Unleashed

Yanig firmly holds Ruben’s wrist in place. "Do it again!" he commands, to Ruben’s confusion. The whole day Yanig has just been telling them to observe. "Do what exactly? What you have not told us all day, you mean? OK, let me stare at my hand, shall I!" Ruben’s frustration boils to the surface. He looks at Yanig, waiting for an answer, but the man's expression is clearly one of excitement and maybe pride?

"OK, let me focus; you can let go of my wrist," Ruben mumbles, betraying regret for his outburst. The rest of the tribe also step in to watch Ruben. Everyone stands beside his mat, the tallest peering over from behind him. The campfire's light finds its way through, and the grains sparkle like stars in Ruben's palm.

Ruben scoops another handful of sand and lets it race to the ground between his fingers, then another. After a few scoops, he feels his will drawn to the grains left in his palm, as though he can feel each individual particle. Using the feeling, he wills for the heap to grow again. He feels first, then sees.

The sand in his palm chains grain by grain down to the ground. Just as when he lets the sand spill from his fingers, only now, the grains are not lost. Sand rushes up the connection to his palm. It happens so quickly Ruben almost doubts what he is seeing. He feels the weight in his palm grow as more sand collects.

Yanig bends down slowly, hoping not to disturb, then whispers right by Doa's ear in a calm, measured tone, "Now, slowly think about it wrapping your hand like a glove. Just slowly control how your thought changes from the one to the other. No need to be exact."

Doa, eagerly watching what Ruben is doing, absent-mindedly elbows the person pushing against him trying to get a better look. Fortunately for him, everyone is quite enthralled with the scene before them and no retaliation follows. After a moment, the sand controlled by Ruben begins to shift and stops accumulating. Instead, it slowly wraps around his hand, partially over his wrist, almost forming a glove. Then everything rains down to the ground. “Dammit!” Ruben exclaims and jumps to his feet.

Counter to Ruben’s dismay, Yanig is astonished. “Very good!” His voice carries over all the ruckus from everyone present. “I didn’t think you would even be able to change the flow! But you did!” Yanig exclaims and slaps Ruben on the back, making him forget about being upset.

Doa steps forward and ruffles Ruben’s hair. “Good squire,” he teases Ruben. Everyone else takes a moment to tease Ruben also, or as they see it, congratulate him on his achievement.

After everyone gets settled again, Yanig calls one of the older women over. Doa and Ruben have seen her leading the children's lectures during the day, so they assume she is a teacher of sorts. “Boys… sorry, men,” he alters his words in response to their frowns. “This is Saqwe; she is an elder of the tribe.”

Ruben already knows her name because he specifically paid attention to interactions concerning her near him. Doa, on the other hand, has already forgotten her name and opts for the appropriate response to never need to remember it: “Hello, ma’am.” Doa stretches the syllables, making Ruben want to jab him, but Ruben’s own nervousness causes him to just nod at the introduction.

Yanig turns his mat sideways to make space for Saqwe, and they both sit down. Saqwe skillfully avoids further awkwardness and compliments Ruben. “You have progressed very quickly for one so young,” she says and adds a smile.

Ruben shifts his gaze to the ground awkwardly. “I am almost twenty-five,” is all he can think of to say.

“I am only twenty,” Doa chips in quickly. Not because of jealousy that Ruben achieved something first; ‘nothing wrong with hedging my potential impressiveness’ is what he is actually thinking.

“Not only behind in skill then,” Saqwe dismisses Doa without taking her eyes from Ruben. Yanig chokes back a laugh, and Ruben looks up just in time to see the smirk disappear from Saqwe’s face.

Yanig raises his hand and masterfully turns his choking cough into an interruption refuting any further rebuttals. “I have brought Saqwe here because she will be teaching Ruben from now on. That is to say, Ruben, you will be joining the daily classes with the older children.” Then he pauses and looks toward Doa, who seemingly finds something interesting to look at to the side of the group.

“When Ruben is in class, Doa will come to me, and we would like you both to join in the daily tasks of the tribe,” Yanig closes off, then nods to Saqwe. The two of them explain Doa and Ruben's roles in tandem, as if it has been rehearsed. Doa does not miss Ruben's smile each time Saqwe speaks to him; he also does not miss looking for an opportunity to put the burn on Saqwe. She proves to be a witty adversary, and by the end, Doa has to find solace in the saying ‘wit is the lowest form of humour’—at least until his own returns.

