The after­noon is worse.

The wind feels like fire. The sun glows with angry light. Even the clear turquoise sky seems lit with an inner flame, radi­at­ing down heat like the walls of a vast oven.

Nobody says any­thing. Speak­ing takes energy and makes you thirstier.

We walk and walk and walk. Every hour Jaruna shoots the wind astra behind us. Every hour the desert wind swal­lows our trail, bit by bit.

Over the course of the day, the astras form a kind of rhythm. This rhythm, I real­ize, is incred­i­bly impor­tant in the slowed-down world of the desert. Aside from the astras, the only other way to demar­cate the flow of time through the bright, burn­ing hours is the sound of my own breath­ing and plod­ding foot­steps.

 

The sun droops low. In the dis­tance the sharuq glows dusky shim­mer­ing orange against the sky’s blue-violet gra­di­ent.

My dry lips crack when I open my mouth to talk, but I can’t stand the silence any­more. I sidle up closer to Kiddu.

“So what do you think that sand­storm is?” I say. “I’m sick of wait­ing to find out.”

She opens her mouth wide, as if to pro­claim some­thing momen­tous. Then she pauses. Squints her eyes.

“Well?” I say.

“Uh…”

She leans closer to me, at whis­per­ing dis­tance, her mouth wide open.

“What?”

“Ah … ah …”

 

“AHH-CHOOO!”

Her snot comes out in a fine spray all over my neck and chin. She had neglected to hold up her hand.

She stands there grin­ning at me.

“You lit­tle piece of shit,” I say.

“Heh, heh, heh. You should see what your face looks like now.”

“That was over the line. You’re going to pay for that.”

“Ooooooooh.”

I wipe the mucus off on my robe.

In a way though, I’m sort of glad she insti­gated. It feels like we’re kids at the Tem­ple orphan­age again, which helps calm my nerves. And now I have some­thing to occupy my mind as we walk—dreaming up a suit­able revenge.

 

After the Evening Prayer the natives begin set­ting up their tents in a val­ley between two moun­tain­ous dunes. From a dis­tance we watch the tan-robed men assem­ble the tents, some­times clum­sily, often shout­ing at each other, while the blue-robed women all keep clus­tered on one side of the camp.

Kripa and Hat­van even­tu­ally trudge up towards us. They carry a tent and a tent­pole. Word­lessly they plunge the pole into the loose sand and drape the can­vas around it.

“This should be far enough to keep their sin from pol­lut­ing our camp, yes?” says Kripa to his com­pan­ion.

Hat­van just shrugs.

Soon after­wards, Jaruna shows up with a cou­ple of pieces of flat­bread and a hand­ful of half-dried figs. He ush­ers us into the tent, wav­ing aside Kripa’s objec­tions.

“Some food for you,” he says. “I apol­o­gize for not invit­ing you to pray with us. Ayan wished to, but I did not think it was a good idea. You are sup­posed to look like our pris­on­ers, after all.”

Jaruna hands us the food and refills our water flasks with his own. He seems dis­tracted, overwhelmed—I won­der how much expe­ri­ence he actu­ally has as a leader of men.

“I must return to camp,” he says. “Hat­van and Kripa will guard you. But this is only to make sure none of the oth­ers bother you.”

Before I can object, the mys­tic jogs out of the tent and into the night.

A wind blows in from below the tent­flaps, scat­ter­ing sand onto our flat­bread. I brush it off and take a bite. I can’t tell if the crispy tex­ture comes from an inten­tional bak­ing tech­nique or from stal­e­ness. I put a fig in my mouth, mostly to pro­vide some mois­ture.

“Stu­pid Kripa and Hat­van,” Kiddu says. “I don’t even care that they car­ried you out here on a stretcher while you were uncon­scious. Prob­a­bly just fol­low­ing Jaruna’s orders.”

“Heym ammieddm mem mout mehre?”

“Don’t you have any man­ners? Chew with your damn mouth closed!”

I’m sur­prised to learn that Kripa and Hat­van had car­ried me, which is what I wanted to say. But as I chew my dry food into a mushy paste, I get a bet­ter idea.

“Mhmehm!”

“What? Are you chok­ing or some­thing?”

I flail my hands, motion­ing for her to come closer. She leans in—

 

“P’TOOUH!”

The bolus of mealy flat­bread and half-chewed fig flies and plops squarely under her left eye. It sticks against the curve of her cheek for half a sec­ond before she swats it off.

There,” I say. “Now we’re even.”

Kiddu grabs my robe and wipes her face with it, glar­ing.

“For sneez­ing on you? Even my ass. You esca­lated.”

“I did not esca­late! That was a per­fectly rea­son­able vengeance.”

“Ew!” she shrieks. “There’s dried snot on your robe!”

“Whose fault is that?”

She balls up the robe into her fist and then lightning-quick punches it into my stom­ach.

I gasp and cough but man­age to grab her by the wrist. The two of us tum­ble to the ground.

It quickly turns into a fight. Winded and still cough­ing, I roll over onto my stom­ach and try to push myself up. But I’m too slow. Kiddu pounces on my back and wraps her arms around my neck.

The soft inside crook of her elbow squeezes my wind­pipe. I dig my fin­gers under her fore­arm and try to pry it off. But she shifts her weight sud­denly and now both of us roll over on our sides. I don’t know what I’m think­ing, fight­ing back—you can’t really win a fight with a girl. And even if you could, I’d still have a pretty bad track record win­ning fights against Kiddu.

In des­per­a­tion, I flail out my elbow.

“AIIEEEE!”

She releases me and sinks back towards her side of the tent. I get to my knees and spin to face her. She’s clutch­ing her chest.

“That HURTS!” She gasps like she’s out of breath, or about to cry.

“You started it!”

“You cheated! Do you have any idea how sen­si­tive those are?”

I can’t help but start laugh­ing. She starts to move towards me.

I hold up both my hands. “Truce!”

“Never!”

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

 

I turn. Kripa is stand­ing at the tent entrance, glow­er­ing, his over­sized club raised and pointed at me.

“Boy!” the giant native says. “If you can­not con­trol your sis­ter, I will!”

Once again I get the odd feel­ing that we’re back at the orphan­age.

“But we weren’t even doing any­thing,” I say.

“And also, we’re not brother and sis­ter,” Kiddu says. “Why does every­one think that? We don’t even look any­thing alike.”

It’s hard to see Kripa’s face. The warrior’s hulk­ing shadow blocks almost all the dim light from out­side. He stands there for a few moments and then leaves us, fling­ing the tent­flap down behind him.

I cough. Kiddu choked me pretty bad. We spread out on oppo­site sides of the tent as much as we can.

“Alright,” I say. “We’re even now. Seri­ously, truce?”

“What­ever you say, Gilly boy.”

Nev­er­the­less, I force myself to stay awake until I hear her snor­ing.

 

I’m hav­ing a dream that I’m back in the Tem­ple on Nabuk Street. Chas­ing Kiddu up the stairs.

With dream logic I real­ize the stairs aren’t quite right. They’re curved around but the real Temple’s stairs are straight.

Oh well. I fol­low her up and up. Not sure why I’m fol­low­ing, exactly. She’s wear­ing her short dress that shows off her legs. I look up and can see almost all the curve of her thigh…

I wake up, with­out wak­ing up. The vague­ness of the dream’s set­ting and expe­ri­ence slough away, and the world becomes real and solid.