Braid of Sand Page 7

  A dry wind blew another spray of sand into his face. He swore at the brown cloud sweeping toward him like a curtain concealing the backdrop on a theater stage. It was moving faster than it had first appeared. Already the entire city was cut off from him by the dun-colored cloud. It was heading straight toward him.

  Castien swallowed. Dirt flavored each breath of air he took in. He coughed until his eyes watered.

  Naiara knew he was there. If she was coming because of him, he suspected this time she meant to bury him.

  The wind picked up force, bearing down on him as if it wanted to grind him into the dust it was blasting across the barren land. Dragging the neck of his jerkin up to cover his nose, he scanned the hillside for a place to shelter. He frowned at the sky where the dust reduced the blazing sun into a white disc no more blinding than a lamp.

  “If there is any mercy in you, Great Mother, give me sanctuary.”

  Once, sanctuary had been granted to all who asked of it within the temple walls. Even the King’s guards were forbidden from following a person inside once the sanctuary had been given. The building might be gone, but the ground was still hallowed.

  Castien was willing to play by the old rules. Would the Goddess?

  In answer, the wall of billowing dust slammed into him like a tidal wave striking the shore. His boots slid on the rocky ground as the storm herded him toward the side of the cliff. With one hand he tried to drag his hood over his eyes. With the other, he held his scarf over his mouth. Another gust knocked him backward and his foot stepped off into empty air.

  The storm gathered him in its teeth to see how many pieces it could tear out of him before he hit the ground.

  7.

  By the time Raziela sprinted through the courtyard to the Temple, she was soaking wet, shivering, and looking forward to sinking into the heated pools in the caves below.

  That was where she preferred to bathe. There was a large wooden tub in her room, but her hair outgrew it ages ago and the wide pool gave her plenty of room to spread out.

  Steam rose from the water’s surface, tickling her skin in invitation when she reached the edge of the pool. Each step into the warm water eased more stiffness from her aching limbs. She paused when the water rose to just under her neck and moaned her satisfaction as she tipped her head back to watch the reflection of the ripples dancing on the stone ceiling.

  Rolling her head from side to side, she tried to relieve some of the tension coiled between her shoulder blades. The gorget restricted how far she could tilt her head in any direction, but now that her hair was wet, she didn’t dare take it off in case she couldn’t lift her head without the extra support.

  Her arms were too tired to contort behind her to massage the tension along her spine. Closing her eyes, she sank into the thick ribbon of her hair as it wound around her like a giant snake. Watching the ripples reflect off the cave ceiling, her mind refused to be still.

  Vitales was dying. Raziela would never use a word as unflattering as fear to refer to the Great Mother, but with the Sacred Tree fading and her insistence that Raziela be prepared, something must have happened to set her on her guard. She only wished the Great Mother would confide in her.

  Outside, a crack of thunder rumbled, echoing Raziela’s mood.

  A stream of bubbles tickled the soles of her feet until she giggled and curled her toes. Seconds later, a green head broke the surface behind her.

  “Gursel! You know I hate it when you do that!” She skimmed her palm across the surface and sent a sheet of water gushing toward the water creature. He blinked his bulbous frog eyes and let the water slap against his green-gray skin. He kept the lower half of his face beneath the surface, partly because his gills needed to remain submerged for him to breathe, partly because she understood his bubble speech better underwater—but mostly because he knew Raziela was disturbed by his double row of short, sharp teeth.

  A fountain of bubbles gurgled from his mouth. Raziela sank until both her ears were submerged to hear him.

  “Your mind bubbles drift.” In the early days of their friendship, they’d relied on miming their conversations to one another. Some of those early attempts still colored Gursel’s speech.

  “That’s nothing new.” Raziela gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I know all there is to know about this place. What else is there to do but dream about the other realms and what it’s like out there?”

  She’d never managed to learn how to speak his language, and even though he understood her most of the time, she often forgot to keep her sentences short and simple when she was upset.

  Situated on either side of his head, Gursel’s eyes moved independently of each other. He tilted his head to one side, studying her but also checking out a small splash in the center of the pool where a large fish had broken the surface.

  “Your current flows beyond the horizon.”

  It was difficult enough to decipher the meaning in the bloops and gurgles and water imagery that made up his speech that Raziela rarely bothered to decipher their tone, but his sadness was unmistakable.

  “This is my home.” She reached out to touch his bony shoulder. His skin was hard and ridged like the body of a seahorse. The fins along the top of his head fanned upright at her touch, and he let out a startled burble.

  “There is enough salt in the sea, Land Fish.” He traced a path along the curve of her cheek where a tear—if she was crying (which she was not!)—might fall.

  “A seagull will find no happiness beneath the waves. He only uncovers misery the deeper he goes. Here you are worth more than the rarest pearl.” One instant he was there and the next, a mighty swish of his powerful arms sent him darting deep into the dark water.

  Before Raziela could wonder if their strange conversation was over, he popped back to the surface. Between his webbed hands he clutched something that glowed softly.

