Shifting Sand

Chapter 2:

Chapter 2:

Nine years later

Cassian jumped backward, landing on the balls of his feet, balanced with the practice sword high over his head. Mano, a seasoned warrior, advanced, just as Ichiro, a recruit not yet trained enough to go on raids, rushed from the other side. Mano was the bigger threat, so Cassian focused on that opponent. Cassian’s blade—a wrapped bundle of straw—struck out at Mano, slowing the man’s attack. That gave Cassian a few seconds to spin to the left, just in time to block a thrust from Ichiro. Cassian retreated again.

The sun beat down on the exposed skin of his chest and neck, burning the outside while his muscles blazed on the inside. His whole body felt worn and weakened. Still, he pushed on, looking for some way to win. Though the other two worked in tandem, Ichiro’s inexperience allowed Cassian the upper hand. All he had to do was keep out of Mano’s range.

Unfortunately, Ichiro possessed an awareness of his lack of skill. He hung back, allowing Mano to strike again. Gaius save me, Cassian thought. Despite the odds slightly in his favor, he was sure to fail.

He danced to the side, his feet quick as the sandstorm’s wind. Spry and lean, he was faster than almost anyone he fought.

Cassian raised his sword and smacked it at Ichiro. The man moved back, his own sword blocking Cassian’s swing. If Cassian had two blades—a sword and a knife, like Yashiv favored—he would be able to end this sooner, but the conditions for this spar was only one weapon.

He felt more than saw Mano advance from the right. Cassian pivoted on his foot, meeting the man before he could sneak up. Mano anticipated the move and had his sword already in motion. Cassian’s body fell into its path on his own accord. The woven straw whipped into Cassian’s side, bruising the skin instantly. Cassian hissed at the pain, and dropped his sword to the ground.

Applause broke out around them. Mano took two steps forward and threw an arm around Cassian’s neck. The man laughed heartily. “You okay, Master?”

Cassian returned the smile. “It stings like a snake bite. How does such an old man have so much power?”

Mano pulled Cassian with him as the observers gathered around to congratulate them. Ichiro fell in on Cassian’s other side, a satisfied grin on his lips.

“Well done, Ichiro,” Cassian praised. “You’re learning quickly.”

The boy—Cassian thought of him as a boy, even though he was only one year younger—bowed his head at the compliment. Ichiro willingly joined the warriors when his father had died in a raid, three years ago. It was an unorthodox situation, but Cassian had allowed it. Ichiro still had at least two more years of training before he could be used in combat. “Thank you, Master. Mano is an excellent teacher.”

Mano waggled a finger at the other soldier. “Don’t try to butter me up with compliments, Ichiro. It will only make me go harder on you the next time.”

The two stopped and had a playful argument while Cassian continued forward toward Yashiv.

His bodyguard still stood taller than him, but Cassian had caught up a bit as he grew. The top of his head hit Yashiv’s shoulder; he was sure he’d grow more in another year.

“Let me see your side,” Yashiv said without preamble.

Cassian grimaced. “It’s fine, Yashiv. Not the worse hit I’ve taken.”

The guard fingered Cassian’s side and inspected the welt that likely rested there. “I’ll get some salve from Jenna. It’ll take away the sting.”

“It’s fine,” Cassian repeated, but knew it would do no good. The guard liked to make a fuss. Yashiv held out Cassian’s tunic and Cassian slipped the garment on. “Walk me to my room?”

Yashiv nodded, more a bow, and fell in step with Cassian.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Cassian called to the gathered soldiers. They gave a cheer, then returned to their activities.

“You did well today,” Yashiv said as they walked past the soldiers’ tents toward the main street of the camp. “You’re improving.”

Cassian laughed. “I’m not any better, Yashiv, and you know it. I think we just need to accept that my hands aren’t suited to the sword.” In fact, his fingers would rather be weaving. It was a skill much more to his liking.

“You need to keep practicing.”

“I will.”

The daily spars with the soldiers gave Cassian a chance to get fresh air and exercise. He enjoyed their company and being included within their group. Though they remained formal on all occasions, it was the closest thing to comradery that Cassian had. Ever since he took his father’s place as Master, an invisible wall had separated him from the rest of the clan members. They looked at him with awe in their eyes, as if he were Gaius made flesh.

The soldier camp ended, leading to the worker’s straw huts. Children ran through the streets, shirking their chores, or else indulging in some rare free time. Within the clan, they made use of every person, no matter how small. Usually, the young ones were charged with watching after the animals, an important task. The clan supported nearly a thousand people, and their animals ensured survival among the harsh dunes of the desert.

Some of the children ran up to Cassian and Yashiv, asking questions or wishing them a good morning. One girl, probably five-years-old, held tight to Cassian’s hand and walked beside them. He smiled down at her until her mother came and peeled her tiny fingers away. She cried and pouted. Cassian ruffled her hair, adding to the messy state it was already in. That lifted her spirits and she willingly went back with her mother.

After the grass huts came the newer clay buildings, built within the last five years. These were homes for the craftsmen and women, as well as the elders. Several of the structures were workshops for weavers, blacksmiths, and armorers. The clan had several different legal endeavors that brought in income. Raiding the king’s caravans brought about more.

Mixed among the buildings were animal pens. Stables for the camels. Chicken coops, with guard dogs stationed by the entrance. There was even a large area blocked off by a high, wooden fence where the yaks were kept. The large animals aided with the planting and harvesting of the few crops they could grow in this harsh climate.

