Page 4 of A Shard of Ice

Taylor laughs as we arrive at the waiting camels. A guard gives him a hard look. “What’s so funny, human? Eleven hours not enough for you?”

“I’m laughing at nothing at all, and eleven hours was more than enough, thanks.” Taylor smiles at him. It’s another new fae since I don’t recognize him either. “It looks like it’s going to be a good evening. No sandstorms on the horizon. I made quota.” He shrugs. “I would think that is reason enough to laugh.”

The fae nods once. “There is word of desert swimmers close to camp. I wouldn’t talk of a good evening just yet. I’d get indoors and batten down the hatches as soon as possible if I were you. Now hurry along.”

The camels bellow as we empty our baskets on the floor in piles, ready to be loaded. The animals will soon be taken to the barn up on the flat rocks next to our dwellings. Safe from the wurms. I shudder just thinking of all the predators out there.

Then we make for the low stone buildings that almost seem to be made from the desert itself. There are very few small windows carved into the structures we call home.

“By the way, I haven’t forgotten,” Taylor says to me as we walk toward the eating hall.

“What haven’t you forgotten?” I ask, frowning.

“That there is a special day coming up.” He lifts his brows.

“What special day?” I scoff. “There are no special days out here, just days.” I shake my head. I know what he is referring to.

“That’s not true. A birthing day is special. It doesn’t matter where you are; it’s the people you share it with who count.”

“Namely you.” I snicker.

“Yes.” He gets this smug look. “As your best friend, I am going to make sure that you have the best day possible.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“You’ll see.”

I smile, wondering what he has up his sandy sleeve. I feel a flutter of excitement. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.

Leave it to Taylor to pull a rabbit or two out of an old hat. I am lucky to have him. I don’t think I would have made it this far without him.

He’s like light in the dark. Water in the desert. I wonder, and not for the first time, why we never…went there. It’s too late now; I know Taylor too well. He knows me even better. We work too well as friends. It’ll never be anything more.

2

Kyrie

My shoulder throbs in time with the pounding of my ax as I painstakingly cut into the hard salt.

I look up, noting that the sun is only halfway up in the sky. Sweat drips from my body. I lick my parched lips. I’m already exhausted, with almost an entire day ahead of me. I can’t afford to rest, or I won’t make my quota…again. I can’t do that to Taylor twice in a row.

I start hammering at the hard earth, chipping away. I have yet to dig out a single block of salt. I need to work faster. I have to.

My hands ache as I push through the pain, determined to do what it takes. I won’t take food out of Taylor’s mouth again.

I watch him bring his pickax down, slicing through the crust. His muscles bulge. He has barely broken a sweat. I’m in awe of his stamina and strength.

“You’d better get a move on, girly,” Hali says, leering at me before looking into my empty basket. “Or it’s gruel for you this eve.”

I ignore him and start up the pounding again, pulling my buff more firmly around my mouth as the air around me dances with dust and salt.

As the day wears on, the repetition of swinging the ax begins to take its toll on my body. Every muscle screams in protest, but I ignore the pain. I can’t afford to slow down now.

One of the fae bangs on the gong to signal that we can take a few minutes to drink some water. My mouth is drier than the desert sand beneath my feet. I’m breathing hard as I drop my ax.

We start toward the barrel when Zara makes a sound of disbelief, pointing to the east.

“What is it?” someone shouts.

---