“Why did you check his teeth?”
“What? Nothing…I just had to be sure.” Amye drops her eyes to the floor. Why did I check his mouth? How much of what happened in the bar was real? Was Doug even there?
“Amye, I have… While doing my form I noticed my hair whips into my face.”
“Braid it.”
“I’ve never been allowed to touch my own hair,” Michelle admits.
“I’m not a servant.”
“I wasn’t asking you to be. Just show me once, and I’ll do it from now on.”
“Sit on the bed.” Amye separates Michelle’s hair into three strands. “I’m only doing this once.”
She tugs hard. Michelle yelps.
“Sorry. My sister used to pull my hair when she did this.”
“Good motivation for learning how to do it myself.” Michelle winces.
“Possibly her reason. She stopped fixing my hair altogether once I failed my exam.” Amye takes the right section in her right hand and the left section of hair in her left, allowing the middle section to hang.
“What exam?”
“The Interplanetary Mining Cooperation tests all its employees. They evaluate all personnel for aptitudes. Those natural skill sets will determine what job a person’s trained for.”
Pull her hair again.
“You don’t get to choose your career?” Michelle asks.
Pull her hair.
“You didn’t.”
“I thought it would be different elsewhere,” Michelle says.
Pull.
Amye jerks down on the overlapping strands.
“Ouch!” Michelle jumps out of reach. “I’ll figure it out myself. You’re a bit heavy-handed.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll put it in a ponytail for now and meet you in the training center before Scott makes you complete repairs.”
REYNARD BOLTS UP. His eyes dart around the elaborately decorated hut. Part of him considers being lost in an antique shop with the variety of items surrounding him, from cast-iron pots to a pie safe.
Eymaxin, cross-legged before him, holds a plastic serving tray full of a mush paste. She licks her fingers clean before shoving the tray at him. “You must eat.”
“What’s happening to me?” he demands.
“You must eat.”
Reynard scoops up a bite of the mush. He sniffs at it. “I need answers.” He drops the bite in his mouth. It reminds me of bacon dip. I smelt no pigsty, don’t ask. It’s better not to know what the alien food is I’m eating. “Who’s the warrior?”
“Sand Killers belong to a group who fight Sandmen without magic. They use weapons forged out of the same blue powder as my tattoos,” she explains.
“He has Sandmen-harming weapons?”
“They are blasphemous! Preservers of science. It brought the darkness to our lands. It brought the Sandmen.”
Reynard scoops up a handful of mush before standing. His joints ache. He forces himself to take a step, hoping that by using his legs he will alleviate the pain. His head throbs.
“The food will make you better.”
He takes a bite.
The hut gives the air of someone who’s slightly better off than others in the village—perhaps a chieftain or shaman. Someone has ransacked some chests, scattering meager possessions into a disheveled pile.
“What were the Sandmen children searching for?”
“I searched this hut,” she admits.
Reynard forces down another mouthful. “You have ways of combating Sandmen. I need to know how.”
“This hut belongs to the wizard of this village. All villages have a wizard to combat the Sandmen children.”
“You want me to trust you. I need to defeat them.” Reynard struggles but stands.
“You haven’t eaten enough.”
“I’m going to consult with the Sand Killer.” He winces and takes two paces toward the door. The soreness lingers. He grunts and marches out of the hut.
Eymaxin follows with the tray. “Take the plate. Eat more.”
“My stomach needs to settle.”
“Food will calm your pains.”
The warrior drops a skeleton on the pyre. When he faces Reynard his hand rests on the hilt of his sword. “Your witch’s foul powers are no longer a help to these people.”
“We just defeated a pack of trolls.” Reynard’s strength leaves him as he collapses to his knees.
Eymaxin flexes her fingers, ready to fire a blast. “Eat,” she commands.
“Eat,” the Sand Killer agrees.
“Eating seems counterproductive. I need to know how to defeat the Sandmen. You both have methods of routing the Sandmen, yet you bicker amongst yourselves. You should be working together to bring down these monsters.”
“Take my advice; never trust a conjurer. They’re worse than Sandmen.”
“The Sand Killers are broods of the Nologies, those using science instead of magic.”
“I’m not getting home this way.” Reynard rolls his eyes.
“You’re not returning home at all if you don’t eat,” the warrior says. “The witch and I will agree on nothing else.”
“What are you two leaving out of this story?” Thoughts mingle in Reynard’s head. He fights with memories brought to the forefront of his brain when a Sandman grabs him.
He reaches his hand down the front of Aundrea’s strapless formal dress to protect her soft skin as he pins the corsage.
He adjusts the flower. “Perfect.”
“It’s beautiful,” she smiles
“I meant you.”
Aundrea whispers in his ear, “You don’t have to lie—you already have me.”
Eymaxin speaks to Reynard, unaware of his slipping into a daze, “You’ve no understanding of what this Nologies’ science did. If one of the sacred laws wasn’t to not harm another human, I would kill him.”
“Sand Killers take no such vow, Witch.”
Flashbulbs snap. Reynard and Aundrea step away from a flower-covered trellis. The next couple steps up for a picture.
“Dance? Punch? Mr. Stalaziski’s desk?”
“You’re terrible.” She lays her head on his shoulder as they stroll into the disco-lit gym.
Eymaxin sneers, “Try, but I will prevail.”
“Something’s wrong with this man,” the Sand Killer says.
“He’s not of this world,” Eymaxin defends.
“No. Look at him.” The warrior points to the entranced Reynard.
Bryan Adams’s Heaven draws in all Reynard’s thoughts. He pulls Aundrea as close to him as possible. She wraps both her arms around his neck and locks her eyes on his. He sings the words to her, “Baby, you’re all that I want. When you’re lyin’ here in my arms…I’m findin’ it hard to believe. We’re in heaven.” Embracing
