Empire of Sand
Chapter Three

It was just before dawn when I saddled Birdie and left. Despite the early hour, the air was thick with heat and humidity. The crickets had ceased their nightly serenade, and the nocturnal things had completed their hunts and retreated to their daytime resting places. Mayven would be up soon to do chores, and Mama, too. I’d left a note for Mayven, slipping it underneath his bedroom door. Though there was plenty to say, I’d opted to keep the goodbye short and to the point. Mayven would understand why I’d chosen to go, and no amount of explanation would have made him agreeable.The morning air invigorated Birdie. Of the horses, she was the most rambunctious. She and I were similar in that respect. The pasture was wet with dew, and the air crisp and chilly. The light on the horizon hinted at a sunrise, casting a dim glow over the mountain ranges and highlighting their peaks. Birdie’s breath came out in wisps of smoke in front of us and her hooves tattooed soft impressions in the grass.“We’ve got a way to go yet, Birdie,” I advised her.Mayven and I had gone on a few trips to trade, but I’d never gone alone, and I couldn’t deny that the prospect of it made me nervous. Aside from the highwaymen, there would be wild animals to contend with, not to mention the elements themselves. I knew that in a day’s ride we would encounter Cryth, the nearest city and trading outpost. I would replenish my resources there, though I couldn’t afford to pay for lodging. Birdie and I would just have to camp outside as Mayven and I had done during previous trips. It was better that way, as Mayven would likely come looking for me. The fewer locals that remembered me, the better.Birdie and I stopped to rest in Triton Canyon, several hours from Pharaoh’s Peak. The sun had lifted, casting the open fields in a benign glow. Birds squawked and swept from tree to tree, and a stream trickled nearby, feeding the trees and local wildlife. Off in the distance, ranchers herded sheep and shoed horses, and shop owners opened their doors. The canyon wrapped around us like a warm hug, protecting us from the fear that lay beyond. Birdie drank from the stream, and I stretched my legs.I pulled the map from my pack and consulted it once more, though I’d been this way before. In another few hours we could reach Cryth, and a day after that, Amber. I thought of Mayven, shrugging on his shirt and trouser and traipsing to the door of his room, sleepy- eyed and yawning. His foot would find the note first, crinkled and poorly written, and his stomach would knot as he read every word. Mother would sigh, regretting her inconvenient and incorrigible daughter, dismissing my absence entirely.“She will return soon enough,” she would mumble. Mayven would complete the morning chores first, as Mama couldn’t do them all on her own. Then he would saddle a horse and start after me, promising our mother that he would return with me in tow. She would protest, insisting that he be careful, and she would watch him from the kitchen window until his figure faded out of sight. And she would fret.My fingers trembled and the sand in the canyon shifted. I gasped and looked down around my boots, watching as the sand slithered in a lazy pattern, like a snake’s scales, or the surf by the ocean. Carefully folding the map and stuffing it back into my pack, I planted my feet and drew in a deep breath, focusing my energy as Mayven had taught me. I extended my hands over the granules of sand, my chest expanding as the earth obeyed me. Birdie watched in stunned silence as the dirt collected in a pile at her feet, holes and divots impressed in the pile, creating the familiar faces of people I’d known.I giggled as I carved Mr. Cork’s face out of sand, his narrow eyes and pursed lips and general look of disapproval. Then I wiped the image away with a wave of my hand, creating an impression of my childhood friend, Rose, the self-proclaimed water mover, who had never showcased her talent. She’d said her parents had warned her against it. Next came Mrs. Farrough, the inn keeper, her wide nose jutting out from between her wide-set eyes, and her thin lips cut across her nonexistent chin.With another swipe of my hand, I cleared the image away, maneuvering the sand with my fingers, like a sculptor with clay. Birdie snorted as I worked the sand into familiar lines, sweeping at the hair and carving out the dark eyes. When I’d finished, my face stared back at me, a perfect likeness, only more powerful. My hands hovered in the air as I stared at the sandy reflection, which seemed to sparkle in the sun. Then I thought of Mama again, and in one fierce sweep of the hand, I destroyed it.