Borne of Sand and Scorn by Lindsey Pogue

Author:Lindsey Pogue [Pogue, Lindsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lindsey Pogue

BRANDON

16

I don’t have time to answer any of their shrieked questions. Knowing the sandstorm will be on top of us in a matter of minutes, I run for the horse at the front of the house, grabbing onto its bridle and rushing down the hill toward the barn. The storm draws dangerously close, and the horse doesn’t need any encouragement to run deeper into the barn as I shut it inside, cart and all as I struggle to latch the door against the wind. Sheep bay in the pasture, but there is no time to do anything about it.

The moment my eyes and face begin to sting, I know the storm has arrived—a gritty, suffocating cloud, and it feels as if my skin might tear from my body the longer I remain outside. I sprint toward the house, every muscle and tendon braced and ready to rip the side door open, when it flings wide on its own.

Mrs. Mason ushers me inside, her gray hair whipping around us. Safely inside the kitchen, it’s all I can do to breathe as Mrs. Mason struggles to shut the door behind me. Bending over, I pull in lungfuls of sandless air, gasping for breath.

I shake the sand from my hair, and wipe it from my face as the wind howls around us, the house shuddering down to the foundation. Still catching my breath, I crouch beside Fish, cowering under the table, and murmur what reassurances I can muster.

The sound of breaking glass pierces the air, and the kitchen window shatters as sand and wind whip through the room, accosting all of us.

“Board up the windows!” I shout. There’s another shatter further in the house, and when I look at Mrs. Mason, her eyes are wide with a different sort of fear.

She points to Miss West, gripping the doorway with one hand, the other clawing at her chest with the other as she gasps for air.

My racing heartbeat stills. “Elizabeth!” I rush over, pulling her to a dining room chair to sit, but she shakes her head.

“Here, drink some water,” Mrs. Mason calls over the wind, shoving a copper cup toward her. Sand stings a little, coming through the window, but I try to ignore it, my focus on Miss West whose coughing is too violent to hold the cup, especially as the wind whips around the room.

“Lemon—” Miss West wheezes, her eyes darting to the forgotten fruit on the floor. Her coughing persists, a dry, scratching sound that makes the hair rise on the back of my arms.

Mrs. Mason doesn’t hesitate. She cuts into a lemon and squeezes the juice into some water for Miss West to drink.

“We must get her out of the wind!” I shout, knowing it’s not helping any of us.

Mrs. Mason hurries toward a cellar door, heaving it open.

I lift Miss West into my arms and carry her down the dark stairway, unsteadily feeling for the steps beneath my feet. As the wind and noise dissipate, I can think more clearly and I follow as Fish leads the way, trusting his senses far more than my jumbled ones.

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