Sandsa watched her slip into slumber, her mind clouded with exhaustion, then leaned over and used his fingers to swipe away the hair that covered her neck, exposing her skin for him to kiss. He then crept over to his shirt and pulled on the damp cloth, wrinkling his nose at its stench. But her smell was on him too; a heady perfume that followed him even after he left the room. He met Bock on the stairs where the younger man sized him up.
‘Nice,’ Bock began but cut himself off when Sandsa shot him a dirty look.
‘I would rather you didn’t say — or think — such things about my future wife,’ Sandsa told him. ‘Now. Did Kick make a vehicle available for me like I requested?’
Bock sighed deeply. ‘Yeah. Had to promise to clean the garage later. Doin’ you a big favour, ya know, so you’re gonna let me drive. Where we headed?’
‘Alcazaar headquarters,’ Sandsa answered. Though his companion’s face immediately blanched, Sandsa went on, ‘I have business there. And while I could discreetly make my way into the study of the Clan Leader and sling a few drops of poison into his glass of wine or whatever it is he drinks, I need to make an entrance so I can take credit for his death.’
‘You’re going to — kill the Clan Leader?’ Bock stared at him.
Sandsa marched him down the stairs one step at a time until the younger man regained his senses enough to wriggle away from Sandsa’s grip, his eyes wide. Sandsa did not stop walking. Once he heard Bock following him, he said, ‘If the best way to protect the Maria and the woman I love is to take stewardship of this city, then I will do it. By any means necessary.’
‘Callista’s gonna kill you,’ Bock warned him.
‘I know,’ Sandsa said, pained.
The moment their boots hit the ramp in the garage, Bock rushed ahead to the passenger side of the hovercar parked directly in front of the exit. He popped open a door which fell from the chrome frame and converted into three short steps. The newly opened gap in the vehicle’s body revealed burgundy leather seats, a vidscreen and a drinks cabinet. Sandsa tipped his head to one side, impressed, then climbed in. It was obviously Kick’s best and most impressive beast and looked as though it had rarely seen action.
‘Oh, it’s kitted out right,’ Bock assured his passenger as he slid into the front seat, pausing to add a ridiculous padded hat to his head, the sort of one professional chauffeurs wore on certain wealthy planets. ‘The lasproofing isn’t half bad. S’even got a lascannon stowed underneath. Right kind of pimped vessel for a Clan Leader.’
‘Clan Leaders,’ Sandsa corrected.
Bock tossed a grin back at him. ‘That won’t stop her getting mad at you, Bolt.’
***
The roads Bock chose were clear and undamaged, though Sandsa caught a whiff of acrid smoke in the air when he lowered the window beside him. He leaned back to enjoy the breeze only to start when the window slid shut. Bock gave him a reproving look. ‘Lasproofing only works when you keep the windows up. A Clan Leader’s gotta get used to recycled air.’
‘And suppose I fail this morning?’ Sandsa asked, quirking his lips into a smile.
‘I’ll just say the hovercar’s a gift when CL asks why I’m in his driveway.’
Sandsa laughed. Bock’s gaze remained on the road, his eyelids fluttering against the invading sunlight — when was the last time Bock had been out during the day? His face was pallid and his knuckles were even whiter on the steering wheel. Shadows of doubt crept through the young man’s mind, but he was distracting himself with thoughts of Ala.
Sandsa saw various vendors emerging from the safety of their homes to set up their stalls for another day of enticing customers. Only a handful of locals were brave enough to hit the streets, usually those whose livelihoods relied on them selling as many wares as possible. Sandsa wondered if they ever hoped for tourists — but who would visit a city torn apart by gangs?
The hovercar slowed in front of a grand house with an expansive porch framed by four large pillars that resembled slumped bloated men. Multiple Alcazaar guards stood either side of the small ramp that led from the tapered driveway up to the porch’s shattered tiling. The heavy steel door of the building, designed to withstand bombardments, would have once been smooth and seamless; now it was chipped and cracked. The lasguns mounted on the front of the building had taken a pummelling as well, many of them now reduced to blackened craters. There were two of them still swinging around, the tortured whirring of their movements loud enough that Sandsa could hear them from the road, even with his window securely shut.
His blood pumped faster as he sent his consciousness further and further out into the desert. The wild sands answered, crying out to him, promising to obey him if only he returned — he should have squashed this connection, but he embraced it, drawing on the powers of a god. A twinge beneath his ribs warned him that his people would sense him soon. Sandsa ignored the pain, instead focusing on what he needed to do. He leaned over to swipe his thumb on the sensor on the handle but Bock was quicker — the teenager sprang out and hurried over, opening the door for him.
