by David Meyer
He exhaled. At least they’d be inside. At least they wouldn’t have to deal with sandswarms.
Private Dayson Lork occupied one of the two opposing sentinel posts. At the moment, he was studying a computer screen. Carefully, he pressed a few keys on his keyboard. An electronic lock clicked. The metal gate swung open.
“Good evening, Sir,” Lork said as Titus passed through the opening. “Looks like there’s a drystorm on the horizon.”
Titus nodded. “Yeah, we saw it.”
“How’d it go?”
“Could’ve been better.” He swept past the private. “Thanks, everyone,” he called out. “And good luck with the storm.”
The army broke apart. Many headed to their apartments, aiming to bunker down. Still others took off for the galley, intending to grab the rest of their daily rations.
Walking at a brisk hike, Titus took in the storm. It had grown a bit larger, but was still a good ways off. Plenty of time for it to die or change directions.
Upon reaching his apartment, he thrust aside some thick curtains. A torch hung to his left, along with a small basket full of black rocks. He knocked two rocks together, producing tiny sparks. The sparks fell upon the torch and it blazed to life.
Grabbing the torch, he strode down the staircase. Every footstep brought with it a cooler temperature and by the time he reached the bottom, the air was almost pleasant.
He slipped the torch into a specially-made cranny in the far corner. Exhaustion set in as he made his way to his desk. Pulling out his chair, he sat down. Staring at the grains of his sandbed, he took a couple of deep breaths.
He’d moved into this apartment ten years ago, at the age of twelve. That was how it had always worked in Natica. You lived with your folks until you graduated. Then you moved out and got your own place.
He’d kept it pretty simple in those days, refraining from the artsy decorations Dargon had enjoyed. Little had changed since then. As such, the space was kind of plain, kind of cold.
He kicked off his sandals and propped his feet onto the top of his desk. Leaning back, he tipped the chair off of its front legs. People had expected him to move out after the death of his father, King Jayter Foster. They’d expected him to take over the king’s apartment. Every king had lived there and people had naturally assumed he would do the same. There was just one problem.
Titus didn’t want to be king.
In fact, he didn’t want there to be a king at all. For too long, Natica had been wedded to the ways of old. To the Code of Conduct and to a king who enforced it with constant banishments. The way he saw it, the fort needed a break from that kind of rule. From any rule.
“Hey.” Without hesitation, Sanza Curt thrust aside the thick curtains. “Are you down there?”
His eyelids closed. He exhaled, long and loud. “What do you want?” he asked.
Sandaled feet struck steps. As always, her boldness made him shake his head. Although he hadn’t taken on the role of king, people still treated him as the unofficial leader. But not Sanza. She was the only Natican who didn’t call him ‘Sir.’ And she was the only person who’d dare enter his apartment without an explicit invitation.
She glided off the bottom step. Hands on hips, she gave him a long look. “We need to talk.”
Eyes now open, he looked her way. She was tall and lanky with curly red hair that blazed brighter than the sun. If forced to admit it, he would’ve called her beautiful. Statuesque, even. And he would’ve also called her gifted. Just twenty-one years old, she’d risen to Chief of Reverse-Engineering in record time.
“About what?” he asked.
“About Natica.”
He crossed his arms. “Go on.”
“It’s falling apart.”
“It looks fine to me.”
“I’m not talking about the buildings. I’m talking about our people.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“You need to take charge. You need to undergo the ascension ceremony and start enforcing the Code.”
“There’s no time.” He shrugged. “I’m hunting the Banished. Getting them before they get us.”
“‘Us?’ What ‘us?’ There’s no ‘us,’ Titus. Not anymore.”
He gave her an amused look.
“Unbelievable.” She stared at the ceiling. “This place is cracking at the seams and you can’t even see it.”
He grinned, throwing oil onto the flames. “The only one I see cracking around here is you.”
“That’s because I’m forced to deal with an idiot.”
“Internal strife won’t kill us. The Banished will.”
