Braid of Sand Read online

  Braid of Sand

  Alicia Gaile

  Published by Snowy Wings Publishing, 2018.

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 Alicia Gaile.

  Cover design © Alicia Gaile

  All Rights Reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Alicia Gaile.

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  For Lucy,

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  27.

  28.

  29.

  30.

  31.

  32.

  33.

  34.

  35.

  36.

  37.

  38.

  39.

  40.

  Acknowledgments

  If You Enjoyed This Book, Check Out These Other Titles From Snowy Wings Publishing!

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  For Lucy,

  Long hair, short hair, no hair—you are a warrior through and through!

  1.

  Raziela skidded across the gravel, diving behind a potted tree as forks of lightning stabbed down from the clear sky. A bolt struck so close she caught a whiff of burning hair. The smell sent fear skittering along her spine.

  Thunder roared, a weapon in itself. The noise rattled her heart. Clenching her teeth, she scanned the field. There must be some way to cobble together at least a semblance of an offense against the Goddess.

  Raw power gouged open a portal ten feet from where she crouched. It hung in midair like a wound bleeding light. Her heart sank. There was no telling what might come barreling out. She pivoted to face it, flinching as another crack of lightning split a seam across the sky. Without warning, the portal spat a whistling stream of throwing stars.

  She blocked the first two with her saber guard. The third sliced across her forearm, and the fourth narrowly missed her ear.

  Growling through the stinging pain, she whipped a dagger from its sheath on her thigh and flung it left handed into the portal’s heart. It winked out with a hiss. Before she could even consider celebrating however, another streak of lightning sizzled through the air like a whip.

  There was no deflecting that.

  Casting her sword aside, she flattened herself to the ground and flung her arms over her head.

  Boom! The potted tree exploded. The noise chewed through her eardrums like razor-sharp teeth.

  Robbed of her cover, she had no choice but to make her last stand. Snatching one of the throwing knives tucked into the braid crisscrossing her chest, she flung it as hard as she could at the blinding figure hovering in the center of the field.

  The small blade disintegrated before it could get within ten feet of the Goddess, but the time it took her to throw up a shield gave Raziela the opportunity to get to her feet.

  Disoriented by the shrill ringing in her ears, she flung two more knives as fast as she could. Both of them melted against the goddess’s invisible shield. Frustration and determination fizzled through Raziela’s veins. Winning had never been an option. Her objective was to survive.

  One day though... One day she’d slip past the Great Mother’s defenses and prove that all her years of training hadn’t been for nothing.

  “Your speed is improving, but your accuracy still needs work.”

  The Great Mother, Naiara, lowered her arms and the blinding light of her presence dimmed enough that looking at her didn’t send nails through Raziela’s skull. Naiara splayed her hand in the air and three splatters of molten steel on her invisible shield showed how far apart Raziela’s throws had been.

  “Against a human, that last one would be an inconvenience, nothing more.” She indicated the lowest of the three that, on a human target, would have been at shin-level.

  Raziela’s chest heaved. Adrenaline still sang through her veins. Luckily, the obnoxious ringing in her ears was fading. Naiara shook her floating black mass of hair back from her face.

  “Against a single opponent you would have no trouble with that performance. Against a squad or an army, it would be pitiful at best. You barely dodged those projectiles. In true combat, a single marksman would’ve disabled you, and if your aim is no more reliable than this, then all is already lost.”

  The color drained from Raziela’s face. She needed a moment to nurse her wounded pride before she could step back and accept the truth in the criticism. She bowed at the waist and pressed her fist over her heart. The cut on her arm stung, but the bleeding had already stopped.

  “My apologies, Great Mother. I will strive to do better.”

  The goddess’s stern countenance softened. Freckles of starlight glittered on her ebony skin.

  “When the time comes, I know you will not fail me, child.” She stretched out her hand and Raziela limped toward her. Naiara brushed back stray tendrils of hair that had fallen loose from Raziela’s braid while they sparred.

  “You did well today, but I must cut this visit short. There are happenings in Phalyra that require my attention.” She pressed her glittering silver lips to Raziela’s forehead.

  “What happenings?” Raziela blurted out before the goddess could disappear in a dazzle of light. Pausing, the Great Mother caressed her cheek.

  “The usual mortal unrest, my dear. Nothing to concern yourself with.” Unrest? Raziela drew herself up to her full height.

  “Perhaps I could help this time. I know how difficult it is for you to take physical form there. If you take me with you, I could speak to them on your behalf.”

  The warmth of the goddess’s smile drew beads of sweat from Raziela’s forehead.

  “You are a treasure beyond worth, my pet, but your assistance in this will not be necessary. When the time is right, you will have your chance to serve me.”

  “But—” But before Raziela could think of a suitable way to prove her usefulness, the Great Mother was gone.