Naturally, the smell of manure was strong here, with so many animals together. The stench would lessen if the animals were moved to the outskirts, but Cassian didn’t allow it. Neither had his father. Their animals were too important to be left so vulnerable, so those who lived in this area put up with the pungent odor.

The camp was mostly self-sufficient, only venturing to the city to trade for spices they could not grow. This was how all the desert tribes lived. They scorned the city—a quarter’s day ride northwest of them—and the pitiful king who ruled there.

Here, in the center of the camp, people milled about. Most bowed as he passed, or greeted him with smiles. For some reason Cassian couldn’t fathom, they loved him. It was evident in the way they showered him with gifts—new silk tunics in vivid colors, fragrant perfumes of sage or lavender, gold rings for his fingers. He tried to give back as much as he got, but it was difficult as he was one person and they were many.

“Can I bathe before I meet with the elders?” Cassian asked Yashiv as they crossed the Flat in front of his family home. A line of worshippers was waiting to bow before the statues of Gala and Gaius, leaving flowers or small trinkets. Cassian prayed daily, but hardly had time to bow before the statues and offer his thanks more formally. As a child, his mother had taken him almost every day to offer sandpin flowers that grew on the bushes all around the camp. He’d have to do it soon.

“You have time,” Yashiv informed him.

Cassian looked up at his looming bodyguard. The man had not left his side once since the attack that had killed Cassian’s parents nine years ago. Yashiv had easily adapted into the role of companion and assistant, closest friend and confidant. And somewhere in those years spent together, Cassian’s feelings for the large man had also morphed into something deeper. Not many people got to see the aspects of Yashiv that Cassian did. The large man had a gentle side, caring and sweet.

For the past six months, Cassian tried to work up the courage to express his feelings. Yashiv had never shown any interest in another person besides Cassian, had never spoken of lovers or even potential lovers. That gave hope to the seed inside Cassian’s heart. With so much devotion from the guard, Cassian imagined his feelings could be returned. He just wished he wasn’t such a coward in that regard.

Right before Cassian pulled aside the mat over the opening to his house, a rush of footfalls sounded behind him. He spun, looking at a group of five soldiers approaching. They bowed to him quickly, but the leader spoke before completing the sign of respect.

“A caravan approaches,” she said. Cassian recognized Perla, one of the female warriors. Her long hair was pulled back into two tails gathered by her ears. Her near-black eyes gazed at Cassian, competent and capable. She was an Aquila, a leader of her own squadron of soldiers.

“Mount up,” Cassian commanded. “We will go investigate.”

Perla nodded, turned on her heels, and headed toward the stables. Her group trailed after. Cassian made to follow, but Yashiv caught his arm.

“No, Master.”

“Yashiv—”

“No,” he repeated. “It’s not safe.”

Cassian sighed, placing his hand atop Yashiv’s and adding a little pat. “You can’t keep coddling me. I’ve been on raids before. I’ll go on raids again. You said we had time.”

Yashiv pulled his hand away from Cassian, his stoic face showing hints of anger by the tightening of his eyes. “You need to think of what’s best for the clan. I know you chafe at the restrictions, but we need you. To risk your life needlessly is foolish.”

“I’m not risking my life. I only want to go for a nice ride among the dunes.” Cassian flashed a grin.

The guard didn’t return the smile. “No,” he repeated.

This happened too often. Yashiv sometimes forgot that Cassian was no longer a child. Yashiv was correct that Cassian did have responsibilities to the clan, but he couldn’t hide in the hidden pit either. As their leader, he needed to set an example, and that included sometimes taking risks.

“I didn’t ask permission, Yashiv,” Cassian said. “You’re welcome to come along, if you’d like.”

The guard growled, but inclined his head in deference. Cassian often wondered who was really in charge.

Cassian ran after Perla, catching up at the stable door. The clan had horses and camels in plentiful supply, but the horses would be quicker if they needed a fast retreat. The smell of hay and hair assaulted Cassian’s nose. The stalls were cleaned daily, so the stench wasn’t unpleasant, just sharp. These animals were treated as well as the people; their needs met and exceeded. The clan wouldn’t survive without the use of horses for raids and the camels for towing the wagons to the city’s markets.

Perla’s warriors, about fifteen in number, were already saddling their mounts, attaching rope harnesses over the horses’ muzzles.

“Who spotted the caravan?” Cassian asked as he selected a horse from the few that were left. He picked a light brown mare, named Feray; he was partial to this animal because she was calm and stout. Like his sword skills, his riding abilities weren’t the best.

“Maarav was on patrol to the south and saw the dust from the wheels. He went closer to see and spotted a cluster of ten wagons flying the king’s sigil on their flags.”

“Ten wagons? That’s more than usual.”

Perla nodded and secured the leather straps around her horse’s flank. “That means it’s probably something worth taking, Master.”

“I agree. How far out are they?”

“Three schoeni to the south. Probably closer to one now.”

“Take the lead,” he told her. “I will follow.”

She bowed, laying a fisted hand at her heart. Then she mounted her beast and called for her warriors to follow. They rushed from the stable, a stampede of hooves.

“Please rethink this,” Yashiv said, leading his own horse to Cassian’s side.

Instead of answering, Cassian leapt onto Feray’s back, grasping the rope of her harness in steady hands.

Yashiv had no choice but to do likewise, or be left behind. He chose the former. Cassian gave a soft kick to his horse’s side and she ran after the others.