Empire of Sand

My hands shook as I used them to guide the sand up into the air, rotating it in a circular pattern and creating a sand devil amidst the oppressive summer heat; that’s what people called us when they antagonized us- sand devils. The true name for people who could do what I did was a sand splitter: we could move and control the sand.

I grunted as I fought for control, feeling it sift away through my fingers. Like anything else, sand splitting required precision honed through hours of training and practice. I was fortunate to have an experienced guide like my brother, Mayven, who was six years older than I. Mayven had been taught by our father. Dad died when I was five.

I cursed and let the sand fall, scraping my sweating palms against my pant legs. The day was hot and dry, and the crows circled overhead, certain to find something dead if they persisted long enough. Mayven stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips and his dark eyes surveying me. I waited for his feedback, feeling smaller than an ant.

“Good job,” he said.

I waited. He stared off into the horizon.

“Good job? That’s it? You aren’t going to yell at me?”

He smirked.

“Not this time. I’ve got other things on my mind.”

I walked over to the fallen tree trunk to my left and perched on it, enjoying the small amount of shade provided by the trees above.

“The Trials?”

He met my gaze and nodded. I waved him over to where I sat and he joined me there, each of us staring out at the expansive fields. The rolling hills were lovely in the morning glow. The cows and goats grazed peacefully, and the horses (we had three left) gathered in a small cluster. Before our father died, our family owned all this acreage. After his passing, our mother parceled off the land to keep food on the table. Our family’s portion of the world had grown smaller in the years since his death. Mayven and I feared that if something didn’t change soon, there would be nothing left.

“You’ve decided, then?” I pressed. “You’re going to compete?”

Sighing, my brother cracked his knuckles. His dark hair fell across his face, and his tall, lean figure slumped like a dying flower in the sun. Both of us had dark hair and olive skin, but that was where our similarities ended. Mayven looked like our mother, whereas I had taken after our father. Mayven had gray eyes. Mine were brown. I had the same birthmark Father had, in the same place on the back of my neck. A bullseye, he’d called it.

“I have to do it, Ash. I can’t let Mom sell off the last of our land. It would have broken Father’s heart.”

I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over. I didn’t like it when Mayven spoke of leaving; goodbyes were an inevitable part of living, but I despised them.

“What if I go instead?” I asked in a shaking voice.

Mayven’s attention snapped to me, his eyes wide and indignant.

“Absolutely not!” he shouted.

I’d suspected he would react this way, of course. That was why I hadn’t mentioned it before. But as the days of the Trials grew closer, the panic of losing my brother increased to an unbearable level.

“You’re the man of the house,” I replied.

Mayven stepped into the role when Father had died, taking it seriously, and I knew it was that conviction that drove him to his current decision. Mayven was the self-sacrificing kind. I was the find- a- loophole kind.

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why it must be me. Why would I send a little girl?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes and fought the urge to hit him in his ribs.

He sighed.

“I’m sorry, Ash. I didn’t mean that. What I meant was, how could I send my little sister to fight while I stayed at home and churned butter?”

I snickered, imagining Mayven in my mother’s apron, his short hair clipped back on his head, whistling a tune as he churned. Mayven’s lips twitched and a reluctant smile played on his lips.

“You could stay behind and repair the barn,” I offered weakly. “We both know you are more valuable to Mother than I am,” I admitted.

Again, the tears smarted, and I pretended to study the log, picking at it with my nail. Mayven’s warm hand settled on my shoulder, but I kept my gaze averted. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes- not when I was so close to breaking. Father had been just as glad to have a son as a daughter. Mother would have preferred two sons. No matter how hard I tried to win her approval, I always seemed to fall short. Mother loved Mayven differently than she loved me; a fact even Mayven couldn’t dispute.

“That isn’t true. I think Mother sees our father in you,” he confessed gently. “That’s why she’s become so distant, Ash. It’s like seeing a ghost. It reminds her of the man she lost. That isn’t your fault. One day she’ll see.”

I swiped at the tears that rolled down my cheeks, giving up on damming them with my eyelids. A breeze swept through the fields, caressing the trees, and whipping my dark hair back. Mayven had always been skilled at preserving my feelings, but I could see the lie behind his eyes. Our mother resented me for a lot of reasons, but most of all, she resented me for Father’s death. I wouldn’t bother arguing with Mayven. He meant well, and I would accept his comfort graciously and change the subject like I always did.

“When do you leave?” I asked.

“In two days. It will take me three to get to Dyanna Ridge, and another day to make it to Tristan.”

Tristan City was where the Emperor called home. Just a few miles off the coast, Tristan was a trading post for sailors and local peddlers: and the education capitol of West Harmony. It was also the most corrupt city in the eastern province.

“How long will you be gone?”

A pregnant silence hung in the air. The Trials were often a deadly affair, and my brother was risking a lot more than failure.

“Thirty days, if I’m fortunate enough to progress to the Last Match.”

The Last Match was just as the name indicated- it was the battle between the two finalists, both deadly enough to have clawed their way to the top of the pile of qualified candidates. The victor was rewarded the coveted position of the Emperor’s personal bodyguard and would remain at the palace. Their families would be compensated by the crown, and their lands granted to them free and without taxation. Aside from status, the position provided security. In outer regions like ours, that alone was worth dying for.

The Trials were a centuries- old tradition. Once performed as a tribute to the old gods of the empire, they now served as a tribute to the Emperor himself, who, according to many, was a descendant of the new gods.

I nodded my head and stood, dusting the loose tree bark from my pants. The sun had truly risen, and there were chores to be done. Mother would be awake by now, wondering where Mayven had gone (I didn’t think she would be concerned with my whereabouts), and if my brother was determined to leave in two days, he would need to make his own preparations.

“It’s going to be okay, Ash,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’ll come back to you.”

I nodded as dread filled my chest, nearly suffocating me. The land was our livelihood, and it was important. My Mother was my mother, and despite her disapproval, I loved her, too. But Mayven was my ally; my best friend. He was the last piece of our Father that walked the earth, not counting myself. I could live with losing the land; I couldn’t survive losing my brother.

“You’d better,” I teased. “I’m not doing all these chores by myself. And you know Mother won’t help me,” I added, and he laughed.