  The sudden loss of Naiara’s presence created a vacuum that sucked Raziela’s breath from her lungs, as if the strength of Naiara’s essence propped up the air around her and it needed a moment to regain its equilibrium when she disappeared. Raziela staggered and put a hand over her mouth until she could breathe again.

  While the discomfort subsided, she surveyed the damage to the training field.

  Scorch marks and broken twigs littered the ground. The air smelled faintly of smoke and charred wood. Without the crash of thunder and the clang of swords, the field was unnervingly silent.

  Silence was her enemy.

  The clay pot shifted as a dryad the size of a squirrel poked her head over the rim of the empty planter, scowling at the damage to her boxwood. Smoke rose from the blackened tip of her green cap of pruned leaves. Raziela sent her an apologetic look.

  A bead of sweat dripped down the side of her nose. She sniffed and wiped it away on her sleeve.
Her practice dummy stood tucked in an alcove of the vine-covered wall. It was a sad, sagging excuse for a scarecrow, but it worked well enough for target practice.

  Training was her way to serve the Goddess. Taking a moment to shake out her fingers, she broke into another sprint and let more throwing knives fly.

  BY THE TIME THE MIDDAY sun reached the height of its arc, the scarecrow looked less like a man and more like a porcupine. Its lopsided head sagged on the rake-handle spine and rents in the burlap belly spilled its innards onto the gravel. As she paused to catch her breath, the twine attaching its torso unraveled. A second later the lower half of the body fell away with a soft rustle.

  Raziela sighed.

  What happenings in Phalyra demanded the Great Mother’s attention? Although she ached to know, she was a mere priestess. It was not her place to badger the Great Mother with questions. Still, Phalyra had been her home once. It was natural for her to wonder what was going on in that world. If only Naiara let her do more.

  Stomping over to the stone well in the corner of the training field, she reached for the rope and hauled on it with more force than the simple action required. The bucket bounced off the walls with a satisfying clatter.

  “I don’t know how much longer we can make this last, Capt.” A disembodied voice floated up from the bottom of the well.

  Hope crashed through the wall of frustration in Raziela’s mind. She leaned forward and peered in.

  The water’s surface shivered from droplets falling off the bucket, but after the ripples smoothed, she could make out the back of a woman’s head and the outer shell of her ear. She wore a green bandana tied over her hair.

  A man in a sweat-stained linen shirt stepped past her. The lower half of his face was covered by a patchy, black beard.

  He grimaced.

  “Fuller’s working on it as we speak. We’ll just have to make this stretch until he gets back.”

  The woman turned, and Raziela could see the sharp planes of her face. Her eyes were sunken from going too long without food, and the skin of her lips was badly chapped. She closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to her fist.

  “Great Mother grant him speed. We put the children on half-rations today. If he doesn’t come through...”

  “Have a little faith, Zola,” said the man, resting his meaty hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t steered us wrong yet, have I?”

  “No Capt., you haven’t.” Her eyes shifted to look straight at Raziela. There must have been an effigy of the Great Mother on a shelf in the room. That was the only way for communication to pass from the human world to the Realm of the Gods.

  When had she heard the people’s whispers last? Days? Weeks?

  Once, the people’s prayers created a steady stream of background noise in the Garden. Now Raziela was forced to fill that void herself. Was this the urgent business Naiara had been talking about?

  She curled her fingers against the rim of the well.

  Why was the old faith dying out? The thought that she and the Great Mother were being forgotten hollowed her heart. It was a battle she couldn’t fight—not from here.

  The two figures stepped out of the effigy’s line of sight, and Raziela let the bucket fall. The loud splash dispelled the vision.

  If the old beliefs were dying, she needed to do something to rekindle the people’s faith. She glanced over her shoulder at the sun. The Great Mother had reasons for everything she did, but as her sole surviving priestess, it was Raziela’s duty to maintain humanity’s faith when she could. How could she do that when she was cut off from them here?

  Raziela abandoned the training field, leaving her weapons lying on the gravel. She could return for them later—if the dryads or zephyrs didn’t take care of them for her first. Kneading her forehead, she walked through the archway into the main courtyard deep in thought. The air smelled faintly of sulfur thanks to the five phoenixes that nested in the fire bowls stacked on pedestals around the pool. Her feet guided her over to the water’s edge. She half-hoped for another glimpse of the Human Realm that would give her some clues about what was happening there.

  To her left, the white gravel path led to the Temple. Should she tell the Goddess about the woman’s prayer for aid? Surely, Naiara was aware of the problem. She’d rushed off for a reason, after all.

  But the prayer had come in after she left. If those people were starving they must have been suffering for a while.

  Food—that was all the woman, Zola, had asked for. What if...? Raziela glanced over her right shoulder toward the arches leading to the orchards and gardens.

  Taking food from the Sacred Grove was forbidden. She knew the punishment for that crime better than most.