“This isn’t strife.” She shook her head, causing curls to bounce along both sides of her face. “We’re on the verge of a civil war.”
He chuckled. “Isn’t that a little—?”
A resounding boom, metal crashing against concrete, cut him off. It was followed closely by yells and screams. Fists and feet struck flesh with a fury. Sounds of intense scuffling filled the air.
She gave him a withering look. “See what I mean?”
His grin vanished. Tipping his chair forward, he donned his sandals. Then he took off for the steps.
At the top, he burst outside. With tight eyes, he searched for the fight. But all he saw was the drystorm. It had doubled in size since he’d last taken stock of it.
He perked his ears. Above the drystorm, he heard angry shouts. With Sanza on his heels, he hoofed it across the sand.
Arriving at the galley, he pushed aside the curtains. Staring down the long staircase, he saw a large brawl. Naticans, their faces hard and determined, wrestled and boxed each other with a vengeance.
As he sprinted down the steps, Titus witnessed Private Spoka Apion hip toss a reverse-engineer named Lima Fornade. Flipping in mid-air, Lima slammed onto a picnic table. Meanwhile, Cutter Polk, another reverse-engineer, crouched down, protecting his head as Private Rohor Stubbels pummeled him with both fists.
Titus frowned. Six months ago, Stubbels had been his mentor and close friend. But the battle with the Banished had left the man shell-shocked and full of rage. As of late, he was seeing enemies everywhere, including within Natica.
Racing off the steps, Titus saw that the fighting extended across the eating area. It even went past the long counter that divided the room, all the way to the rasco machines.
Back there, Porda Ilmford, a cashier, clutched the hair of Renda Jormay, a reservoir worker. Renda, in turn, threw awkward punches at Porda. Nearby, Kew Jonnison, another galley employee, traded heavy blows with Yerdon Goyle, a solar farmer. The two men lumbered back and forth, crashing into the rasco machines. One of the machines had been tipped over and now lay on the floor.
Titus climbed onto the nearest table and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Stop fighting,” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Stubbels paused, fists cocked. Then he grunted and backed away. At the same time, Porda released Renda’s hair. The two women quickly separated.
The rest of the fighting wound down in a matter of seconds. People released each other and stepped back a foot or two. Nobody said a word.
“What’s this all about?” Titus asked.
“Ask them.” Cutter glared at Stubbels. “They started it.”
He swiveled toward Stubbels. “Private?”
Stubbels didn’t answer.
“They won’t leave us alone,” Renda said. “They follow us around, calling us bloodfiends.”
“That’s what you are,” roared Stubbels.
Titus arched an eyebrow. “Bloodfiend?”
“One of them.” Stubbels pointed at Cutter. “A relative of the Banished.”
Titus quickly put it together. Cutter was, of course, Cord Polk’s brother. And Cord had been part of the Banished. Evidently, bloodfiend referred to one who was related to the Banished. “I guess I’m a bloodfiend, too,” he replied. “Or did you forget about Dargon?”
Stubbels gave him a dark look.
“The enemy’s out there.”
Titus’ eyes shifted amongst the many faces. There looked to be about three-dozen in total. “Not in here.”
Begrudgingly, Cutter offered his hand to Stubbels. But the private snubbed him.
Outside, the swirling winds grew louder and louder. The drystorm was definitely getting close. “Clear out,” Titus said. “And go home.”
Nobody moved.
“Now.”
Stubbels was the first to leave. Huddled with a bunch of people, he disappeared upstairs. Cutter and the others waited an extra minute, then followed suit. Before long, nearly everyone had vacated the space.
Titus climbed down from his perch. “Well, that was fun.”
Sanza gave him a pointed look.
“It’s not a war.”
“It will be.”
“Everyone’s just stressed, blowing off steam.”
“You’re wrong.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Stubbels and his crew are targeting relatives. They’re blaming them for what the Banished did to us. And they’re not going to stop unless you do something.”
He frowned.
