Sand and Bone

Chapter 28: Smoke and Honor

The desert promises someone in white will approach when needed.

—Desert proverb

After a night of barely sleeping in the dark, Rutejìmo had found a second wind. Or was it his third, or maybe fourth? The entire day passed with him able to run without stumbling or faltering, though he knew he would be paying for his sprint when he stopped again. At a mid-day oasis, he risked stopping for fresh water and ended up leaving a bloody smear near the water's edge when he slipped. When the clan protecting the oasis offered to give him shelter, he had respectfully turned them down and started running again.

Chasing Shimusògo also pushed away the fear and agony. He sank deeper into the run than he ever had before and lost himself in the euphoria of the wind rushing against his face, the peppering of sand and rock, and the steady drumming of his feet on solid ground.

His own worry focused on the end of the day, when his powers faded with sunlight. He had been staring at the sun for the last few hours, wishing that Tachìra would halt in his daily descent.

Rutejìmo's desire had no sway over the sun spirit, and it continued to sink toward the horizon. Even though it was bright outside, despair darkened his thoughts and the world behind him.

He scanned the horizon as he looked for a place to stop for the night. Avoiding landmarks made it easier, he could stop anywhere, but he wanted to find a low outcropping to hide against or a rocky valley where he could use the alchemical flame without lighting up the darkness. A warm meal and a place to shield his back were his only needs just now.

Rutejìmo was afraid of the dark, and nothing in his life had eased that pain. Terrible monsters crawled the desert when the sun was down. There were also the night clans. Even though he had served them as frequently as the day, his clan was of the sun and very few saw beyond the bright red and orange of the Shimusògo before drawing their weapons.

Coming up along one ridge, he spotted a low-rising rock in the distance, about six miles away in the middle of a large wash of sand snaking between two rocky plains.

Rutejìmo whispered a prayer of thanks to Shimusògo and Mifúno before sprinting forward.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he came to a sliding stop near the rocks. The wind of his passing blasted past him, continuing up the dune before raining sand down in a wide pattern. The hiss of his stop was almost comforting.

He straightened and stretched. The aches had already returned. His arms and legs burned from running, and his injuries prickled along his skin. Gingerly, he touched his nose and winced at the flash of pain.

Shaking his head, he inspected the rock and was happy to find it would suffice for the night. He unslung his bag and knelt to open it.

Movement caught the corner of his eye. Tensing, he gripped the hilt of his tazágu and turned to look.

Twin columns of smoke rose in the distance, maybe twenty miles away. His heart sank as he saw the yellow and white swirling around each other. He closed his eyes before opening them again, hoping his services weren't needed.

The smoke remained in the sky, lazily rising in two hazy lines that pointed down to where he saw a swirl of dust and a hint of movement.

Rutejìmo choked back a sob. He couldn't take another night of rituals. Staying up all night only wore down his reserves, and he didn't think he had much more. He had to get home and warn the others, to save his family from Kosòbyo's attack.

Groaning, he stood up. He was also a kojinōmi and one of the few in the area. There would be no one else to tend to the dead. This close to home, he probably knew the clan in need. It was his duty, despite his fear and exhaustion.