I reined the stud around. Del and Nayyib mounted quickly and turned as well.
But that was where the storm came from. Behind us before; now ahead. The first faint haze was visible along the horizon, like a wisp of ruffled silk.
"The other way!" I shouted, sinking heels into the stud. Maybe my sense of direction was forever skewed, thanks to– whatever.
We ran, but the wind and sand ran faster. The storm spilled across the land like a vast, rolling wave, filling the sky from horizon to sun. The day grew dark.
"There's no shelter!" Nayyib's voice, pitched to cut through the first whining of the wind.
No. None. In such circumstances the best bet was to put the horses down and use them as shelter. I suspected Nayyib's horse was trained for it, if the kid had grown up on a horse farm in the South; but then Iskandar was up near the border, more soil than sand, and he might not know much about simooms. He probably knew even less about the Punja, though he had made it to Haziz. Probably paid a guide.
No guide could help us now. The leading edge of the storm was very close, collecting gouts of sand as it howled across the land. Del's gelding probably wasn't trained to lie down—I couldn't see anyone taking a blue-eyed white horse into the Punja—and the stud, after his experience earlier in the day, would likely refuse all inducements. We didn't have time to try Nayyib's trick of cross-tying and hobbling legs.
Knowledge flickered deep in my mind. Fear followed swiftly, churning in my belly.
Not me, I said. Don't expect me to do this.
But of course something did. Something inside. Something that had been teased back into awareness with the writings in Umir's book, full of spells, incantations, conjurations. Despite what I'd said, I hadn't quite read it all, but enough. More than enough.
I could build us shelter, the way I had conjured a boat on ioSkandi, to search for Del.
If I didn't do so, we'd likely all die.
Swearing, I reined the stud in. Del and Nayyib hadn't seen me and kept riding. But I had more to think about than when or if they'd realize where I was. I turned the stud loose and swung to face the storm.
It was magnificent and malevolent. Even the sun was shrouded, hazed by the towering storm. By the time I counted to ten on my hands—well, to eight—it would have us.
I went into my head, thinking. Wind was air. It was air that carried sand. Air was the impetus. If the air itself could be used, could be manipulated, I could make us shelter.
I wore no burnous, only dhoti, sandals, harness, and a sword across my back. It was not a jivatma. Was just a sword. But I was a sword-dancer, and in my hands a sword, any sword, could be made to conquer anything.
I unsheathed. Slitted my eyes against wind and sand. Shut the hilt in both hands as firmly as I could and raised the sword. Set the blade into the air over my head. Felt the wind buffet it, sand grains hissing against steel. I closed my eyes, bit into my lip. Even as I stood there, my flesh was abrading. Chest and legs stung.
I heard someone call. Del, then Nayyib. I shut them out.
Dished them away. Made myself alone. Just me—and the simoom.
I saw the spell in my head. Unraveled the words I'd read but days before, comprehending only half of them. I knew the words but not their meanings. I was but a first-level mage, as sword-dancer skill was measured. Full of potential but raw, wild, dangerous.
Abbu Bensir learned that.
We stood no chance unless I surrendered denial and accepted truth. As I had to Del, saying the word. Naming myself.
Mage. Whelped upon a spire in the Stone Forest, weeks away from here.
I gripped the sword, felt two thumbs and four fingers. Four. Slowly brought the blade down, sundering the sky.
The fabric of the storm, the heavy curtain of sand, split apart. Poured around me, roaring. Sand whirled by, carried on wind. But wind was merely air, and I could command it.
Mage I might be, but I was also the Sandtiger, and that I valued more than magic. The greatest sword-dancer legendary Alimat had ever produced. No one, and nothing, could defeat me. Not even a simoom.
Paltry, petty storm. Insignificant.
I grinned into it, knowing no sand would touch my scarred, stubbled face, scour out fragile, gelid eyes. I had parted the simoom, cut through its gritty fabric, shattered gemstones made of crystal, and gave us room to live.
In a matter of moments, the storm, like torn silk, flapped itself into shreds. The curtain of sand fell to the earth. Crystals dulled, then flared anew into dusty sunlight. Haze dissipated. The air began to warm.
The sword was still in my hands, tip set against sand. Slowly, aware of trembling in my arms, I raised it, resheathed it, then turned to see if I was alone.
No. Three horses and two humans. A man and a woman. The latter two knelt on the sand, hands shielding their heads. But slowly the heads raised. The faces opened. Del, whose smile was as odd as it was faint, spat grit out of her mouth. Then she stood up.
"Nicely done," she observed. "That one will come in handy."
Nayyib still knelt, looking dazed as well as windblown. "That was magery?"
Del laughed. "That was Tiger."
I bent, ruffled my hair vigorously to free it of the worst of the sand. Nothing had gotten through once I'd applied myself to cutting open the storm to divert it around us, but we'd gotten a faceful before then. The horses, being horses, not foolish humans, had promptly turned their rumps to the wind. Now they shook violently, banging stirrups and botas against sandy sides. A cloud of fine dust rose from each of them.
I staggered, laughed, cut it off sharply, lest I lose the last shreds of self-control. "Ah, yes, the wonderul sensation of bones turned to water. And one hoolies of a headache." I shut my eyes, pressed the heels of my hands to either side of my head. "Why don't they warn you about this part of it? The book didn't say a word."
Del came to me, put one hand on my arm. "Are you all right?"
"No, but I'll likely survive it." I opened my eyes and looked at her. "Maybe you can put cool cloths on my brow and croon to me, the way Nayyib crooned to the stud. Lay me down, cradle my poor, aching head in your lap, stroke my tender temples, and tell me repeatedly I am a man among men."
Del brushed a rime of sand from my forehead. "I rather think not."
"A mage among mages?"
"No more that than the other."
"Why not?" I asked plaintively. "Didn't I just save your life?"
Del opened her mouth to answer, but Nayyib's voice intruded. "Come look at this!"
Del turned. I took my hands away from my temples. "What?"
He stood several paces away, staring at something. At several somethings, actually: odd, lumpy shapes uncovered by the storm. Simooms swallowed, but they also uncovered.
Del and I walked over. It was a scattered graveyard of wood boards, scoured smooth like gray satin over years of burial and disinterrment. The Punja, goaded by storm, had tossed back one of its victims.
Nayyib knelt, fingering a section of wood. An edge showed, and inches of a flat surface. He locked fingers around it, pulled up with effort. The board broke free, showering sand. Nayyib sat down hastily, then held up the section of wood. "What is it from, do you think?"
I took it from him, studying it. "Looks like part of a wagon." I gestured to the other remnants poking above the sand, like tilted grave markers. "Likely the rest of it is still buried."
"Would it be whole?" Del asked. "If we dug it up?"
Aside from the fact that we couldn't do that, lacking shovels, I doubted it. "It's probably been here for years, bascha. The weight of the sand has broken it apart. We'd only find pieces."
Nayyib feigned deep disappointment. "No treasure?"
"Well, likely borjuni on a raid took everything of value and left the wagon—along with the people in it, I'd assume—or a simoom got them. Either way, there'd be nothing left worth digging for." I tossed the board aside. "For all we know, there could be a whole caravan buried under the sand."