“Senior Ais!” he exclaimed. “Are you wounded?”
Ais stumbled toward him, grabbing the front of the man’s uniform in shaking hands. “Go!” he hissed.
The man’s eyes opened wide. “Senior Ais?” he asked. “What is going on?”
Ais tried to speak, but his mind was too clouded, his words too slurred. His voice came out like a croak. He watched the man with despair, trying to force the words through his mouth. Unfortunately, all he could think of was little Melly. He had abandoned her. He was a horrible person. He was a horrible trackt. How had he deluded himself all these years? How had he dared marry, and pull innocents into the void that was Ais?
He groaned. Another trackt had joined the first, and he caught Ais as he began to slip toward the ground. The two men were talking worriedly with one another—Ais had lost the ability to understand what they were saying.
What have I done?
The trackts began to push their way through the people, towing Ais in the direction of the Hall. He let them tow him, his mind a whirling tempest of pain, humiliation, and guilt.
No! A piece of him wailed.
Faces stared down at him, their eyes amazed. Was this really senior trackt Ais? The man respected across Kezare, the model of control and strength?
No!
A man with no sense of duty. A man who failed when the lives of others were in danger. A disgrace of a trackt.
No!
The sun stared down at him. Powerful, always in control. He stared up at its warmth. Poor, pathetic Ais. Control didn’t matter. Reputation didn’t matter. Lives did matter.
Rise.
“No!” Ais yelled, pushing himself out of the trackts’s grip. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed the nearest one, pulling him close.
“The orphanage on east side, the one next to the sandling pens. It’s in danger. Look for a firebomb. Go!”
The man stumbled back as Ais released him. He stared at Ais with confused eyes. A second later, however, he saluted and rushed away. The second man stood for a moment beneath Ais’s commanding glare then followed him.
Ais turned to the west, feeling his body grow numb. He had to go on. He was too late, he knew. He had wasted too much time, but he had to go on. Instinctively, he knew where Tain would be. Where Melly would be. He had studied Sharezan so long that he understood the man’s mind.
With shuffling, barely controlled feet, Ais began to stumble toward his own house.
#
Ais had regained much of his control by the time he reached his home street. The rage and fear were gone—for once, he had actually pushed them back. He knew the victory was a fleeting one, however. The guilt and despair he felt were growing far more powerful than the rage ever had been. He had done his duty, but he had failed his family. It had taken too long. He knew what he would find inside his house, and he was afraid of what it would do to him.
He rushed forward, wishing he could run and hide, wishing he wouldn’t have to see what he would find inside his home. The squat building appeared as he rounded a corner. Quiet, dead. The door was slightly open.
I don’t want to see! Ais thought with despair. His legs, however, continued to pull him forward.
He wandered toward his home, mindless, barely seeing the buildings and people around him. He walked up the steps on stiff legs. He knew what he would see. He pushed open the door anyway.
The room was sprayed with blood. It pooled on the floor, droplets of it scattered across the walls. Destruction. And there, in the direct center of the floor, was the body.
Tain’s body. A small pile of black sand sat on his chest.
“Ais?” a voice asked.
Ais turned stunned eyes upward. Kenton strode from the back bedroom, glowing and white, like the sun itself, brilliant cloak flapping behind him. In his arms he held a small form. She was frightened, her eyes wide with fear, but she was alive.
Melly cried out when she saw Ais. Kenton carried her forward and put her down. Ais’s legs gave out. He slumped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his daughter and burying his head in her hair, weeping shamelessly.
#
Kenton stood with confusion.
“How, sand master,” Ais whispered. “How?”
“I came looking for you,” Kenton explained. “You weren’t at the Hall, so I came here; I remembered it from the time we went to meet that man who you thought would betray Sharezan. No one was home, so I left. But, as I was leaving, I saw someone coming down the street with a large sack. Something about him made me suspicious—he had a trackt’s uniform on, and the sack looked suspicious. So, I watched. He opened the door to your house and came in, and I followed.”
Ais continued to hold the girl—his daughter. That fact alone had stupefied Kenton. Ais had a family?
“Who was he, Ais?” Kenton asked. “He attacked me as soon as I entered. I thought he was another assassin, and I killed him with barely a thought—I assumed my sand would just bounce off him, like the others. Then I found the girl in the sack.”
Ais didn’t answer the question, he just continued to rock back and forth, holding the girl, crying openly.
“Thank you, sand master,” Ais whispered. “Thank you.”
Kenton nodded. He wasn’t certain how to react—he felt like he was intruding on something. He didn’t leave, however. Ais had protected him a number of times—he owed it to the trackt to help him if necessary.
#
Kenton returned to the Diem a few hours later, tired from his exertions. He had stayed and talked with Ais for some time. Apparently, the man Kenton had killed had been none other than Sharezan—the one who had killed the Lord General.
Once he had assured himself that Ais wasn’t in any more danger, Kenton had gone to visit the Hall and asked them to prepare some legal documents for him to sign. Whatever happened in the day to come, he wanted his promises to the other Taishin to be firm. Because of those documents, the Lord Mastrell—whomever he may be—would be forced to deliver sand master workers to the Draft and the Tower.