Sandsa then ambled up the ramp and nodded at the guards. They eyed him warily.
‘I have come to kill your Clan Leader,’ Sandsa said and dodged the ensuing lasbolts.
His own weapon remained on his belt as he lashed out with the Desine’s might. A savage gust of sand-laden wind knocked his opponents over. Sandsa casually strolled over to the unmoving Alcazaar and killed each of them with their own lasguns. He erected a shield half a second before the artillery on the wall exploded into life, their slow reaction time revealing that they had been in manual mode all along.
He spared a look down at the road and saw that Bock was back inside the hovercar, apparently reading a book on a small techpad, though he was tapping the screen with his finger a little too frequently to be spending enough time on any of the pages. Sandsa allowed this lapse in concentration. He was a god; nothing could come close to harming him now.
The mounted lasguns dropped to the porch, a pile of snapped arms and wiring. Sandsa approached the unguarded door and pressed a finger to the centre of it. Cracks multiplied on the panel until it fell inwards and broke apart on the smooth metallic floor.
Sandsa took his time in ascending the main staircase, torrents of sand scouring skin from bone and weapons from hidden locations behind and around him. He walked through the storm, smiling, not bothering to move any faster to reach his destination. Some of the Alcazaar dropped to their knees, hands pulling their heads to the ground in surrender. He let them live. The Maria would need new grunts to carry out their legwork when they became the ruling clan in Atsa City. As he drew closer to the lifesign that represented the Clan Leader, one woman knelt with her hands raised to the air, revealing the binding scars on each of her palms.
‘My Lord Desine,’ she whispered.
Though her Magic was not particularly strong, even she could sense her god brandishing his full powers. Sandsa felt her, saw the destiny the Desine had once written for her, but he sidestepped that part of his past as easily as he sidestepped her. The Clan Leader met him further along in the corridor, waving off the guards who clamoured to take the hits for him. Sandsa and CL regarded each other for what probably felt like an eternity to the Alcazaar leader. Time ticked away.
‘So you have come to seize what is mine with the powers of a Chipper instead of allowing me a fair fight,’ CL said distastefully. Since the Alcazaar leader would have done the same thing in his place, Sandsa knew the man was just stalling.
He threw a laugh in CL’s face. ‘No. I came with the powers of the desert god, because I am he, and I am sick of this fighting that keeps me from the woman I love.’
To his credit, the leader of the Alcazaar did not flinch or back away. CL merely stood there, accepting the end of his reign, submitting himself to the tornado that encased his body. When the sand cascaded into a puddle on the floor, it was stained red, forming a soiled bed for the bleached bones that fell upon it. There was silence but for Sandsa’s ragged breathing as he fought the urge to flee into the deserts and become one with them —
He bit down on his lip and tasted the blood of a mortal.
‘I am your Clan Leader now,’ Sandsa declared.
No one dissented. They stayed on the floor, trembling before him.
‘Your clan is no more,’ Sandsa continued, surveying each bowed head. ‘You are now Maria.’
Their angry muttering was muted, distant, fearful. Sandsa stomped a foot and the building groaned and cracked around him, sand burrowing into its foundations.
‘This war is over,’ he said.
Sandsa paused by a rose bush in a neighbouring yard on his way out. He ripped a flower free from the bush and snapped each thorn off its stem as he approached the hovercar. Behind him, Alzacaar spilled out of their disintegrating headquarters, fleeing into the city. He supposed some of them would not stay on Yalsa 5, afraid of his vengeance. Others would report to the Maria later, hungry for the wealth and power that surrounded a Clan Leader.
Bock opened the passenger door for him and Sandsa slid inside, nursing the flower. At first, all Bock could do was stare unseeingly at the road, then he exploded, ‘Holy Creator shit! We’re back in the game now!’ He indicated the flower, chuckling. ‘Think that’ll make her forgive you, Clan Leader?’
Sandsa curled his fingers around the perfect bud. ‘She feels exceptionally angry right this moment.’
Bock chuckled. ‘Don’t blame her.’
***
She ran.
Sand swallowed her heels with each step until it became almost too hard to keep going. She fell, but then she pressed on, her knees sloughing through the soft ground. When she finally reached the top of the dune, she tried to get up only to rock back on her haunches, staring down in horror at the bodies stretching out before her.
For each one he kills in your city, a voice said, resonating deep within her, countless more die in the deserts, unguided by his hand.
