2. Eshe #2
My skin had gotten used to the soft, cool air.
My color had paled over the years. Mongah was a blanket of greenery, luscious woods, and peaceful, gift-bearing people who, no matter how much I didn’t want them weaving into my heart, did.
If I were anyone else, I would live my life out there in the greenest land I’d ever seen, be by their side, grow my own food, meditate, and live in peace. But alas, I was not just anyone.
A shaking sound sputtered from somewhere below me. I froze, my body sinking deeper into the white sands. It was here. My mind screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t—that was exactly what the Silver Snake would want me to do.
It loved a challenge.
The Silver Snake, known to reside within the sands, was one of the deadliest creatures in the desert.
My heart raced, pumping, begging me to go, go, go.
Once stung by the Silver Snake, also known as the Lover’s Bite, a euphoric sensation would last for a few hours before the poison knocked on the victim’s heart and stole the life they once had.
One wouldn’t know the person had the bite until it was too late.
There was no remedy after receiving the bite—no cure to prevent the inevitable death.
Where was it? My eyes searched the sea.
With steady hands, I reached for the dagger that hung on my belt. I saw the wind curling on a sand drift, but there was no wind. I wasn’t afraid of it—I wasn’t afraid of death. I was afraid of dying before I could do what I came to do.
The dagger within my palm swung in the direction of the sand’s wave, and I felt the next dagger in my other hand. I snapped that one toward the gray snake that violently lifted its body to the surface, slithering and seeking.
I reached for my sword across my back and stepped forward. The snake saw me and started in my direction. I had hit it, and it grew angry.
Good. I was angry, too.
Silver blood leaked down the sands. I demanded more.
The snake disappeared into the sand.
Fucker. God, I hated these stupid games.
I twisted my body slowly, tiptoeing as much as I could on the soft, pillowy sands.
A small wave that looked almost natural appeared to the right of me. I stepped closer, breathing controlled. My legs grew heavy, almost on the verge of shaking with each step.
The bite would be so faint, so unnoticeable. I wouldn’t even know I had the bite if I weren’t aware of my surroundings. It was soft, like a Lover’s Bite.
Not today.
I twisted once more and slammed my sword down in the sand. The snake jumped. Before it was completely out on the surface, I rammed my boot on its spine, swung my sword around once before ending the point of it on the neck of my victim.
“But perhaps another time,” I grunted against my scarf.
Silver blood splattered against the tip of my sword and boot as I picked up its decapitated head.
“Well done.”
I spun around and saw several robed men on horseback. Dark blue linen covered their tan bodies with black hoods around their heads. My body went rigid.
Brestians. God. What did they want?
The man leading the group cleared his throat and lowered his scarf and black hood. “We don’t witness the death of a Silver Snake often.”
My breath nearly escaped me. His eyes… They were white.
No, that wasn’t right. Against the desert sun, they did look devoid of color, but with my vision refocused after the scare, I could see that they were green.
I tilted my head. He had brown hair with sun-kissed blonde strands spread throughout. A razor-sharp jawline, straight nose.
No, he wasn’t human.
A god.
There was something inhuman about him, to be sure.
The man was perhaps in his early to mid-thirties and had a shaven face as per the custom of Brestians.
He held himself high on the horse. He might have even been handsome if he didn’t have the eyes of a death god.
Maybe it wasn’t the color, but something was void inside those eyes. They sharpened on mine.
Taking in the information, I knew I should lower my scarf because it symbolized openness and friendliness, but… I wasn’t in the mood to be friendly or jeopardize my gender.
I cleared my throat to lower my voice. “Keep it.” I turned my ankle and walked.
“Whoa,” the man said softly, too softly, moving his horse from the group in front of me, forcing me to stop. “What’s the hurry?”
My heart pounded against my rib cage. It took everything in me not to step back from his presence, so I held my stance, knowing a group of men was directly behind me.
“Out here, by yourself. Without a horse or camel?” The man tapped his finger against the reins of his horse. “Where are you heading?”
My daggers were halfway plunged into the sands precisely where these men were now waiting for their leader. He looked like someone important, but I couldn’t refresh my history lesson of Brestan fast enough. I cursed myself silently. How did I not hear them approach?
“Tehara.” I couldn’t help the tightness of my lips.
His back stiffened. “Tehara? What for?”
“For trade.” I shifted my feet to prepare for my best advantage in an attack.
The horse backed away from the movement.
During my earlier training days, I’d practice my stealth skills by breaking and entering a few of Mongah’s prisons.
One day, when I wanted to increase the challenge, I made my presence known to the prisoners.
I was twenty at the time, young and looking for trouble.
They were in shock that not only had they not figured out how I was able to break in and out of their prison, but that a woman had done it.
It was not as amusing to them as it was for me, and that alone had created chaos and great practice.
I felt the man’s gaze reading my every move. “Listen, boy, we’re not here to waste your time. Have you seen the Atrove since you’ve been in the desert?”
“Atrove?” I frowned.
The man on the horse scoffed. I heard the men behind me start to murmur. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“I know what they are.” My jaw tightened.
Another threat in the desert. Did I forget about them?
Perhaps. But only because it was rare to hear about them and even rarer to encounter them.
They wore white linen to blend into the sand.
No one spoke of them in case one of their eyes and ears heard and would appear by your side and slit your throat for so much as breathing their name.
Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it felt that way.
It was a rational fear instilled in children so that they wouldn’t venture too far from their clan.
When people or things went missing, it was common to assume the Atrove was behind it.
“They’ve been witnessed around the area.”
Who were they to hunt down the Atrove? “What are they to you?” Do you want a death sentence?
The man kept his eyes on me as he lifted the scarf above his nose. He clicked his horse into motion. “They took something valuable of mine. I demand it back.”
“If they took it, they won’t give it back so willingly.” I kept my voice low, but I was intrigued.
“I don’t expect them to.” The rest of his men began to depart, but he kept back for a moment. “Their reputation would be destroyed if they did.” His eyes locked with mine. “And if I were you, I’d pretend I was a man a little better.”
Son of a—
The man thumped his foot into his horse’s side and fell into union with his clan.
Within a moment, white smoke from the sand blew in all directions, and I was left with my dead Silver Snake once again.
I let out a whistling breath and shook my head.
The Atrove. I grew very aware of the fact that they’d been seen around this area.
An elite group of religious mercenaries.
Not part of a specific military, but they were the military.
They were the law itself, not being a part of a country.
A nomadic military. They were secret, and no one would know for sure if they actually knew an Atrovian, if one of their neighbors or brothers was an Atrovian.
But there was one obvious tell: they were celibate. It was against the law to marry and produce children, so they vowed a life of celibacy. They focused on training, fighting, governing under the noses of countries, and taking what they thought was theirs.
Clearly.
I shook my head again and placed the snake's head into my bag.
This was not part of my plan.