The Diem was quiet as he walked through the entry hall and into the courtyard. Kenton frowned, checking the moon. He hadn’t realized how late it was—he barely had time to get some sleep before … before the next day. His eyes shot uncomfortably toward the Pit. It sat like a large stone, immovable. No matter how much Kenton pushed, he wouldn’t be able to avoid it.
He had almost forgotten about the duel in the day’s excitement. Now, however, his nervousness returned. In a few short hours he would face Drile. In a few short hours it would all be over. The attack that had begun with a single arrow through Praxton’s chest would end with a death by sand.
Suddenly, Kenton wished he had been raised a religious man. The Ker’reen would never have accepted him, he knew, but he wished he had something. Some sort of knowledge that there was goodness in the world, a force that would recognize what he had done and bless the contest. He feared that without some supernatural help, he was certainly doomed. Drile’s power was incomprehensible.
He turned toward his room, raising himself to the balcony with his sand. He didn’t know if there was something out there more powerful than man, but he said a silent prayer to it anyway. It couldn’t hurt.
With that he made his way to his sleeping room and lay down on the sand mattress, letting his tired body rest.
Tomorrow it will all be over.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Khriss had never seen the Diem so busy. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people milled through its halls, pushing toward its courtyard. Most of them wore the bright robes of kelzin. They spoke with one another eagerly, and Khriss could feel their excitement.
Khriss watched them distastefully. They had probably never been to the Diem in their lives. They cared little for the sand masters or their leader—they only knew that the duel wasn’t an event to be missed. To them, it was a social occasion. A twisted sport of some kind. They were no better than … well, Elisian nobles.
&nbs
p; She stood with Cynder, Baon, and N’Teese, uncertain how to even get into the building. It was even busier than the marketplace. Baon, however, took one look at the crowd and began walking to the right. Khriss followed with a frown. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Never use the front door, duchess,” Baon said, pointing to another opening on the right side of the building. There was no crowd there.
Through the side entrance they were able to make their way to the courtyard. It soon became evident, however, that reaching the building in the center—the Pit, as Kenton called it—would prove more difficult. People were trying to crowd their way through its small door. A couple of trackts stood at the entrance, keeping them back.
Suddenly, the crowd grew quiet. Khriss followed their stares, noting a figure standing on a third floor balcony. It wasn’t Kenton, but a handsome man with firm features and dark brown hair. He called sand around himself, and for the first time Khriss realized what Kenton meant when he said he lacked power.
Drile could control so much sand that he looked like a glowing sandstorm. Khriss could barely see his form in the middle of the vortex—sand streaked out like wild bolts of electricity, flipping and spinning around him. He dropped to the bottom floor, and immediately the crowd pulled away tensely. The walking hurricane moved forward, and people scattered before him. The trackts stepped aside, letting him into the Pit.
Such power! Khriss though with amazement. Drile’s movement had created its own wind, blowing sand across the entire courtyard and into the eyes of the kelzin. Even from a distance Khriss had felt a sort of electrical energy from the man, and it had made her skin feel chilled, her hair stand on end.
Kenton, what were you thinking? She thought incredulously. This is the man you’re going to fight?
#
Kenton watched Drile’s performance with a frown. He waited for some sarcastic comment from Eric, but none came. He almost looked to the side before remembering that Eric wasn’t there any more. He stood alone in his rooms.
So lonely, he thought with a shake of his head. He had sent Dirin away and turned Eric against him. How had his father been able to stand it, living in these huge rooms by himself? No one to share his life? No friends, no family?
Immediately, Kenton’s eyes fell on the crowd below. Had she come? Yes, she had. He saw Baon’s unmistakable black-skinned form standing near the south entrance. Kenton almost wished Khriss had decided not to watch the fight. He didn’t want her to see what would happen to him.
Well, there is no use in putting it off, Kenton told himself. His hand was shaking slightly as he reached out for his sand and called it to life. The crowd looked up at him, but they weren’t nearly as awed by his descent as they were by Drile’s. His five ribbons looked weak, almost insignificant, compared to Drile’s sheer power.
Still, the crowd pulled back from him, and he sent a ribbon to the side, using it to clear a path for Khriss and the others. The crowd moved back from the sand—they had come to see him die, but they still didn’t trust sand mastery.
Khriss followed the line of sand, her eyes mournful as she came within a few steps of Kenton. So, you finally realized, did you? Kenton thought. He tried to smile as she reached him, but it came out as a grimace.
“Kenton …” she said. Then she gave him a quiet hug—a desperate hug.
“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He turned to find Baon looking down at him.
“It takes a true warrior to fight a battle he knows he cannot win,” the soldier explained. “Sometimes, the good our fighting does is its own victory. You have my respect, sand master.”
Kenton nodded, trying to keep that sentiment foremost in his mind. I will not die for nothing, he told himself. My life was traded for stability. If I hadn’t stopped Drile, the Diem would never have had a chance.
He turned to regard the Pit. The crowd stood to either side, pulling away to form a path to the building. Well, let’s at least make a good show of it, Kenton thought, turning to stride determinedly toward the Pit.