Callista looked over at the man who now sat beside her, his legs crossed beneath him and his sharp elbows resting on his knees. He had the same startling blue eyes as Sandsa but his face was longer and leaner and his hair was white, though she sensed it was more for aesthetic purposes than to betray his age. He was ancient. She felt it. Her powers rose to greet him, giddy and shy. This was the one who the Chippers claimed their tech could reach. Any number of them would have begged to trade places with her. She would have accepted in a heartbeat.
‘Creator God.’ Her mouth was so dry her tongue momentarily stuck to her teeth. ‘The Ine. Sandsa’s father. Father of all the gods.’
Granter of your own powers, added the being, his smile sending a traitorous wave of warmth through her.
‘I never asked you to.’
This was all planned long ago.
Callista snorted. ‘You mean you planned to lure your son out of the sands with dreams about me? That’s your own fault, Ine. If you’d not made me, made him sense me and vice versa — he’d still be doing his duty. Oh, but you see everything, past and present. I suppose this all makes some sort of fucked up sense to you.’
The Ine peered down at the carnage that reached into the horizon. This is his doing. The tribes fight each other out of fear. Some claim that they still hear the Desine. Others slaughter these boastful tribes, upset that they have been abandoned, angry that others would lie.
‘You have a slew of sons — pick another one,’ Callista said, leaning forward onto shaking hands to lever herself off the ground.
Is a god supposed to interfere with an insignificant city’s gangs? the Ine asked, remaining seated and in no way diminished even when she stood above him.
Callista shook her head. ‘Sandsa’s not a god. He’s a man. He’s mine.’
You think he can simply deny what he is?
‘Free will is supposed to be your slogan. You figure it out.’
The Ine’s gaze rested on her for an uncomfortable stretch of time. He then spoke aloud, using the voice box of his fleshy form. He sounded weary, like a man who had lost something, though Callista refused to let herself feel any pity. ‘He promised to fight this war as a mortal, because if he uses the powers of a god, his deserts and his people may steal him away from you. Shall I show you what he is doing while you sleep peacefully?’
‘“Peacefully” is an exaggeration, I think,’ Callista said with a snort.
His chuckle sounded like one of Sandsa’s own, but older, more practiced, as though he had laughed at many insignificant creatures before her. Callista suspected few mortals had ever seen him, let alone conversed with him. It occurred to her that she should make use of this opportunity so she asked, ‘What’s the deal with me and the Chippers anyway? They look after us mortals in return for the fancy powers, but what am I supposed to do?’
‘You will either bear an important lesson or the salvation of the sands — that choice belongs to you,’ the Ine told her, rising to his feet. ‘Enough of this. You must see what he is doing.’
He waved a hand. The desert scenery faded into a seamless white expanse. In front of them a rectangle hovered, like a vidscreen, but completely lacking any three-dimensional features. It merely existed, a hole in the universe, showing Callista her lover as he killed the Alcazaar and brought them to heel. A dark film spread over the screen as Sandsa approached CL, hiding both men from view, and she started shouting, screaming, pleading him not to do it —
He can’t hear you. Not from here. A dry laugh. But he can hear the voices. He can hear the deserts. How long do you think he can resist them?
Callista whirled around, baring her teeth. ‘Take me to him.’
It is too late. The Ine began to retreat from her, gliding smoothly away as his form faded. He is a Clan Leader now. Is this what you wanted?
‘Yes,’ she answered softly. ‘But not like this. No man can do that.’
A god can.
‘He’s still adjusting to the ways of mortals — my way!’ she cried.
The words echoed now, taking their time to reach her. The longer he denies his godhood, the more painful it will be for him when he returns.
‘He won’t go back,’ Callista snapped.
He will be eternally tormented if you force him to choose between you and the deserts. Is that what you want for your son, the one you are destined to bear from this very night?
By now the Ine was a distant speck, barely visible against the colourless surroundings. Callista tried to run after him, but her feet refused to move. She shouted, ‘My son is not yours! He’s ours!’
She woke alone in her room. The pillow beside her, where Sandsa’s head had lain, was cold and bare. Seething, she rolled off the bed, yanked on her clothes and tried not to trip on her way over to her boots. After all they had been through…after what he had promised…her anger seeped out across the city, as potent as her love for Sandsa. She made him feel it.
Despite this, a seed of excitement threatened to outgrow the walls she had erected to contain it. Callista dared to delve inside herself for a moment and felt the tiny spark that announced her son’s presence. Trembling hands clipped her lasgun to her belt. There was so much to plan, to worry about, to look forward to.
But right now you and I need to talk about what you’ve done! she said.
I am on my way, Sandsa responded.
Callista’s heart froze. For a moment, he had sounded just like…the Ine, his voice underscored by raw power.