Chapter 10
Elia - Six Years Ago
When I return to my room for the day, there’s someone new sitting on the bottom bunk, furiously writing in a journal.
She appears to be around my age, with dirty blonde hair hanging in low pigtails around her face, held back with a faded bandana.
Her face is round and reminds me of a cherub I once saw in a painting in one of my mother’s old books.
She must have recently arrived; her clothes aren’t yet caked with dust, and her fingernails are lacking the sand underneath them.
Usually, I would be excited for some company – it’s been a couple weeks since Geoff, my last roommate, left, and no one had replaced him since. Geoff had been nice – if not a bit cocky, and he kept my bed warm and gave me some much needed company.
Today, however, I am drained from the long days I'd spent in the dunes. I’d been shipped to the dunes for the last five days, and the sleeping situation out there involves only a blanket on the ground, and the guards say we’re lucky we even get that.
My eyes are crusted over, making it hard to see clearly, and my braid is so stiff against my back it’s going to need to be ripped apart strand by strand in order to be detangled.
I want to wash up, chug water, and sleep only so I can repeat everything all over again tomorrow, thankful that at least my stint in the dunes is over.
I try to muster a semblance of a smile. “Hi there.” I toss my bag on the top bunk and head to the washbasin in the corner.
The quill stops scratching the paper as she peers out from her bunk. “Oh! Hi! They said I would have a roommate, but no one’s been here for the last two days so I was starting to think they were wrong.”
I cup the water to my face, trying to unglue my eyelids. It would be more helpful if the water itself didn’t contain sand, too.
“I’ve been in the dunes this week. I’m back to my normal place tomorrow, so I should be here every day now.”
When she doesn’t respond, I turn towards her and see her staring at me, wide-eyed.
“What?” I know my appearance isn’t at my best, being caked in dust and dirt, but I shouldn’t be that much of a surprise compared to others walking around in camp.
“I thought only hardened criminals are sent to the dunes,” she whispers, and I realize there’s fear etched in her stare.
I burst out laughing. That’s news to me, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if that were actually true. “The only crime I’m guilty of is somehow pissing off the overseers enough that I’m sent there often. And for trying to pay back a debt that my parents generously left me.”
While she considers my words, I turn back to cleaning myself up. If she thinks I’m a serial killer, this roomie situation won’t end well for either of us.
“I’m Sage,” she greets.
I drag a wet cloth against my arm, scrubbing at the sand. Hopefully her introduction means that she’s decided I’m not a felon afterall. “Aurelia.”
“How long are you staying for?”
This is the first question that’s always asked when new people move in, and each time it feels like a barb hooked under my skin.
I make a noncommittal sound. “How long are you staying for? How’d you end up here?” I ask, redirecting the question.
“Probably only a month or two. My parents’ bakery burned down, and we lost most of our things.” She pauses and glances down at her journal.
“I’m so sorry.” I know what it’s like to lose a home and a business.
“Thank you. We’re going to go live with my aunt, but it’s at least a week’s trip away from here so we’re trying to pocket enough coin to be able to make the trip. Then we’ll start over. Have a fresh start.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. A fresh start. How novel. What I wouldn’t do to have the opportunity to leave this place behind and start over. Open a business. Have a community. A family.
I shake my head lightly. Those thoughts have no place here and would only make staying at the Sand Traps even more unbearable.
“Have you had dinner yet?” I gesture to the opening of the tent. “I was going to head to the mess tent to grab something, if you wanted to come with me.”
Even though I am drained and desperately want to sleep, I also don’t want to be rude and should probably eat something. The food in the dunes was also atrocious, when food was actually provided, so I should take the chance to eat now, even if the scraps here aren’t much better.
Sage brightens, and she tucks her journal under her pillow. I want to tell her that there’s never any privacy, even in your own tent, but don’t want to break her spirits already. She seems nice, and if I’m honest with myself, I could use a friend, albeit a temporary one.
Sage follows me outside of our tent, and we head over to the cook site on the opposite side of camp.
“Have you started work yet?” I ask her. Judging by her clothes and state of mind, I would say no, but figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
She shakes her head. “No, tomorrow. We arrived the night before last, and yesterday they showed us around and had us sign some paperwork. I’m assigned lot 3.”
I nod. “That’s where most of the newbies go. You’ll be fine. Keep your head down and work hard, and no one will bother you.”
“Have you found any?”
“What?” I’ve been trying to brush my clothes off the best I can while we walk.
“Any relics? How cool would it be to find one!” She squeals excitedly, grabbing on to my arm, and I can’t help but beam back, her energy contagious.
“Trust me, it’s not as exciting as you’d think. Who knows, though? Maybe you’ll be lucky.”
She seems excited by the prospect as we enter the cook site and are handed our allotted bowl of stew.
Stew might be too generous of a word for the slop that’s congealed in the bowl, but it’s more appealing than anything I had in the dunes, and my stomach grumbles at the stench.
I gesture towards a table in the back of the tent, and Sage and I sit opposite each other.
“So,” Sage asks, in between a mouthful of food, “I’m guessing having a bath here is out of the question?”
I laugh, and I’m glad I decided to spend the evening with Sage. Laughter is rare here, and I’m thankful for any occasion that makes me smile. “Smell that bad, do I?”
Her face flushes. “No, no, that’s not what –”
“I’m joking, it’s fine. Give it a day and you’ll be looking like the rest of us.” I hold up an arm and shake it around, watching as dust clouds up and sand falls to the bench beside me.
“Can’t wait.” Sage rolls her eyes. “Glad these places are only temporary.”
I hum my assent. We finish our meals, and I listen to Sage talk about her family, the bakery, and her village. She tries to prod into my background a little, but when I don’t offer much, she’s happy to fill the silence, and I’m happy to listen.
We change into our sleep shirts when we return to our tent and crawl into bed.
“Aurelia?” Sage whispers from below me.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t think you’re a criminal.”
I stare at the canvas roof of the tent above, scattered with holes big enough to see the night sky. “It’s okay. Wouldn’t change anything if you did.”
“I’m glad we’re roommates, for what it’s worth. For however long.”
A smile spreads across my face in the darkness. “Me too, Sage. Goodnight.”
“’Night.”
Sage and I become inseparable from that night on.
She manages to sweet talk one of the guards to switch to my lot and we work side by side for the next two months.
We go to every meal together and stay up late through the night gossiping about the overseers and guards and any other news we picked up during the day.
It’s the best two months I’ve ever had in the Traps.
When we hug goodbye on her last day, tears flowing down our faces, she makes me promise to visit her at her aunt’s place once I leave. I wordlessly nod, knowing full well I’ll never make it out of the camp to fulfill that promise.
The first night she’s gone, I lay awake, the silence and stillness of the tent unnerving me, the loneliness like a weight crushing me.
Birds, on occasion, will fly across the desert carrying their latest prey in their mouths, and I’ll take a second to pause whatever I’m doing to marvel at their freedom.
Once when I was working, a sound startled a bird and it dropped the fish it was carrying right in front of me.
The fish was still alive, thrashing and flailing in the sand.
I poured out my entire water canteen over the fish, hoping to save its life, but it was a futile attempt. The fish rapidly dried out and died.
Sometimes, I feel like that fish in the sand, floundering and desperate.
Every once in a while, a wave splashes through bringing me life, laughter, and conversation, and I’m whole again, breathing easy in the water.
But the water always runs out, and I’m once again left alone to struggle, wondering when it’s my turn to die in the sand.