Sand and Blood

Chapter 2: Confession

It takes a strong man to confess with the knowledge of the punishment that will follow.

—Rador Malastin

Like most of the other clan homes in the northern part of the Mifuno Desert, the Shimusogo Valley ran east-west along the rocky mountains. The valley itself was two miles long with caves cut out of the living rock and paths leading from opening to opening. No one lived along the bottom of the valley among the crops, livestock, and common areas.

Rutejìmo's home was near the top at the middle of the valley. Sun-charged crystals lit up pools of orange and blue illumination along the trail. He jogged as he headed home, running but not hurrying. He wasn't ready to face his grandmother. She had ordered Rutejìmo to bed hours before, and beatings were her favorite form of punishment.

He slowed as he headed up the steep trail leading to his grandmother's home; until he would be considered old enough to live on his own, he slept in one of its side caves. Light poured around the curtains that covered the entrance of the cave. Rutejìmo stopped, took a deep breath, pushed aside the curtain, and peeked inside.

His grandfather, Somiryòki, rarely moved from his favorite chair and spent his days huddling underneath a blanket and drinking tea. He sat only a few feet from the fire that heated the cave, but the years had left their mark on him and he shivered constantly. His back was to Rutejìmo, and Rutejìmo knew he could easily sneak past the former clan warrior.

It was his grandmother Rutejìmo worried about. Tejíko spent her nights sorting through the maps she had created during a lifetime of running for the clan. Her map room had been carved out just inside the entrance to her home, and he could hear the scuff of paper as she moved. Fear shivered down his spine. Where his grandfather was deaf to the world, his grandmother had managed to remain alert late into her twilight years.

Taking a deep breath, he inched past the curtain and crept along the far stone wall. He hoped she wouldn't catch him and he could retreat to his room. He would tell her in the morning before Hyonèku spoke with her.

"Boy," called out his grandmother, "why are you up?"

For a moment, Rutejìmo debated whether or not to respond. He glanced over his shoulder at the opening in the cave that led into his grandmother's den. Not a single bit of stone was visible behind the papers that covered every wall of the square-cut room.

His grandmother sat in the middle of the floor. Bound into a thick tail, her long, white hair snaked down to the ground where she had tied the tip to a carved wooden ring. She wore her sleeping outfit, a heavily embroidered cotton top and bottom. The fabric was white except for the orange trim highlighting her bare feet and hands. She didn't look at him, nor did she stop going through papers, but Rutejìmo knew she was waiting for an answer.

"I..."

She placed a page on a pile. "Speak up, boy, I can't hear through the mumbling."

"I"—he took a deep breath—"I went out."

His grandmother stopped sorting her maps and held herself in mid-motion. Her grip tightened and she crumpled the page in her hand.

Rutejìmo's skin crawled as his stomach twisted. The sudden stillness worried him.

"Did you meet anyone?" Her rough voice was threatening and quiet. A calm before the sand storm.

He straightened and clasped his hands. He took a long, deep breath and squirmed from the tightness in his chest. "Yes, Great Shimusogo Tejíko."

"Who?"

"Great Shimusogo Hyonèku."

"Hyonèku was on shrine duty this evening. He would not be wandering the valley."