  A large insect whizzed by her ear, startling her. She looked up in time to see a dragonfly land on the rim of the stone fire bowl. But just as Keahi—the phoenix that nested there—opened his beak to gobble it down, a second phoenix streaked by, snatching the dragonfly in its beak. Shula darted into the air, cawing her triumph.

  Raziela ducked as an enraged Keahi shot into the air as if he’d been fired from a bow. The two crashed together to form an enormous fireball.

  Talons raked, beaks stabbed, and flaming feathers burned. In mere seconds both birds were reduced to nothing more than ashes on the wind.

  The savage display drew a tight knot in her belly. Even though she’d seen the temperamental birds fight before, their ferocity always stole her breath. They were the guardians of the Sacred Grove for a reason. Between their curved beaks, savage talons, fiery feathers and blurring speed, any human who dared to try sneak past them didn’t stand a chance.

  With five of them constantly circling through their life cycles, at least one was always in a stage of readiness to defend the Sacred Grove if the need arose.

  A black, smoking feather hung off the edge of the nest above her. Its ends curled into ash. It was the feather of a phoenix in its last days of life.

  Fierce and fascinating as they were, they were as vulnerable to illness or injury as any other bird. Keahi and Shula would take over a week before they would hatch. Piroka succumbed to a snake bite two days ago. Only Azar had been newly reborn on schedule.

  For the first time in a long while, four out of the five phoenixes were deep in egg form.

  That left Ryze.

  He squawked hoarsely.

  Biting her lip, Raziela gathered her divided skirts above her knees and stepped onto the ledge of the reflection pool. The pool wasn’t very wide, and a white marble statue stood in the center.

  Taking no care for the stone sirens admiring their strings of pearls in the noonday sun, she climbed over them until she could see into the nearest fire bowl.

  Ryze’s feathers hung limp, a sure sign he was nearing the end of his life. In the other fire bowls, four gold eggs smouldered. The ones for Keahi and Shula were only the size of chicken eggs instead of ostrich-sized like the others, but they were growing before her eyes. The one to her left glowed brightly—Azar. His egg could hatch at any moment. She squinted one eye thoughtfully.

  Even if Azar hatched now, with Ryze nearing the end of his life cycle, none of the birds would be mature enough to guard the Grove for a day at least... Thunder rumbled in the distance. If Naiara’s son, Mazin was awake, it meant there would soon be a storm. Even the phoenixes would take shelter if it rained.

  When the time comes, I know you will not fail me, child.

  She had no intention of failing, but if she was caught... She shivered. Dodging a few lightning bolts would be the least of her worries.

  2.

  Tiny darts of sand flew out of the darkness. The fat grains caught in Castien’s lashes, but he just narrowed his eyes against them to watch his target secure the door to the storage shed.

  Whistling tuneless notes under his breath, the man—Fuller—rattled the padlock in a final test before he turned to go.

  Castien’s hand hovered over the handle of his dagger. He held his breath, waiting for any sign the man’s situ
ational awareness finally tripped his internal alarms. Doubtful. For the better part of two hours he’d wrapped himself in Fuller’s shadow. Not once in all that time had Fuller looked over his shoulder. Not once had he bothered to check if danger might be close.

  His boots shuffled away across the sand to rejoin the rest of the incandescent figures silhouetted against the bonfire in the center of Bulderic’s camp.

  “Ah, there he is! Make room, Sanka! Fuller’s earned a seat by the fire tonight. The store room hasn’t been that full in years!” A large man wearing a faded blue frock coat with the sleeves torn off held out a brown bottle and waved Fuller to a vacant boulder beside him. Fuller accepted the bottle with a good-natured grin and lifted it in a salute.

  “You took me in, Captain. Least I can do is earn my keep.”

  Captain Nayden Bulderic waved his own bottle in a magnanimous sweep to indicate the cluster of people gathered around.

  “With any luck that’ll tide us through the winter. There’s not one of you can cook worth a hair off my arse, but I’ve made peace with the nightmare of seeing all your ugly faces every day, and I expect every last one of them to still be here come spring.” Capt. Bulderic barked a laugh and nudged the ribs of a dark-skinned woman beside him with a wink. Her green bandana came askew as she turned her smiling face up to his.

  “The King’s larder can’t be half as full,” she agreed in a low, melodious voice. “But we’ll have to set a watch. Once those peacocks in Phalyra find out we have it, they’ll come sniffing and begging like dogs.”

  “Them? Come here?” Fuller slapped his knee, sloshing beer across his lap. “Have you heard the stories they tell about us to scare their children at night?” He looked around, but no one responded one way or another, so he puffed out his chest and barreled on. “You’d think we’re as bad as the Shadow Striker the way they carry on. I’d rather chum the water for kraken and go for a swim than face the pictures they paint of ole’ Capt. here and his crew!”

  Bulderic stuck out his jaw to scratch the matted, black hair curling from his chin. He tried not to look too pleased.

  Castien’s gaze slashed from one figure to the next. Every sip of their bottles released more of the tension coiled in his chest.