The trackts let him pass, and he walked into the room. The benches were filled with sand masters and kelzin. Apparently, because of Kenton hadn’t responded to the requests for seats, the kelzin had simply decided that those who had seats in the Hall to watch trials also deserved seats to watch the fight. As a result, the hundred or so who had managed to get places in the Pit were among the most powerful, rich, and influential people in Lossand. They clapped sporadically as Kenton entered, as if he were some sort of performer.
The rest of the Pit was filled with sand masters. There were perhaps three hundred seats surrounding the sand below, and every one had a body in it—with one small exception. A group of trackts held a line of seats near the front—a place for the Taishin. They would have a very good view of the fight.
“I had no idea I was so popular,” Kenton mumbled, looking over the crowd. He turned to Khriss. “Are you sure you want to watch this?” he asked.
She nodded.
“It might be … gruesome,” Kenton warned.
“I have to be here, Kenton,” she insisted, looking into his eyes.
He nodded slowly. He turned eyes on the crowd again and selected a group of several kelzin who didn’t look too important. He sent a ribbon of sand to tap one of them on the shoulder. The man turned with a start.
“You four,” Kenton said. “Out.”
“But!” the man argued.
“Out!” Kenton snapped, somewhat annoyed at these kelzin who had come to watch his execution. “The Duchess Khrissalla of Elis needs a seat.”
The man blushed, but there was little he could do. He rose, shooting Kenton a hateful look, and let his companions from the room. Kenton nodded toward the seats. Khriss gave him one last hug, then led the other three as they made their way down to the seats.
Kenton’s own place was in the Pit itself. A six foot high stone wall was all that separated the contestants from the viewers on the benches above, but there really wasn’t any danger to them. Mastered sand was under precise control. That was why it was so deadly.
Kenton sighed, trying to clear his mind from such pessimistic thoughts as he made his way down to the pit.
#
Ais knocked respectfully on the Lady Judge’s door. He wore his trackt’s uniform, but he knew he would never be able to look at it, or himself, the same way again. He had disgraced the Hall. He had tried to hide his weakness from the others, but now he knew that the only one he had been fooling was himself.
“Come in,” the Lady Judge’s voice came.
Ais took a deep breath, then pushed open the door. He bowed, then stood stiffly, waiting to be addressed.
Heelis wore her formal black robes. Several attendants were hurriedly preparing for her departure—like the other Taishin, she intended to watch the fight between the two sand masters.
“Senior Ais,” she said, looking up. “I had expected you would spend the next few hours with your family.”
Ais continued to stand with a stiff posture. “My Lady,” he said. “I have a request.”
“Yes, Ais?”
“I wish to resign my place as a senior trackt,” he said. “I am leaving the Hall.”
Heelis frowned. “That is a disappointment, Ais,” she said. “Can there be no reconciliation?”
“I am afraid not, My Lady,” Ais said. The admission hurt, but he had only himself to blame for its necessity. He could not continue as a trackt, not after what he had done …what he had revealed himself to be.
“Running won’t help, Ais,” Lady Heelis warned. “You have to face your problems someday.”
“I will face them, My Lady. But I must do so in a place where I am not a liability to others.”
Heelis regarded him for a moment, then nodded slightly. “I trust your judgement, Ais. You may do as you see necessary. However, I must make one request. I need you to remain a trackt for one more day—or, at least, until the Cou
ncil meeting in a few hours.”
Ais nodded. She would probably have him testify during the Diem’s trial. “As you wish, My Lady,” he agreed.
Heelis nodded, then motioned for her aids to join her as she began to walk from the room. As she moved, Ais noticed something. There was a stack of folded papers on her desk that looked suspiciously like the reports he had given her each day for the last two weeks—the reports he had prepared about the Lord Mastrell’s activities. They were all still sealed. Why hadn’t she read them?
“You should come with me to the battle, Ais,” she suggested.
“No thank you, My Lady,” he said, turning away from the reports. “I have little taste for such morbid sport.”
“I agree, Ais,” Lady Heelis responded. “However, it is rare that one has an opportunity to see sand masters work. For the good of Lossand, I think it necessary to find out what they are capable of when their lives are in danger.”
Ais paused. He had seen Kenton fight several times now, and he understood the Lady Judge’s point. Many in Lossand underestimated the sand masters’s power.
“Have you no desire to see how young Kenton fares?” Heelis asked, moving out of the room. Ais followed. “You’ve been travelling with him for two weeks now.”
“He is a sand master,” Ais said simply. “I care nothing for him.” Yet, for some reason, he found himself following Heelis.
Ais paused once they left the Hall, standing in front of the carriage that had been brought to transport her to the docks. His wife had arrived in the city a few hours before, distraught because of her daughter’s sudden disappearance. She and Melly were now staying with Mellis’s parents, and both had been sleeping when Ais left. He did have an odd curiosity to see what happened to Kenton—for a purely intellectual reason, of course.
Heelis raised an eyebrow as Ais decided to join her in the carriage, but she didn’t say anything to him. She simply ordered the driver to take them to the docks.
White Sand Page 64
