't feel two steps from death's door.
"It's possible. They draw energy from us and we them. If there is no strength to draw, she'll be forced to recover from the drugs at a slower pace." Ryu set her hand on his chest, pressing it there as he closed his eyes.
Tate used her other hand to brush the hair away from his forehead, running her fingers through the silky strands. It was softer than she expected.
The caress lulled Ryu to sleep, his body gradually loosening until it went slack, the muscles in his face relaxing. Like this, he seemed more carefree—not younger, she'd never ascribe that word to him—but as if he'd set aside the burden he always carried with him.
She smiled down at him before leaning back against their shelter to stare out at the dunes. The wind was picking up as sand swirled. It danced to the howling music only it could hear, leaping and twirling.
At least, their pursuers were unlikely to be able to travel through this. It made the promise of rest all the more tantalizing.
Tate took a deep breath as her eyelids slid closed before she forced them open again. The time between her blinks got longer and longer as her weary body gave up fighting the call of sleep.
*
Tate woke with the wind still howling around them. Semi-rested, exhaustion no longer dragging at her thoughts, she could now appreciate their extraordinary luck in finding this shelter. Out there, exposed to the elements, their situation would have been much more precarious.
Strange, how they'd happened on these ruins just when they needed them most. It almost made her believe in fate.
Or perhaps someone else's guiding hand on their path, if Peter's suspicions were true.
Tate straightened from her slouch, feeling moderately refreshed even after the brief rest. The curiosity lacking before now raised its head as she set one hand against the surface of the structure. It was metal, its surface uneven from the sand continually blasting it. Its purpose and function unknown.
Idly, she shifted sand away from its base, curious to see how deeply buried the structure was, but no matter how much sand she pushed, or how deep she dug, she never reached the base.
How deep was it though? If she’d had time and they weren’t being pursued, she might have been tempted to linger and discover the answer. As it was, she returned the sand back into the hole she’d created and sat back to check on her companions.
Peter still lay in front of Christopher, as if protecting the human. The Silva’s body was larger than the other man’s and created an effective windbreak. Not to mention, if they were attacked, the assailants would have to go through Peter before reaching his friend.
She realized with a start she wasn’t the only one awake.
Christopher's expression was flat as he watched the sand's performance, his gaze distant and unseeing.
“My old faith would have claimed this place was put in our path because someone on the other side of the veil was looking out for us. Once, I would have seen it as confirmation the Saviors were guiding my steps."
"What do you believe now?" Tate asked, unable to help herself.
He nestled his cheek further into the sand. "I pray they never take notice of me."
"On that, I think we agree."
The snort he made was soft and disbelieving. "I never thought I'd agree with a Savior on anything."
She made an unimpressed sound. "Nor I with a madman."
Silence fell between them again.
"I wasn't always mad," Christopher said nostalgically.
"Are you sure?"
Christopher closed his eyes, his smile self-deprecating. "Pretty sure. I was a favored pupil. My peers and teachers whispered of the possibility of my becoming the next Grand Master."
"What happened?
"Naivety and curiosity."
The howling of the wind was the only sound heard for several minutes.
"Have you read the journal yet?" Christopher asked, not opening his eyes.
Tate stiffened, conscious of the heavy weight of the book in the waistband of her pants where she'd stuffed it.
He smiled, already anticipating her answer. "You should. A lot of things will become much clearer."
At that he lapsed back into silence, content to watch as the windstorm passed.
Tate let him, knowing no amount of prying on her part would reveal what he wanted to keep hidden. Even if she did find out what had led him to this path, it didn't really matter in the end. A person's reasons for doing something didn't affect what was done. It might explain them, give closure, but it couldn't undo something that had already happened.
Christopher had blood on his hands. His agenda remained unknown. The only thing she was certain of was that it would eventually bring disaster and ruin down around them if it went unchecked.
Anarchy seemed his goal rather than any noble cause, despite how he was trying to position himself.
He was a complicated man, unseen layers making him hard to know and judge. But so was Ilith. It didn't make her any less dangerous.
Reminded of the journal, Tate withdrew it from the waistband at her back, running her fingers over its smooth leather binding. She opened it, flipping through the pages, picking one at random.
Today I feel further from my goal than ever.
Tate shut the journal after reading a few short words. Perhaps later. When her life wasn't in danger and she wasn't surrounded by potential enemies.
She set it on the ground beside her and resumed staring at the howling wind, content to simply watch as the minutes ticked by.
Much later, Ryu's head moved on her lap, his hands coming up to touch her knee. He lifted his head, abruptly alert as he looked around.
The slightest trace of amusement touched Tate as she saw the consternation in his expression.
"Did you have a nice nap?"
He sat up, disgruntlement in his face. "I shouldn't have slept so long."
Tate lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. "It's fine. You needed the rest."
He slid a glance toward their prisoners, his meaning unmistakable.
"They didn't try anything."
The line of his mouth flattened.
"Not that there would be any point out here." Christopher reached out and touched Peter's shoulder.
The Silva rose, sitting up with a grace at odds with someone just coming out of sleep. It made Tate think he might not have been as dead to the world as he’d seemed.
Not that she blamed him. In the same position, she'd probably do the same.
"Storm is dying down," Peter observed, cocking his head as he listened to the wind.
"How can you tell?" Tate asked. Sand was still being flung about with wild abandon. While the visibility seemed slightly better, Tate wasn't sure if that was a figment of her imagination, a manifestation of what she wanted, or reality.
"The wind is saying its goodbyes as it passes," he said, his eyes closed and an expression of serenity on his features.
Tate hesitated, looking the man over carefully. He was a strange one, but then, so was the company he kept.
"If it's dying down, we should get going," Ryu said as he studied the still hazy scene.
Tate grimaced at the thought. Dying down didn't mean dead. The wind still gusted and the small taste she'd had earlier told her venturing into its depths wou
ld be unpleasant.
Unfortunately, Ryu was right. They didn't have the luxury of waiting this out any longer. Every moment they lingered increased their danger.
"Our followers will likely realize the same thing. We shouldn't give them any chance to close the distance," he added.
No one protested.
Peter helped Christopher crawl from his little nook, the big man’s hands gentle. Tate paused, wondering again about their relationship.
The care Peter took with him, and the familiarity between both, showed they weren't casual acquaintances. The way they spoke indicated a long-standing relationship. None of it fit with the Christopher she'd come to know.
She had to wonder how many other secrets Christopher would reveal unwittingly before this was over.
Ryu was the first to set out. Christopher and Peter following. Tate braced herself against the wind and the stinging sand before leaving their small shelter.
If they made it out of this alive, Tate was going to get a day-long bath. She'd need it, to get rid of the thin coating of sand sticking to her.
A spot of heat on her arm sent her heart leaping and Tate stopped, tempted to pull the sleeve back so she could check on Ilith. She hesitated. With the sand whipping all around her, she didn't want to expose any more skin to its bite than she had to.
She looked up, finally noticing Ryu and the rest had continued moving while she was distracted.
She picked up the pace, trying to catch them. They weren't moving very fast because of the amount of wind pushing on them, but she faced the same obstacle, the wind making her fight for every inch of progress.
True night had fallen. The dark sky winked down at her, its blanket of stars still veiled by the haze of sand obscuring their vision, but she thought Alir had already risen, Bira still below the horizon.
Tate pushed on, concentrating on following the dim backs of her companions.
Between one second and the next the wind stopped. The abrupt cessation almost made her stumble. Tate pushed back the small piece of cloth she'd wrapped around her head to protect it. The bottom of her shirt was a ragged mess. Luckily the tunic was long enough not to expose her midriff even with her ripping some off the bottom.