“People are on edge. A lot has changed and they’re having trouble coping with it.” She adjusted her cloak. “They need leadership, Titus. They need laws.”
“Like the Code of Conduct?” He arched an eyebrow. “We built our whole society around that. We banished tons of lawbreakers. And what did that get us?”
“The Code’s flawed. No doubt about it. But that doesn’t mean we should just throw it out. Lawless is no way to go.”
“Things will settle down.”
She rolled her eyes.
He thought about continuing the argument. But really, what was the point? They were at an impasse and nothing was going to change that fact.
High above, he heard the raging drystorm. If he waited much longer, he’d have to stay put. In the galley. With Sanza, of all people.
He started for the stairs. Wordlessly, she followed after him. At the top, he shoved the curtains aside and stepped out onto the sand. A quick look revealed the storm had reached the western edge of the fort.
Thunder boomed in his ears. Streaks of purplish lightning crisscrossed the dark sky. Brutal winds whipped back and forth, pushing and pulling at the sand.
The wind began to tug at Titus, threatening to fling him back into the galley. Individual grains of sand accosted his head, stinging his skin. If left unprotected, his face would become a mask of blood. The much-feared death by a million cuts phenomenon wouldn’t be far behind.
Quickly, he pulled his headgear into place and tightened up his face covering. Sanza did the same. Moving swiftly, they started across the fort.
They reached her place first. He started to give her a nod. But her wide-eyed gaze was elsewhere.
Brow furrowed, he stared deep into the storm. It had entered the fort and was starting to work its way to the other side. Its winds were fast, the airborne sand was thick. But he still managed to see something familiar, something unsettling.
It was a storm within a storm, moving separate from the winds and yet, totally engulfed by them. Strange gold grains swirled one way, then lurched another, forming all sorts of crazy, indecipherable patterns.
He felt his heart clench. A sandswarm? he thought. But how’d it get past the wall?
Sandswarms were mysterious and terrifying. They had the ability to drain a person’s moisture, to desiccate him completely. To leave nothing behind but dry bones.
He’d seen sandswarms out in the hinterlands. But never within Natica’s walls. He’d come to think that their ancient machines—many of which were poorly understood—protected the fort.
Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Another sight caught his attention. Squinting, he peered into the heart of the storm. He saw the breach in the wall, the one caused by the Banished. A platform had been erected on the spot. At the moment, two lookouts, Privates Jimlo Foraw and Rin Burke, were descending from it. Hitting the ground, they hurried eastward.
And straight toward the sandswarm.
Titus opened his mouth, ready to issue a muffled scream. But it caught in his throat as the sandswarm veered backward. Burke leapt to his right, rolled, and kept on going. But Foraw wasn’t so fortunate. As he dove to his left, the sandswarm overcame him.
Its gold particles whirled around his lanky body, gaining speed with every waking moment. Foraw issued a horrid, bloodcurdling scream. Then he fell silent. The particles whirled faster and faster, vanishing him completely.
Titus knew what was about to happen. And yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
The sandswarm left the area. It zoomed onward, heading east, then north, then east again.
Rooted to the ground, Titus stared at the spot of sand Foraw had occupied.
All that was left were bones.
Chapter 3
Sanza’s hand flew to her mouth. She uttered a soft, gurgled moan. Then her eyes widened. Her other hand stretched outward.
Following her shaking finger, Titus peered to the northwest. His pulse quickened.
A second sandswarm whirled into view. Its gold grains spun in tight circles as it shot back and forth across the sand.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, a third one appeared. Swiftly, the sandswarms came together. Briefly, he wondered if they’d join forces, forming an enormous sandswarm. But instead, they passed through each other. Without missing a beat, they continued on their strange, individual paths.
A new figure lumbered across the sand. Although wrapped in a cloak and wearing headgear, Titus still recognized her gait. It was Deela Samklon, a middle-aged reservoir worker.
Horrified, he saw the trio of sandswarms lurch in her direction, following the storm’s general path.
He darted forward. “Run!”
