it for snakes and scorpions), she set up Father’s tent and secured it with rocks around the outside.
By now the sun was directly overhead and felt as harsh as a fist. Liyana ducked into her tent with her snake meat and waterskins, and she ate and drank. She then stripped off her ceremonial dress, washed herself with the smallest amount of water she could spare, and dressed in more practical clothes. Carefully she folded the dress and placed it at the bottom of her pack. She felt as if she were laying bones to rest.
When her tasks were done, she lay down in her tent to wait out the heat of the day. Perhaps in the evening, when the air wouldn’t choke her, she’d climb one of the trees and pick any dates that the clan had missed. She’d also need to fetch more water, maybe hunt for more snakes or a desert rat. And then . . . she could survive today and tomorrow. Maybe a week.
And then what?
She was nearing the time of year when this oasis dried up. In three weeks, she wouldn’t be able to stay here. But it would take a miracle for one girl, alone, to cross the desert and reach the next well. . . . And assuming she did, what next? What was she surviving for?
She wasn’t supposed to live past yesterday. Ever since her dreamwalk, she had been the girl with no future. Others, like Ger and Esti, had made plans. Others looked ahead. She never had. She’d known her fate. But now . . . her future was as empty and terrifying as the desert that stretched around her in all directions.
Two hours later, Liyana heard the howls in the wind.
She slid the glass-like knife out of her sash and held it against her chest. The sand wolves sounded close. That meant a sandstorm would hit soon, and the wolves would run freely through camp. . . . Except there was no camp anymore. There was only her.
Clutching the knife, she huddled inside her tent. The tarp billowed and rolled. Usually during sandstorms, the clan huddled together in the center tents, using the outer tents as a buffer. The sheer number of people served as a deterrent to the wolves. She’d heard them often enough, but she’d never seen them. Tales said they were made of sand.
“Bayla, is this how you’ll kill me?” she asked out loud. “There are easier ways. You could send another snake. I am sorry I ate the first one.” Hearing her own voice made her feel braver. “He was delicious, though.”
As sand pelted the tent, she told herself that this wasn’t a punishment—Bayla couldn’t punish her, not from within the Dreaming. Like the snake, this storm was merely a natural occurrence. She only had to ride through it, and the wolves would be swept away with the winds.
She repeated this to herself as the world darkened, as if day had switched with night. Sand slammed against the tarp. The tent swayed sideways and then snapped sharply back upright. The poles shook, and she wondered if they’d snap. She cringed each time the wind knocked the tent back and forth. She wished she’d left rocks inside. She could have used them to brace the poles—or simply to be doing something other than listening to the howls of the wind and wolves.
The wolves were much too close.
Sand wolves hunted within sandstorms. In children’s tales, they carried away boys and girls who did not obey their parents’ warnings to hide from the storms. In adult tales, they slaughtered any goat, sheep, or horse that was not sheltered or guarded. They killed hunters who failed to outrun the storm and anyone foolish enough to be out alone.
She had to hope that they didn’t notice her tent. It was all she could do: hope and wait. The paralyzing helplessness was almost worse than the storm itself.
Sand slipped through the gaps in the seams, and it swirled inside the tent. Liyana wrapped the facecloth around her head to keep the grains from stinging her eyes. Each inhale was filled with grit. She breathed only through her nose. It didn’t help. She felt as if her lungs were coated with sand.
Outside, the howling came closer.
She saw a shadow surge past the door flap, and then she saw it again, darker than the already dark shadows that squeezed the tent. Her heart hammered in her chest. She crouched, knife in hand.
Another shadow ran past. This time the tent swayed as the shadow brushed it. She saw it pass again.
The sandstorm screamed. Wind hit so hard that the tent shook as if it were about to collapse. The roof bent in on her, and she braced it with a hand as she ducked. It then billowed up before bending down again. The walls shuddered, and the rocks that had pinned the edges outside rolled and crashed against one another.
Suddenly the tent wall split.
Claws of sand raked through the tarp, and a wolf jabbed his head into the tent. His face was hardened sand, and his eyes were holes. Sand sloughed off his muzzle as he tilted his head back. Liyana scrambled backward as he howled. His jaws . . . As he spread them wide, she saw his teeth were sharp rocks. He lunged toward her.
She dove to the side—too slow. Hard as stone, sand claws raked her arm. She felt pain shoot up to her shoulder, and she screamed. Twisting, he snapped his jaws at her, and she rolled backward. His teeth closed on air.
Wind whipped into the exposed tent, and sand flayed her. She saw the shape of the wolf, blurred by the swirling sand. He leaped for her again, and she struck toward his throat as she ducked beneath his jaws.
She felt the blade slide in.
And then sand, only sand, fell over her as the sand wolf disintegrated around the sky serpent knife. Coughing and spitting, she wiped the sand away from the cloth over her face, and then she lunged for the hole in the tent. Yanking it closed, she held it shut against the wind.
Outside, the wind roared. She heard other wolves. Squeezing the tear shut with one hand, she readied her knife with the other. She’d heard no weapon could kill a sand wolf. She guessed no one had tried a sky serpent blade before. “Come and get me,” she said. “Come and try.”
She listened hard, every muscle tense. Slowly the howls retreated. The tent walls shook less. The sand inside the tent began to settle, and the world lightened as the blackness of the storm receded.
Her arm throbbed. She released the tarp and tucked away the knife. Her throat felt raw from the sand that she’d inhaled. Unwrapping the cloth around her face, she vomited on the floor of her tent. The sandy bile tore the inside of her throat. She wiped her mouth with a sand-crusted sleeve.
She felt sand clinging to her hair and sticking to her sweaty skin. Piece by piece, she peeled her clothes off her body and shook them out. Searching the pack, she found a clean cloth and wiped away as much of the sand as she could. Left alone, the sand would rub her skin raw. She poured a little water on the cloth and washed her face. Her fingers shook, but she forced herself to attend to one task at a time, and she avoided thinking.
Unable to delay any longer, she examined her arm. The rock-hard sand claws had raked through her skin, leaving four deep gashes. Sandy blood clumped around the wounds. She washed them out as best she could, which caused more blood to run down her arm and stain the sand. She pressed some of Mother’s herbs onto the gashes, and she hissed through her teeth as the herbs stung. Leaving the herbs in place as she’d seen Mother do, she wrapped a clean cloth around the wounds and tied it. Blood stained the cloth.
One day alone and she was wounded.
Deliberately ignoring her aching arm, Liyana turned her attention to the tear in the tent, her next problem. If she couldn’t seal the hole, then she wouldn’t be safe from the next sandstorm. Or from ordinary wind. Or from any snake, scorpion, or spider that wanted to visit her for warmth. Liyana could patch it up. Yet another task to help her avoid thinking about her future. Between fixing her shelter, finding food, and fetching water—
Water! The well! She’d left the lid off! Liyana burst out of her tent. Outside, the oasis had been wiped clean. All the indents from the Goat Clan’s camp had been smoothed away, and all the trees were coated in a layer of reddish tan. Sand choked the air, billowing and blowing. Afternoon sunlight filtered through, scattering off the particles so the oasis seemed to glow with an eerie light that appeared to come from everywhere at once. In this hazy half light, Liyana stumbled across the oasis for several minutes before determining the location of the well. She hurried toward it, and she tripped over the edge of the lid and sprawled. Her knee hit the stone, and pain shot through her. Tears pricked her eyes as she clutched her knee, and she whimpered.
After a moment, the pain receded to a throb that matched the throb in her arm. She tested her leg. She could