  “For you. From my garden.”

  He held it out to her and Raziela gasped at the large milky pearl he’d set into a hair pin made of coral.

  There was an entire civilization deep beneath the surface where the sea people lived. Gursel forged weapons for his people, but in his free time, he tended a vast garden of oysters and created beautiful jewelry from the pearls they bore.

  When he saw how much she admired his work, he started bringing her pieces as tokens of his friendship. So far, her favorite had been a coral headdress studded with rose-colored pearls. Unfortunately, the weight of the headdress in addition to her hair meant she couldn’t wear it. She displayed it in her room though, an incomparable treasure beyond worth.

  The hair pin he presented to her was done in the same style. Waves and starfish were his signature.

  “Gursel, it’s beautiful! There must be something I can give you in return.”

  The spines along his forearms lifting in agitation. Raziela slapped the water, equally impatient.

  “You’ve given me too much. You must let me give you something back.”

  He drifted closer and held out the hairpin once more. He said nothing as he slid it into the hair twisted above her right ear. She tried to turn her head to give him better access, but her gorget hindered her range of movement. His spines fanned again when she cringed.

  “It bothers you?”

  “No. It’s perfect.”

  A stream of bubbles issued from his mouth at her blatant lie. He leaned forward to inspect the fit of her gorget. His hands were cold and clammy as they touched the base of her jaw to tilt her head this way and that.

  “Before the next high tide I will create a new one with a better fit.”

  It was Raziela’s turn to blow a jet of bubbles in frustration. While she appreciated the gorget, she resented the need for it.

  Each morning she fastened the bronze gorget behind her neck, the click of the clasp was like a manacle. She knew no units across any language of gods and men that could measure just how much she resented it.

  She forced a smile and opened her mouth to thank him, bu
t he swam away again. With a new piece to design, this time she knew he was not coming back.

  Tired of swimming, she washed herself with the bars of lavender-scented soaps the dryads left on a ledge for her. Just as they were charged with taking care of Mazin, they provided for all of her everyday needs. At times, Raziela felt like a doll they took turns dressing up and surrounding with toy furniture. Patronizing as it was, she was in no position to complain.

  She waded out of the pool and climbed the rocks to the small promontory that jutted over the water. If she was careful, she could keep her hair from touching the stones until she made her way to the edge. Swinging her legs over the end, she sat and braided the impossible length. It was tedious work, made worse by the weight dragging on her neck despite the gorget.

  In her earliest days, when it was a more manageable length, she created elaborate coils and twists to pass the time. But there came a point when her hair grew too long and the task of undoing all those tiny braids became more trouble than it was worth.

  Now, she had perfected the art of twisting two coils back from her temples to enclose the rest in a long, single braid. To her weary arms, the thirty-foot braid felt over a mile long.

  When she was done, she gathered the rope it created and looped it several times around her waist and then over her arm. That kept the ends from trailing the ground and collecting dust.

  By that point, her body was dry, but it would take hours for her braids to stop dripping. So, she climbed the spiral staircase all the way to her room and crossed to the large arched window that looked out over the orchards. Mazin had worn himself out while she’d been bathing, and a blazing sunset bled its colors across the sky in the wake of his tears.

  She unwound her hair from her body and tossed it out the window where the last rays of the sun could dry it along with the breeze.

  That done, she moved to the trunk at the end of her bed and changed out of her wet training gown into a nightdress. She chose her favorite pale aquamarine one that reminded her of the heated pools.

  The gown was a simple floor-length design with two strips of fabric that draped from both shoulders to the back of her knees. The dryads preferred more antiquated designs than the fashion she remembered from Phalyra. She enjoyed the way the soft silk rippled around her feet when she walked.

  A tug on her braid made her stagger. Ouch!

  Aeris must have blown it into the treetops again. That was his typical idea of a joke. It would be an ordeal to pull it free again. She was just reaching for her shawl to brave his antics when a violent yank jerked her off her feet.

  She slid across the floor until her back slammed against the base of the window. The weight on her braid was so heavy she expected her scalp to tear right off her skull.

  Tears blurred her vision as the fine hairs at the base of her neck ripped free. She gritted her teeth until she thought her jaw would pop. Straining with everything that she had, she managed to twist enough to plant her foot against the window and wind her hair around her arm to haul against the weight trying to pull her out of the Tower.

  Though she was panting against the pain and the pressure that had nearly snapped her neck, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and managed not to cry out.

  Someone was climbing her hair—using it like a rope! She twisted as best she could to look for a weapon. A decorative short sword with a mother of pearl handle was propped beside her dressing table—another gift from Gursel. She snatched it in a wild grab with her left hand. She couldn’t afford to release her hair with her right.

  Her intruder grunted as he neared the ledge. Everything inside her went still as soon as his broad hand grasped the edge of the sill.

  She gathered her braid around her, tightened her grip on her sword, and waited for him to appear.

  8.