Deela looked over, saw him. Puzzled, she followed his gaze to the trio. Jaw agape, she scrambled backward.
The trio broke apart. One zoomed westward, then north, then backtracked. In a matter of moments, it had returned, raging toward Deela with untold fury.
Titus pounded across the swirling sand. He felt the winds rip at him, at his cloak, at his headgear. At the last second, he dove at her, knocking her to the side. The sandswarm ripped past them, narrowly missing their feet.
He rose up, pulling her with him. As he led her eastward, he looked over his shoulder. The trio surged past one another. Two of them traveled northeast. The third one stayed on course. Shifting, moving, lurching, it crossed the fort, hot on their trail.
His spine grew ice cold. Was it tracking them? Could it, perhaps, sense their moisture? Or was it only moving east because the storm was moving east?
The edge of the drystorm careened forward, sweeping past Titus and Deela. The winds turned ultra-intense. The sand flew so fast that he could barely see. Teeth gritted, he felt thousands of grains strike his exposed arms and legs.
Glancing back, he saw the sandswarm. From up close, it was captivating. Its gold innards were packed close together and moved fast, forming a veritable blur. Odd lights appeared within it, at irregular intervals. And it buzzed faintly with a weird sort of energy.
Up ahead, Sanza watched them run with wide, transfixed eyes. Slowly, she backed away, oblivious to her apartment, to its promise of shelter.
While sandswarms were new to Natica, drystorms were a fairly regular occurrence. Normal protocol was to take refuge in an apartment or some other underground space. The thick curtains, which covered all entryways, tended to provide ample protection.
But even as he set his sights on Sanza’s apartment, Titus knew they’d never make it. The sandswarm was just way too close, way too fast. And so, he grabbed Deela’s hand, twisted his feet, and sprinted to the south.
The sandswarm roared by. It hit the entryway and paused. Glancing back, Titus waited for it to bounce off of the curtains. Waited for it to shoot toward them once more.
For a moment, it lingered at the entryway. Whirling in impossibly fast circles, i
t completely obscured Sanza’s curtains. Then it shifted just a bit …
… and raced downstairs.
Titus frowned. His gaze went from the entryway to where the curtains were hung. Only the curtains weren’t there. They were gone.
It desiccated the curtains, he realized.
Curious, he hurried to the entryway and peeked down the staircase. Without curtains to stop it, wind and auburn sand had stolen into Sanza’s apartment. He couldn’t see much. But as far as he could tell, the stairs and walls remained intact.
Clearly, the sandswarms were capable of desiccating inanimate objects. So, why hadn’t it destroyed the concrete? Was the material impervious to its attacks?
“The compound,” he blurted out.
Deela, close by, gave him a crazy look.
“It’s made of Natica concrete and it’s got a heavy metal door instead of curtains. So, it might be able to protect us.” He looked at her. “Do me a favor. Hit up every building. Tell people to get to the compound.”
She looked frightened. But she managed a nod anyway.
As she ran off, he spun on his heels, searching the ever-thickening storm for the other two sandswarms.
“Nice leadership.” Sanza appeared at his side. “Almost king-like.”
“Help her,” he said, ignoring the comment. “And move fast. Nobody else is going to die today.”
He half-expected an argument. Because she always argued with him. But instead, she nodded. “You coming?”
He continued to scan the fort. His eyes flew past several apartments, the reservoir, the …
He froze. Shifted his eyes back to the reservoir. Topped by a dome, it stood some thirty-feet tall. And this was just the above-ground portion of it. On the inside, it stretched deep underground, all the way to four aqueducts. The aqueducts connected Natica to the four stations, specifically their pools.
The other two sandswarms popped into view. Quickly, they headed toward the reservoir.
His heart hammered against his chest. “No,” he replied, breaking into a run. “I’ve got to keep those things out of the aqueducts. Otherwise, they’ll wipe out our water supply.”
Chapter 4
Ignoring the wailing wind, Titus dashed across the fort. His arms pumped vigorously. His sandaled feet crashed against the ground.
