Empire of Sand
Chapter Two

Mayven fed the pigs, and I fed the chickens. Today was my day to clean out the horse stalls, a duty Mayven and I shared. I didn’t mind it as much as he did; Mayven couldn’t stand the smell of manure, and gagged anytime I left him to shovel it. Birdie, our youngest female, snorted and stamped where she stood, eager to be let out to run. Birdie was black with white markings on her breast and around her hooves, and powerfully built. Sometimes she reminded me of myself: restless and craving adventure.

In the stalls beside her, Edmond and Caprice waited for their turns, watching me with interest. I talked to them as I worked, telling them about the trading caravan I’d glimpsed yesterday (traders often made their way to Tristan in groups this time of year because the weather was mild), and confiding in them about Mayven’s impending journey to Tristan.

Highwaymen frequented the roads to Tristan, preying on independent travelers or trading caravans too small to defend themselves. I’d heard rumors of their brutality; large bands of thieves who ambushed the trading caravans, leaving none alive. I shook away my gloomy thoughts and reminded myself that Mayven was a sand splitter; his power alone could overtake a dozen armed and ordinary men.

I hadn’t met any other elementals in Pharaoh’s Peak, but I’d heard there were others. One of my schoolmates insisted she was a water mover, though I’d seen no evidence of it. A man passing through town on his way to the Isaac Towers (the education institute south of Tristan) claimed to teach polymorphics there; polymorphics were elementals who could replicate themselves.

Sand splitting seemed like a dull talent comparatively, but I supposed it was better than being a normal human. You would think possessing such gifts would elevate your place in society, but that was hardly the case. Some elementals accepted low-paying jobs working for ranchers, traders, and sailors, but the rest of us preferred living in obscurity. Extraordinary talent came at a cost, and the regular people sharing our towns and cities regarded us with suspicion. Bounty hunters prowled the coastlines, kidnapping elementals and selling them off to foreigners that docked near Tristan. The pirates would then set sail, their captives never seen again.

“It’s a good thing we don’t live by the coast, Birdie,” I whispered.

Birdie snorted in agreement.

Inside, Mother baked fresh bread as I finished the last of my chores. Mayven was out working on the shed. The last storm had nearly torn the doors off their hinges, splintering the wooden planks on the east side. We’d been working on it for the past few weeks, and we’d nearly finished. Mayven promised to complete the project before leaving in two days, so the horses and cows would be safe from nocturnal predators.

“Do you need any help, Mama?”

My mother glanced back at me, a question in her dark eyes. She was a middle-aged widow, but you’d never know it by her looks. Mama was traditionally lovely, with long, silky hair she kept wrapped in a knot at the base of her head. Her long eyelashes framed deep brown eyes, and her face was pale and flawless.

“No, Ash, I’m fine here. Why don’t you go and see if your brother needs any help?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Her hands stilled, and her shoulders tensed up as her gaze caught my brother’s hunched form outside, his shirt tossed aside and his brow sweaty. From the window, he looked just like our father had.

“Is it true?” she whispered. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My stomach twisted into knots as I anticipated the meaning behind the question. I hadn’t known whether Mayven had delivered the news to our mother yet or not, but somehow, she’d surmised it all the same.

“Is what true, Mama?”

Mama slammed her fist down on the countertop, rattling the plates stacked there. She spun to face me, her eyes burning with anger, advancing on me like a predator to its prey.

“Don’t play fickle with me, girl! Is it true that my only son is leaving us to die in some fruitless spectator’s battle?!”

She was shrieking now, and I could just make out Mayven’s tired form outside as he straightened and turned toward the house, having heard the commotion. Mother’s eyes were red, her hands drawn into fists at her side. For a fleeting moment, I thought she would strike me. I gulped. I didn’t want to betray Mayven, and I couldn’t be sure whether he’d spoken to Mother himself. If I feigned ignorance, Mama would see through my lies and hate me even more. Mayven burst through the doorway, stopping short as he took in the sight of me huddled against the wall and Mama standing over me in fury. She turned and looked at him then, her expression changing from rage to pleading.

“You are leaving me?” she asked.

Mayven’s eyes darted to me and then back to Mama. I shook my head infinitesimally, letting him know I hadn’t told her of his plans for Tristan.

“I have to, Ma.”

“No! No, you do not! You’re needed here!”

Mayven inched closer to us both, moving with caution.

“Mama, you’ve sold as much of the land as we can afford to lose. The livestock, too. If I don’t win this, we’ll lose everything. We owe it to Father to preserve our home,” he said.

Mama lowered her head and sobbed. Her shoulders shook and sagged in defeat. I considered reaching out and holding her the way she held me once upon a time, before Father had died. I remained still instead, knowing she’d only shrug me away.