  The moment his head rose over the ledge, she sprang. Looping the slack in her braid around his throat, a swift upward jerk drew it taught. The breath hissed out of him in surprise.

  His feet slipped on the outer wall and his sudden full weight jerked her off balance. Her hip bone slammed into the ledge, and tears squeezed from her eyes. She had to lock her legs to keep from folding all the way over the sill and tumbling out.

  Bound to him in a tangle of limbs and hair, her ambush turned into a mutual scramble for survival. Unable to fight the pressure on his windpipe and keep his hold on the ledge, her intruder spun to embrace the three-story plunge, aware that if he fell he’d be taking her with him.

  Snaking her arm beneath his elbow to lay her sword against the side of his neck, Raziela dragged his body back against hers. By the gods, he was heavy!

  Panting, she hauled him into the tower. As she dragged his legs over the sill, a buzz of alarm filled her chest. If she let him gain his footing, he would tower over her!

  “How many of you are there?”

  Though it might have been counterproductive for getting answers, she pulled the braid tighter across his windpipe so he knew she was the one in control.

  Rather than struggle, he went perfectly still.

  “Get it over with if you’re going to do it.”

  The deep timber of his voice vibrated through her. It was the first time in decades another human had spoken to her. But that one startled moment it took her to make that realization was all the opening he needed.

  His left arm shot straight up. Her braid, still wound around his wrist from the climb, jerked Raziela’s head to the side so hard she nearly fell. Her sword skimmed across the back of his neck, but he ducked under it so that he only parted with a thin layer of skin.

  He swung to face her and surged to his feet.

  Raziela danced out of his reach.

  She was right. He was much taller than she was.

  Regaining her balance, she brought her sword up with both hands. He backed into the ledge, but there was nowhere for him to go but down. Realizing it the same moment she did, raised his hands on either side of his face.

  Even though he wasn’t resisting, his very stillness was a threat. One wrong move and he would be on her. His dark eyes raked her from head to toe, probing for weaknesses he could exploit.

  Blood thundered in her temples. She was panting, but he stayed so still she wondered if he was holding his breath.

  “You fight like a coward.” Raziela massaged the muscles at the base of her skull. Her right arm shook so that the point of the sword wavered.

  With a ripple of movement that sent alarm crashing through her, his head rocked back in an exaggeration of disbelief.

  “No. I fight like a man with a sword aimed at his throat.”

  She should shove him back out of the window. Something in his posture set her teeth on edge. Though he was wary of the weapon she had trained on him, she couldn’t detect an ounce of fear.

  “How did you get here?” She took a step forward, aiming her sword at his collarbone. He didn’t flinch, and faint amusement radiated from him.

  Raziela couldn’t hold still. She was practically pulsing with shock. Finally something was happening!

  Taking a half-step to the right, she lifted her chin to peer out the window. She couldn’t see the space right below her from that vantage point, and she wasn’t going to risk getting too close to him for a better look. If more were coming, she’d find out soon enough. She leveled a glare at him.

  “Who are you?”

  The heel of a dagger peeked from the sheath at his waist. He hadn’t reached for it yet. Why not?

  His features were concealed by his deep hood and the scarf wound around the lower half of his face. A thin layer of tan dust coated his skin revealed by the black jerkin he wore.

  “I won’t ask again. Who are you?” She raised the sword before he could open his mouth. “Show me your face!”

  He waited just long enough to let her know he was indulging her curiosity and not obeying the command. Keeping his hands where she could see them, he removed his hood.

  It seemed to happen in slow motion. />
  A soft shower of sand shook out of his hair as the material slid back and bared the black strands to the light. Then came his broad forehead and thick, arching brows that were drawn together like conspirators hatching their next plan. His black eyes glittered above his wide nose and sculpted mouth.

  Every warning bell inside her clanged. The Shadow Striker!

  He studied her with equal intensity. She could practically hear his mind running through the various means he could use to subdue her and casting them each away as not being worth the effort he’d have to exert. His eyes traced the broad oval of her face, down the slope of her neck beneath the gorget, to her long fingers wrapped around the sword hilt. Then, they traveled back up her arms to follow the line of her braid down, and down, and down...

  She saw the moment he realized that what he had used to climb the tower was her hair and not a rope. He blinked and one eyebrow rose.

  While she stood frozen in a fierce debate over whether to just kill him or hear him out, he surveyed her chamber with a slow sweep of his head. There was no urgency in his perusal, merely a careful cataloguing of everything he saw. His attention lingered on the headdress of rose pearls displayed on the dresser before flicking back to her face.

  “So which is it, angel? Paradise or the Shadow Realm? Honestly, I thought when I got here it’d be easier to tell the difference.”

  His flippant tone jolted her out of her shock. She glared a warning, but after careful consideration lowered her sword.

  “You’re not dead.” Yet. She swept her arms wide in sarcastic welcome. “This is the Realm of the Gods. You’re in the Great Mother’s Garden.”