He nodded.
Tessa almost smiled before she turned and walked away with her head up and shoulders straight. She went in the direction of the watchtower where she would probably try to sneak up on whoever was on watch. Gray watched for a while, thinking over her words again.
He turned to walk in the direction of the only water in the drylands. It was a small seep on the far side of the desert, a half day’s walk in the general direction of Fleming. Tomorrow he’d track the triad, then continue on.
But he paused, his eyes alert. Every year the watchers removed the shrubs of any size from the floor of the desert in front of the canyon to help them see. However, one of the larger remaining greasewoods grew only a few steps away. The straight end of a hardwood pole protruded from near the roots. The pole was free of branches, roots, and bark. It was the end of a staff.
There was room for Stinson to lie down behind the greasewood plants and eavesdrop on the conversation between Tessa and himself. Without thinking or planning, Gray spun his staff and drew it behind his shoulder as if throwing a javelin. He let it fly at the center of the greasewood.
The staff penetrated the scrawny branches as if they were made of fog. The end struck, and a yowl of pain filled the air. Stinson climbed to his feet, his right arm cradling his left. “What’d you do that for?”
“You’re supposed to be on point.”
“Lighten up. You know that triad is probably dead by dark, and they’re way ahead of us. You really hurt me!”
Gray calmly walked to Stinson as if he was going to examine the injury and apologize. However, when he drew close, he reached out, grabbed Stinson’s shirt, and pulled him closer. “Another triad may be following the first. We’re on a mission for the family. Disobey me again and you will get worse.”
“You know I’m going to tell them about this. The whole family. You’ll be sorry.”
Gray picked up his staff and examined it for damage, then moved closer to Stinson, again. Stinson backed a step, but Gray still advanced. “Let’s get one thing straight between us. You said at my cabin that you wanted to talk when we got out here in the drylands. You said we’d see who is in charge, that you’re bigger, and faster. Well, here we are. Talk.”
Stinson’s eyes flicked from one side to the other, looking for an escape.
The right end of Gray’s staff shot out and struck Stinson’s left elbow, on the injured arm, a short jab that struck with a hollow sound. Stinson screamed in pain. It probably hurt, but Gray had the impression the reaction was way more than the blow demanded. Even while hurt, he’s playing with me.
The staff shot out again. This time, the scream seemed genuine. Gray waited until it subsided and said in a calm voice, “I am in charge. You have refused to obey my orders for the last time before I kill you.”
“I’m telling the council . . .”
The words fell on deaf ears. Gray was already walking deeper into the drylands. Stinson could return and tell the council, but he’d never catch up if he did, and that was all right. Or he could follow, and that too was all right, but perhaps not as much.
As Gray took the first steps alone, he noticed a tiny splash of color fifty steps away, in the direction where Tessa had vanished. The same color she wore. Had she waited and watched the incident? Maybe she had spotted the staff behind the bushes before he had. It would be like her to watch and see what happened. Another test.
But Gray let his eyes move away and look ahead, planning his route while knowing danger lay ahead. He welcomed the challenge. The pace he set was fast, but he needed to improve his body. As if with a mind of its own, his staff moved from the first practice attack move to the second. Clumsy. Tessa was right, he needed more practice.
Gray reached back into memory and pulled out the training he’d had as a child and young man. He started with the most basic moves. Twice he dropped his staff, a mistake few of the Dragon Clan ever made. Each poor move made him more ashamed of his lack of abilities.
Although he’d already traveled far from Oasis, he couldn’t help peering around at the nearby rocks and shrubs to make sure Tessa was not watching his inept moves.
A single glance behind held no trace of Stinson. Getting rid of him had been easier than anticipated. Stinson would no doubt go back to Oasis and complain about him to the council. The council might not be pleased that Gray had managed to send him back so soon, but the action might also earn him a measure of respect. Gray began to hum a cheerful song as he fought his way through the deep desert sand. Pausing to take a long drink, he finally allowed himself a measure of pride.
CHAPTER THREE
The soft sand of the drylands pulled at his feet with each step. Gray fought for each. He drained a full bottle of water well before reaching the area with the little cave and the water seep. If it was dry, he still had enough water to reach a stream on the other side of the flatlands, but it was a long, hard walk. Almost as hard as returning to his family without completing his objective.
Gray climbed a rise and spotted the cave located in a small, protected depression. As Tessa had told them, it was not really a cave, but a hollowed out portion of a waist-high ridge. Wind and water had left a shelter large enough to sleep inside, and water trickled from between two rocks and disappeared into the sand at the base.
He placed his empty water bottle under the drip. Each time it filled half way he turned it up to his lips and let the water refresh him. After four times he let it fill to the top. A small pile of firewood, mostly sticks smaller around than his thumb, lay sheltered at one end of the cave. Emergency supplies. A glance at the sun told him he had a while left before dark.
The handful of nuts, dried fruit, and slivers of dried meat that he allowed himself for dinner was almost gone when Stinson staggered into sight. He limped, held his left arm with his right hand, and his legs looked so loose he might fall with any step. The torn knee on his pant leg told the tale that he already had taken at least one fall.
When he slipped to the ground in front of the water as if another step was too much, Gray snapped, “Where’s your staff?”
“I couldn’t carry it. My arm hurts too much from where you hit me.”
With Stinson, it was always about what others did. It was never his fault. Gray sat looking at him in disgust, not offering help of any sort. I wish he had gone back to Oasis.
“I’d have my staff if you didn’t attack me for no reason.” He reached to fill his water jug from the flow.
Gray slapped it out of his hand, not caring if the clay jar broke. “Go home.”
Stinson broke down and cried. He lifted both hands to cover his eyes as he wailed and moaned, but Gray saw no pain or hesitation in the arm he’d struck with the staff. He had no doubt that it was painful, but Stinson was still playing him.
“I need water or I’ll die.”
Gray glanced at the other bottles Stinson carried and realized they were all empty. Stinson had drunk two full days’ worth of water in one afternoon. And still, he wanted more. “Listen to me. I’ll make my water last all day tomorrow and the day after. I will not share any of mine. Beginning tomorrow, you will need to survive on three jars for two full days. Today you finished off enough water to last two days.”
“I knew there was water here. Tessa said so.”
“If this seep was dry and I had already continued on?”
“It isn’t dry.”
The leering smile was back again. Gray decided to let the matter slide while knowing a similar lack of judgment on Stinson’s part could cost both of them their lives. However, getting into a debate over it would resolve nothing. Survival is often about what to do if the original plan does not work. Gray wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and slipped into the opening that was large enough for one.