Mayven gathered her into his powerful arms and smoothed her hair back, promising her his return. Another piece of my heart broke as I watched her accept his comfort, knowing she would never have accepted mine.

I should be the one to fight.

My brother gave me a sympathetic look, and I scurried out of the room, hiding my own tears and allowing them their private despair. If Mayven didn’t return, Mama would never forgive me. She would resent me for his death just as she resented me for our father’s. I would have lost my only friend; without him, I would truly be alone in the world.

I sank to the ground at the base of the willow tree, which towered over the barn. I watched Birdie and the other horses prance around the pasture, stretching their muscles, and I leaned my head back against the damp bark and listened to the birdsong. If Mayven intended to leave in two days, I would plan to leave in one. I would go to Tristan City and compete in the Emperor’s Trials; and win or lose, my brother’s life would be spared. Birdie stopped on the hillcrest and stared at me, her knowing eyes affixed on mine.

“Do you want to go with me, girl?” I whispered.

Then, to my astonishment, Birdie twitched and stomped her hooves, sweeping her tail behind her.

Take me with you, she seemed to say.

Mama recovered by nightfall. The three of us ate a quiet supper, Mayven interjecting here and there to fill the silence. I hated for him to feel responsible for the wounds our family bore, but I knew he did. For the hundredth time, I wished our father was still here. In elemental families, the oldest male taught the younger members how to wield their power, but Father had died before I’d grown old enough to learn. I gazed out into the dark, beyond the sweeping willow tree and out toward the pasture, at the spot where Papa had died. There was a small wooden cross there, with a short epigraph and our initials carved into the base.

Father was a rancher all his life. When he’d met and married our mother, the two of them had settled down on this land and cultivated it themselves, summer after summer, until the crops yielded them enough to buy livestock. From there, they harvested and sold the surplus from the fields and the milk and cheese from our cows, making a comfortable life for us all.

Until disaster struck.

At Mama’s request, I’d gone out to bring Gaston, our old horse, back from the pasture and into the barn. Storm clouds gathered over Pharaoh’s Peak that day, and the wind had grown cold and brutal. Gaston had poor eyesight and spooked easily. I fought with the horse as he screamed and reared back, narrowly missing my head with his hooves. Then, determined to conquer the animal and make Papa proud, I scrambled up onto his back, digging my heels into his sides. Gaston tore off toward the east, and thunder rumbled in the angry skies.

I screamed as I fought to control the animal, but Gaston was fast, and I was slipping. Hearing my screams, Father moved to intercept us, his thin frame hunched low and riding Domino, our second strongest stallion. Grasping at Gaston’s mane, Father yanked the horse back, urging him to an abrupt halt. Domino screamed and tumbled as the two horses collided, sending Father catapulting forward, headfirst into a tree.

The horses tore off into the fields as Father lie gasping in the grass, his head bloodied and broken. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, and tears streamed from his eyes. The first of the raindrops had fallen, coating our skin, and diluting the blood that streaked down his face. He couldn’t speak- only stare, wide-eyed and unfocused. I screamed and cried, clutching at my father’s dying body.

“I’ll get help, Papa!” I promised, and I ran toward the house, where Mama moved around the kitchen, preparing supper.

Mayven was gone for the day, trading animal skins in town. I’d run into the kitchen, soaked and tearful, begging Mama to come help. She’d followed me out to the pasture where Papa lay, eyes still and sightless. His chest no longer heaved with the effort to breathe, and his lips had settled agape and unmoving. I screamed and so did Mama, and the two of us shook Papa and remained there hunkered at his side as the rain fell and the storm moved in at full force. It was Mayven who had urged us inside upon his return and set us by the fire.

Mayven had buried our father. It had been Mayven who had held life together ever since.

Over the weeks, Mama had begun to speak again, but her gazes were cold and resentful. She blamed me for causing Father to ride after me, and for leaving him to die alone in the field. I didn’t blame her; I blamed me, too.

After supper, I cleaned the dishes and retreated to my room, leaving Mama and Mayven to their hushed conversation by the fire. She was still trying to convince him to stay, and he was still explaining why he had to go. I pulled the burlap bag from underneath my bed and began packing for my journey. I would leave behind a note for Mayven, but I couldn’t bother to leave a word behind for my mother. Chances were, she wouldn’t care that I had gone. She would probably feel relief. Tears fell as I continued to pack the essentials: things I could carry on the trip to Tristan City.

After bed, I’d slip into the stables and prepare Birdie, and we’d ride away together in the dark. My only regret was leaving my brother without saying goodbye, and maybe dying in the city, leaving Birdie to some unknown fate. She was a smart animal and knew her own way home, but she’d never traversed so far on her own. Perhaps once we arrived there safely, I could plan for her.

Once I’d finished packing, I laid down and waited. As the night drew darker and increasingly still, Mayven’s door closed, and Mama’s sobs echoed from the hearth.

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