The Tortured Wind by Alyce Caswell

Author:Alyce Caswell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, scifi, fantasy, space opera, gods, powers, future fantasy, romance sci fi, future galaxy, romance adults
Publisher: Alyce Caswell

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sandsa jogged through the smoke curling its way up from the road and cast a quick look around. Balconies hung alarmingly off the sides of buildings and many windows were so warped it was hard to tell if the glass had fallen from the misshapen frames or if it had first been shattered by lasgun bolts. Sandsa slowed his pace often to check the cockpits of abandoned hovercars, but soon found that a vivid yellow X painted on a vehicle meant that he would find no one inside. He sensed the energy of people nearby, though he wasn’t sure if they belonged to the Zatzat. He only needed to use a tiny, inconsequential nudge to feel out their powers, but even that minor action filled his stomach with a burbling guilt that threatened to leap up his throat and choke him.

When will I stop acting so thoughtlessly? he wondered. I can’t keep putting myself in a position where my people or the sands can hear me. They could very well steal me back with their pleas, their cries, their unrelenting demands.

The man’s reflection he saw in the rare intact glass he passed was not that of the Desine, god of the desert. A fine, light stubble was spreading over his face, refusing to slow; he could not remember the last time he’d needed to shave. The blond hair that had spent millennia never reaching his shoulders was now tied into an ever-lengthening ponytail that lashed his back as he walked. The god was someone else, someone who lurked at the edges of his mind, trying — and failing — to lure him away from Callista.

‘Vom?’ he called. ‘How are you faring after last night?’

The nightclub owner, shirtless and limping, emerged from the stairwell that was sheltering far more people than Sandsa knew were in the Zatzat gang. Vom winced and slung a hand over to his shoulder, massaging what was presumably a sore and abused muscle. ‘Warm greetings, Subofficer Bolt.’

‘What happened?’ Sandsa asked, frowning as more injured clanspeople followed Vom out onto the street.

‘The Alcazaar figured out where your Dancer got the codes to the hovercars, not that we made it hard for ’em,’ Vom said, hissing when Sandsa pressed fingers to the uneven lines that lasbolts had gouged into his back. Sandsa eased a few dribbles of his power down into the clansman, just enough to speed his body’s natural healing on its way, but not so much that it would reveal the Desine’s presence. Vom kept talking. ‘They sent more than we could handle.’

Sandsa indicated the growing crowd behind Vom. ‘But you asked the other minor clans for help. Did not enough people come?’

‘Tsi, yes, just enough,’ Vom said and then sighed, scrubbing a hand over the bristles on his chin. ‘But we could not defend ourselves. We met a challenge that cannot be overcome.’

‘Chippers?’

‘Worse,’ Vom said grimly.

Sandsa waited for him to continue, but it was a lanky woman with much lighter skin than Vom who diverged from the pack to explain.

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