Page 12 of Married By Wind
Part of me was torn, hoping for the ordeal to be over but not wanting Vinn to leave. Earlier, the wedding I hadn’t wanted had ended up being exactly what my people needed. The joy, the laughter, the food and dancing without worry had momentarily wiped our troubles from our minds. And Vinn, how was it possible that he was the god of wind? If I hadn’t seen his power for myself, I was unsure if I’d believe it. Tales had led me to believe gods were powerful, arrogant, angry, and impatient with mortals. But he was none of that.
I closed my eyes again, because when Vinn and I had been dancing around the fire, a look in his eyes had made me believe he might kiss me. That was the problem. I’d questioned his affection for me when he’d left, and again when we’d been in Fae Mountain. But now? It shouldn’t matter if he returned my affections, because what I desired was not possible. Besides, if he defeated the sand devils tonight, he’d leave, and then what? I’d go back to my life—finding treasure, painting—and one day, find a new husband. But I had to admit to myself that even though I should be grateful, I wanted more than the life I had.
It wasn’t until sunrise that Papa deemed it safe to leave the cave. Untangling myself from Anat, I crept around the sleeping bodies and out into the pale morning light. Papa walked beside me, and Uncle Noah had already taken his place on the rocks above. Hues of blush covered the sky, the first signs of a riot of colors.
“By the gods,” Papa breathed.
I dropped my gaze down to the desert floor, and my eyes went wide. The landscape of the desert had changed. Dunes curved around the encampment in a half circle, leading to the waters. The pale-pink hues of the sun made the sand glitter like gold. My mouth dropped open, but only one word escaped.
“Vinn,” I breathed and darted down the pathway to the shore.
The encampment should have been in ruins. Instead, the fire had been built up again, unlit but ready for another night of celebration. Something silvery glinted on it, and my parents’ tent was standing as though the wind hadn’t happened at all. I broke into a run, tearing inside, where the bundle with the lamp lay. I picked it up, my heart thudding in my chest as I raced out of the tent and made my way to the river. He was gone, wasn’t he? Why did my chest hurt?
I ran past the bonfire, noting the sparkling items on top were fish, dozens of them, as though the river had emptied itself on top of the shore.
There, under a palm tree, sat a man. No, it was Vinn. He only looked like a man, the glamour of a god even further diminished. This was the second time he’d used magic. For what else could explain what had happened? Suddenly shy, I slowed my pace, but he rose.
“Ulika.”
“Vinn?”
He approached, a raw look on his face, one that I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Are the sand devils gone?” I asked.
His gaze went to the river, and he shook his head as though he was ashamed of himself. “No, I frightened them off and built a barrier of sand to keep your tribe safe while we are hunting. We need to leave before the trail goes cold.”
15
Vinn
White sand swelled into tiny dunes and opened into scattered paths crisscrossed with both human and animal footprints. Ulika and I were not the only travelers in the ever-changing desert, especially in the early morning. Hares scurried to their dens, sand foxes trotted by, and beetles scuttled across the desert floor before burrowing deep into the dust. By midday, the sun beat down with a relentlessness that made me grateful for the head covering Ulika’s parents had gifted me with. A wedding gift, as they’d called it. I didn’t have the heart to tell them this sham of a marriage would be long over before I saw them again.
When Ulika had come to my mountain, she’d claimed she was willing to sacrifice herself to save her people, but I doubted she was aware of the true cost. Last night, before the sand devils had ruined the celebration, she’d been happy, in contrast to this morning, silent and still. She sat rigidly in front of me, and the way the camels’ humps swelled allowed us to ride without touching. It was slow and even, and as I scanned the barren horizon, impatience made me itch. To distract myself, I tried to get her to talk. “Do you still paint?”
Ulika shook her head, black hair swishing back and forth down her back. “Not anymore. During the first attack, my jars were crushed, and with everything in chaos, its selfish to spend time making dye and enjoy a frivolous activity.”
I frowned at the reminder of my guilt. “Your paintings are lovely, not frivolous.”
Ulika shrugged but kept her face forward. “True, but my time is better spent helping my tribe. We have to work twice as hard to find food, store our supplies in the cave, and remake what was lost. I feel selfish taking time for myself when I could help others.”
Of course, fighting for survival meant work. I’d forgotten, again, the difference between us. “You work hard. Surely you’ll take some time for yourself.”
She shrugged. “When this is over, I will.”
But there was a catch to her tone, a distinct note of unhappiness, so I shifted the topic. “Once, I flew over the southern lands, and the people painted their pots with various dyes. Before they dried, they baked them in the fire. The paintings crystalized and formed unique designs and patterns, making them more valuable for trade. And no one admonished those who painted for taking time for themselves, for they were both creating and giving back to their people. You could do the same.”
Ulika gave a soft sigh. “You’re right. Will you tell me more of your stories? They were my favorite. I always wondered how you traveled so far and wide and appeared so young, but knowing your divine nature brings clarity.” She sounded so wistful when she spoke.
“You want to travel too, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard marvelous tales my entire life, of cultures with traditions different from my own, lush lands with green gardens, and trees taller than the cacti. I long to see the birds with bright feathers and hear their songs as they fly across the sky. One day, I’d like to see beasts as big as a boulder and flying lizards who breath ice and fire.”
“Who told you these stories?” I asked, for I hadn’t told her all of them.
“Jadda tells stories while she paints fortunes. I’ve worked alongside her all my life. She also told me about gods in their heavenly homes, bringing down wrath upon the mortals who displeased them. In her tales, gods are powerful, arrogant, easily angered, and unforgiving, yet you are none of those things. Even when we went to the hall of the gods, you were not like them.”
Her praise made my heart swell, and suddenly I understood why some gods dwelled among the mortals and demanded their worship. Praise from their lips was like a sweet elixir. I didn’t know how to tell her that, or if I should mention how her words made me feel. Wasn’t it a weakness to rely on the praise of mortals? Instead, I offered something safer, a glimpse of my past. “No, I didn’t grow up around them, nor am I as ancient as they are. I’d rather live in this world than sit in cold halls above.”
