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"Assist me with the cover stone," I say.

"AIROS."

He hammers me on the shoulder blade with his fist. I turn around to see we've been silently ambushed by a group of six men mounted on sand gryphs—sleek creatures with a hawk-like head and a body similar to that of the desert lion. In each man's hand is a leather sling primed with a stone, and plenty of ammunition hanging in a pouch from his waist. Layers of rust and ochre-colored fabric cover their bodies from head to foot, and their faces are almost entirely hidden behind a cover save for their eyes, just visible between a gap in the fabric.

I step in front of Jackson and thrust the butt of my staff into the sand, readying what little strength I have to defend him.

7

JACKSON

“Maybe we can talk this through,” I say in a low voice to Airos. "You know? Be diplomatic? We're not in a place to take these guys on."

He gives me a slow nod but doesn't relax from his defensive stance.

"We mean no harm," Airos says, voice steady. "We're travelers, seeking only water to survive our journey."

The lead rider speaks, but I have no idea what he says. It's just a bunch of guttural sounds that seem to roll from the back of the throat. His monster bird mount rocks beneath him, its razor-sharp beak opening slightly to reveal a purple tongue, and its tawny feathered mane transitions seamlessly at the shoulder into a fur coat that covers the rest of its body, down to its paws, which spread at the toe almost like a camel's foot. It's probably how they were able to creep up on us so silently.

"You can understand him, right?" I ask, but Airos shakes his head no.

The leader gestures toward the well, his voice rising in what sounds like accusation. The other riders murmur in agreement. One of them points at me and my wet hair, then at the dark saturated sand at the base of the well, and lets loose with an angry tirade as he waves his hand above his head.

"Yeah, definitely doesn't look like they're gonna forgive us for the splashy splashy," I mutter before bowing my head, trying to look as apologetic as possible.

The leader barks an order, and his men raise and twirl their slings, filling the quiet air with an eerie whistling noise. Airos moves even closer to me, shielding me with the entirety of his body so that my belly is pressed right up against the small of his back. Then he lifts his hand, and I feel him take command of what little power he has regenerated. Two plumes of sand explode up like geysers around the riders, ruining their slings and knocking three of them from their startled mounts.

But that's all Airos has in him. I catch him under his armpits as he falls to one knee, his hand clutching his staff for support.

"Get behind the well," he tells me.

"Hell no. You know I ain't hiding. I can fight."

"JACKSON," he snaps.

The look in his eyes and the fire in his voice makes my heart jump, and I find myself scampering around the well to take cover like he told me to. There's not a single man outside of a uniform with bars on the shoulders who can make me move like this, and yet he just did. I hate feeling like I can't take care of myself, but right now, as I stare at the back of this man who has put himself between my pregnant body and six men meant to harm me, something shifts inside of me, like an engine finally coughing to life after so many failed starts, that sudden roar when the fuel line clears and everything fires in perfect sequence.

I can't explain it. I don't understand it. I don't like this feeling. I don't like it at all. But I want more of it.

How the fuck does that make any sense?

The leader's beast screeches angrily as it rears and shakes sand from its fur and feathers, and he yanks its reins and wrestles it back under control. I brace myself for the attack—but instead, the man leaps from the saddle. The others also dismount or rise from where they've fallen. There's been a clear shift in the energy. They're acting cautiously now, waiting for the leader's command.

Suddenly, he drops to his knees in front of us and grumbles something that sounds like "shalkek."

The word echoes through the group as the others all do the same. Airos's shoulders relax, and he exhales a long, relieved breath as he leans against the edge of the well.

"This word I think I know," he says, glancing back at me. "I believe we're going to be fine... For now."

"Well, what the hell does it mean?"

"Fated."

The riders are adamant that we come with them, and we aren't really in a position to say no. According to Airos, the animals are called sand gryphs, and one of them is made available for us to ride.

"Just one?" I say, eyeing the creature warily. The beast stands taller than a horse, with its feathered head bobbing impatiently and golden eyes tracking our movements. "You expect both of us to ride on that thing? Together?"

The leader of the nomads makes a flowing gesture with his hand, pointing first to the sand gryph, then to Airos and me. His meaning is clear even through the language barrier.