“Everything understood, boys… I mean, guys?” Yanig brings the evening to a close and gets up. Saqwe follows and bids goodnight to both. Yanig sees the mischief rise in her eyes as she tries to hide her smirk, adding to Doa’s goodnight that since he is younger, he still has many years to catch up to Ruben. ‘She must like him,’ Yanig contemplates, while giving Ruben a worried look.

With the new day, the boys’ - I mean, men's - day is quickly filled with chores. They start by helping out with wood collection, most of which they find out is just dung. Jonah, the leader of the hunter group, explains that is why they don’t stray too far from migration paths. The scouts go out every day to confirm remnants of beast movement and look for signs of nearby oases.

They never noticed before, but almost every bit of work the tribe does is accompanied by some form of magical feat. To bring in the piles of dung they find, Jonah makes a palette of sand which moves like a conveyor belt to Ruben's modern eyes and just looks like magic to Doa. Doa gets excited seeing how much is possible, and Ruben becomes more discouraged, his impostor syndrome kicking in sooner than most.

“No need to be so glum; I am sure Saqwe will teach you, Ruben. You might even learn magic.” Doa rounds on Ruben then steps in front of him, making Ruben stop, his expression downcast and staring at his feet. Doa bends down in a show of looking Ruben directly in the eyes with a flat expression. “Maybe even magic, I said.” Then he winks and smiles, which makes Ruben blush then push him away harshly.

“I get it, no need to rub it in. Also, it is not like that, OK? Mrs Saqwe is just nice. You, however, are salty,” Ruben stammers, then adds the last bit in a rush and sidesteps a leg-swipe. Without skipping a beat, he runs to the caravan and calls back laughing, “Definitely younger!”

“Here, take this scarf; we use it to keep the sand out of our faces. You can see through it also.” Yanig hands Doa the scarf, and Doa ties it around his head the way he has seen the others do it. “There is a sandstorm coming in,” Yanig adds, explaining the reason for the gift.

“Ghosts?” Doa mumbles while biting down on the scarf, trying to hold it in place while he tightens the back more.

“No ghosts. Just sand. The scouts are saying it is not too harsh. So…” Yanig pauses and listens. “They say it should pass in about thirty minutes."

“What was that? You are hearing them now?”

“Yes, on the wind. Listen,” Yanig instructs. Recognizing the tone, Doa knows the lesson has started.

A few minutes pass and Doa could swear he hears “...it is getting stronger…” as a whisper on the wind, then a gust comes in and makes the whole caravan stop in its path. Doa follows Yanig’s lead and leans into the wind, pulling his scarf over his whole face as the sand begins to sting.

The sandstorm quickly lives up to its name and Doa cannot see his hand in front of his face. Then he cannot hold his hand up anymore because of how the sand stings his skin. Being thankful for the scarf and the cloak which the tribe gave him when joining, Doa holds his cloak over his arm in front of him like a shield. It amazes him how thin both the cloak and scarf are, but their toughness rivals even thick rawhide.

Doa looks around to see how the others are but catches only glimpses. A strong gust of wind loaded with sand goes rogue and hits Doa from the side, pushing his scarf down and getting behind his cloak. Irritated more than harmed, Doa screams out in frustration and waves his hand at the wind, chastising it.

Immediately the air around him calms down. ‘What?’ Then Doa lets go of his cloak and reaches out ahead of him, but anywhere he touches feels like empty air. Feeling disoriented from what his mind is seeing before him, expecting to feel the sting of the sandstorm on his exposed arms and expecting the push from the wind, Doa almost falls to the ground. He closes his eyes for a moment then heads to where he thinks Yanig is.

Yanig himself has opted for wearing his sand armour, and those in the tribe who can, do the same. The rest get behind the lizards and erect a shield from canvas tied to the carriers on the giant animals' backs. While others might be cursing the storm, Yanig is enjoying the bit of workout. Since his armour does not allow anything through, the wind's main purpose is for Yanig to get a good leg workout as he pushes through step by step. He even overloads his armour with sand to increase the weight.

Doa looks at the sand monster Yanig has temporarily become before tapping him on his shoulder. Yanig’s armour is so thick, though, that Doa decides to just punch him in his side. Yanig feels the punch and jumps away, then sees Doa standing there shaking his hurt hand and cursing on the wind. Yanig drops the armour from his face and Doa smirks back at Yanig’s clear surprise. “Ah, a wind dragon,” Yanig mouths, and the words find their way to Doa on the wind.

Thinking how cool that sounds, Doa loses his focus and gets pushed to the ground by a rogue gust. Yanig rushes over and picks him up, so as not to be trampled by the oncoming pack lizards. “You have unlocked a great talent. I will explain later; for now, stay behind me and cover up!” Yanig tells Doa close to his ear before pushing him behind.