Sand and Bone

Chapter 7: Broken Silence

No one knows what organizes the kojinōmi, only that one is there when someone dies.

—Whispers of the Desert (Act 2)

The steady drum of Rutejìmo's feet against the solid ground was almost peaceful. He chased Shimusògo as he always did, the dépa sprinted a few rods in front of him no matter how fast he pushed himself. Rutejìmo didn't feel an urgency to race, only a need to approach the smoke, so he ran at a comfortable pace that would carry him just under thirty miles in an hour.

His feet always struck solid ground. One of the powers of the Shimusògo clan solidified shifting sands and rolling rocks before his foot came down. As soon as he ran past, it crumbled back into sand in time for the wind of Rutejìmo's passing to rip it from the ground and send it flying in the air. Even at his relatively sluggish speed, the plume of sand and dust stretched a mile back on a still day.

Alone, he could lose himself in the euphoria of running. The power of Shimusògo was a pulse of pleasure and at the same time an ache, while running for hours at a time. But, for Rutejìmo, it was always a struggle. And as his run stretched into an hour, his thoughts turned inward.

As much as he couldn't admit it in front of the other Shimusògo, Rutejìmo was thankful for being pulled away from Kosobyo City. Even his brief view of the city disturbed him. Cities needed walls for protection, not wide open rows of endless buildings. He couldn't imagine how the Kosòbyo protected their homes with so many exposed entrances. The only thing he could imagine was that no one would ever risk destruction by going against one of the most powerful clans in the desert. The Kosòbyo were known for their grudges.

Given the size of the powerful clan, Rutejìmo hadn't expected a call from the desert. There were other kojinōmi. No doubt there were at least a few in the Kosòbyo.

Even though he had only met one other kojinōmi in five years, the Book of Ash indicated they gravitated to places they were needed. In a city as large as Kosobyo City, there had to be those who needed someone to hold their hand while they died or to tend to the bodies after it happened. Why had the desert called on him so far from home?

Lost in thought, he blasted past a figure without realizing it, only catching a flash of white in the corner of his eye. With a gasp, Rutejìmo dug his feet into the ground. His sole cut through the solid rock, and he decelerated rapidly. Jumping to the side, he shot out in a wide circle to come around and chase after the figure walking away.

He reached the figure quickly, and he jammed his feet back into the ground to stop. His passing left a deep furrow in the ground, the impact of rock shattering underneath his feet nothing more than a tug and scrape against his hardened soles.

Rutejìmo remained crouched on the ground and held his breath. The wind that followed him blew over his body, peppering his back with rocks and sand. It slowed in a choking cloud before raining down. Moments later, he stood in a teardrop-shape of upturned sand and rocks.

It was a young man with pale brown skin and no hair. He drank from a skin when Rutejìmo stopped and he turned with the skin still held in his hand. He wore a white tunic and trousers. The rough fabric was almost identical to Rutejìmo's outfit.

The young man looked surprised. "Kojinōmi?"

Rutejìmo nodded and then stepped back in surprise. For five years, Rutejìmo had remained nearly silent when he took on the mantle of white. When he raised his voice, he was beaten until he learned not to make a noise. But the stranger had spoken at full volume, as if they were talking in a room together.

A frown crossed the other man's face. "I haven't seen you before."

Rutejìmo shook his head.

"Can't talk?"