“Let’s go, Birdie.”We rode for another several hours until we reached Cryth.Cryth was known as the city of Sin. Twice the size of Pharaoh’s Peak, it spanned from the coastline to the mountain range. By the coast, boats docked and tap houses and distilleries dotted the beaches. Farther inland, small schoolhouses, shops, and vendor carts lined the streets, and crowds frequented them at all hours. Mayven often made me wait on the outskirts while he came in to conduct business; he said some establishments weren’t fitting for a lady in his own family. I kept my eyes averted as Birdie and I passed a trio of scarcely dressed women and drunken men.To our right, the taphouse exploded with raucous noise as two of its patrons tumbled out of its doors, cursing and scrambling on the ground. A large man with no hair on his head and tattoos around his eyes tossed their coats at them while they fought, and a thin, older woman wearing too much rouge commanded he close the doors to the brawling pair. Birdie sidestepped the duo and treaded on, her body vibrating with tension.Up ahead, Dolly’s Trade wagon stood beneath a pair of lanterns mounted on the eaves of a bathhouse, manned by a thin, older man with a long, white beard. I recalled Mayven referring to Dolly on one of his trade runs, and I knew she gave him the better price for the skins he sold her.I tied Birdie’s bridle to the post nearest the cart and lugged the pile of skins from her back, counting them again. Mayven would have brought them in on his way to Tristan, returning with the income when he’d completed the Trials. I regretted taking them, but I would need to buy food, and if I won the Trials, I would have a much greater reward to give my family than a few pieces of silver. If I died, there was nothing to be done about the matter.I cleared my throat as I approached the old man, who sat slumped in a splintered wooden chair beside the cart. At his feet, an amber bottle of spirits sat half empty, and his clothing reeked of it. His face was set in hard lines, skin aged and dry from countless hours out of doors. His eyes were blue and sad, despite the revelry happening all around him.“Good evening,” I began, finding my voice. Mayven had told me once that trading rested on self-assurance. If a thing was valuable, you had to believe in it before convincing someone else of its worth.The man’s eyes darted to me, assessing me shrewdly.“What in god’s good names are you doing out here all by yourself, girl?”I blushed, feeling every bit of my seventeen years. Then, remembering myself, I straightened my shoulders and stuck out my chin.“I’m here to trade with you, sir,” I declared, holding out the skins for his inspection.A ghost of a smile played on his lips, and he accepted the stack, running his bent fingers over each one, inspecting them for imperfections. The locals knew Mayven for his quality pelts, but he traded them here in Cryth, since they fetched a higher price in the city.“How much are you asking?”I gulped, trying to recall how much Mayven said he’d gotten the last time he’d come.“Six pieces of silver,” I declared, holding my breath.The man considered me for a moment, reaching down for his bottle and taking a swig of its contents. Then laying the hides across his cart, he reached into it and extracted a small coin purse and dumped out seven pieces. The aged silver was corroded and chipped along the circular edges. Nevertheless, it was currency that would spend. He placed the pieces in my waiting palm, turning back to the pelts he’d bought.“This- this is seven pieces,” I said, trembling.He grunted and turned back to me again, one eye closed.“So?”“I believe you’ve overpaid me.”He limped over to me now, favoring his right leg, and the smell of spirits intensified. If I had been wiser, I would have accepted the extra silver without comment; but my father had taught us to be honest, no matter what.“Is that so?” He regarded me with his open eye, his shaking fingers rubbing the cold from his arms.“Yes, sir,” I mumbled.“You must be from the country,” He chuckled. “No city woman would dare turn down an extra piece of silver.”I opened my mouth to protest but he continued.“I know I paid you extra, girl.”Then, reaching for the coins again, he picked out the loveliest piece, holding it up for me to see. It winked in the lantern light, shining and nearly faultless.“This one is a false piece,” he whispered. “I mistook it for silver days ago. I thought to unload it on a newcomer, but my conscience won’t permit me to do that now.”He pocketed the perfect replica and extracted another piece of silver from his pockets, this one more alike the others in my hand. He pressed the last coin into my palm and closed my fingers over them.“These furs deserve seven,” he said gruffly. He turned and limped back to his chair, easing himself into it.“Are you certain?”“Bloody hell, yes! Get on wit’ your business, young lady! It’s not prudent to be out here at this time of evenin’!” He shot me an exasperated look, then winked at me, and I relaxed, and offered him a smile.“Thank you for your business, Mr.-”“Givvens. M’ name’s Clyve Givvens. And let this teach you to watch for false pieces,” he said.I pocketed the coins and scurried over to where Birdie waited, casting suspicious glances left and right. The trio of scantily clad women were engaged with a pair of sailors to my right, and to the left, the fighting pair of men from the tavern were sharing a bottle of spirits, perched on the edges of two horse troughs. Down the lane, a man wearing dark clothing watched me from the walkway of a shop that stood vacant for the night. I froze as I studied him from a distance.He was taller than me, his frame strong and lean. His eyes were as dark as the rest of him and shining under the moonlight. His hair was also dark, and falling across his brow, as Mayven’s did when he was hard at work in the fields. My skin erupted into goosebumps as we stared at each other, and the air between us grew colder and charged with electricity. Birdie stamped impatiently, sensing either the ruckus nearby or the tension between the stranger and me. Mounting her quickly, we turned the other way, away from the man wearing black. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

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