Chapter 4: Drying

The sandbender sailers were structured much like catamarans. Resting on two long runners, the vessel glided smoothly over the dunes. Compared to common boats, such a craft was less prone to rocking on uneven terrain and was easier to maneuver than single-hull vessels. While catamarans were notably slower at low speeds, no one in the desert cared about such a trivial fact. Here, you had to move as fast as possible. However, catamarans had one significant drawback: they were much harder to repair.

If one runner snapped, you couldn't just patch a hole or start bailing "water" off the deck. You couldn't move at all, which, for desert dwellers, was arguably the greatest problem imaginable. Standing before the right runner, which had split into two jagged pieces, every member of our "caravan" wiped cold sweat from their brows.

"We won't be able to fasten it back together," Tassad said, a shadow falling over his face. "The fracture is transverse; we must have hit a jagged rock along the way. The starboard side will just shake apart and splinter the moment we start moving. It’s unrideable."

"...Hey, maybe we should just steal one?" Bael whispered, shielding his face with his palm. He shot a predatory look toward the boats of the bandits who had been loitering nearby. The problem was there were three vessels, a whole gang.

"If you want to rely only on brute force, why don't you just join them?" Tassad snapped, glaring at his workers until they hunched their shoulders. It was obvious that theft would lead to a fight, and a fight to bloodshed. He was simply weighing the odds, and instead of charging in blindly, he surveyed the surroundings. "We’ll have to fix it. This town has never had a boat shop, but materials are brought through here often enough."

Gesturing for me to follow, Tassad stood behind the sailer and began pushing the sand beneath it to slide the vessel deeper into the settlement. Realizing what was required, I began to help, guiding the transport along the current we created. It was like launching a paper boat down a stream, only on a massive scale. To make matters worse, the locals stared at us, watching our struggles with mocking grins. My discomfort grew with every step, and I felt a prickle of resentment toward the workers who were simply walking alongside us, resting.

"We’re here," Father said, stopping in front of a large house made of sandstone bricks. The sign depicted a lotus, a florist shop. Strange as it seemed, even in this corner of the world, people loved plants; we even had a few in our own home. Ordering the workers to watch the boat, he beckoned me inside.

Cliing~

A bell rang above our heads, and my eyes met rows of pots made of tightly compressed sand. They held not only expensive plants but precious soil, all arranged on beautiful wooden shelves. It was clear we had come here specifically for the wood. Tassad scanned the room and spotted the shopkeeper sitting behind the counter, fanning himself with a newspaper. Stepping closer, Tassad looked him squarely in the eye.

"We need a beam of treated wood to repair a boat."

"...You're out of luck. No beams," the thin trader replied, which didn't surprise me. Father’s gaze turned colder. "Though, I do have some timber; I bought a shipment not long ago. But it needs to be dried before it can be worked. It becomes stronger that way."

"The wood needs to be dried..." This was new information for Father. Frowning, he started to speak. "How lon—"

"A month," the trader cut him off, presenting us with a harsh reality. "You’re lucky we’re in the desert. In the humid climate of the Earth Kingdom, you’d be waiting at least six months. Anyway, as soon as the moisture evaporates, you can come back."

"Hm?" At that moment, I blinked. To make the wood stronger, one simply had to remove the moisture. It sounded remarkably simple. I looked at Father, who had lowered his gaze, likely weighing different options, and I gave his sleeve a quiet tug. At that exact moment...

[Choose:]

[1 — Share your idea with Father. (Improves your relationship with Father. A chance to earn money.)]

[2 — Suggest robbing the bandits. Your survival is more important than their lives. (Risk of severe injury. You get three boats and all their cargo.)]

[3 — Suggest stealing the trader's boat. Your life is more important than his profit. (Your relationship with your parents will become strained.)]

For a second, a lump formed in my throat. Father asked what I wanted, but only saw me standing there with my mouth open. Getting a fleet of boats and a hoard of supplies? Robbing a merchant? It would make life so much easier and expand the business. But avoiding injury and practicing the technique Father taught me seemed more important.

"What if we... help remove the moisture?"

"Oh..." A look of clarity washed over Tassad. While the trader tilted his head in confusion, Father immediately moved to negotiate. First, he asked to see the timber to pick out a piece for the future. Rolling his eyes, the trader stood up and led us to a fenced backyard where thick trunks lay on stone pallets. Once Father had walked the rows and selected the right wood, he turned back to the trader. "I propose a deal."

"Not more scammers," the man groaned.

"Listen. We will help dry all these logs, and in exchange, you pay us and give us one beam. It's in your interest to sell your stock as quickly as possible, isn't it?"

Placing a hand on a log and first enveloping it in sand, Tassad began to squeeze the moisture out of the thick timber—it visibly transformed before our eyes. The merchant, who had been ready to toss us out, froze, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

"W-what is this trick?!" The thin man ran over and began pawing at his own merchandise. His eyes widened by the second. "Incredible! Shouldn't the wood have cracked from such rapid drying? How did you do it?"

"I didn't burn it. I simply absorbed the moisture uniformly across the entire surface. Do we have a deal?"

Tassad was magnificent. He never broke his stern persona, though I doubt it was an act, and took control of the situation. After inspecting the log, the trader thought it over and quickly agreed. He settled with Father for several copper pieces per log. In the end, it should amount to about sixty coins. This was more than we had made from selling all our goods in the city.

To say I was thrilled would be an understatement. Father called me over to help so we could finish everything quickly, beginning the super-fast drying process. At first, he watched closely to ensure I was pulling the moisture out evenly. I'd be lying if I said I got it right on the first try. But following his instructions and getting plenty of practice, I learned to "wring" the wood as fast as he did. Once the logs were finished, everyone was happy. The merchant greedily rubbed his hands together, and we secured our beam and our means of escape.

"Dad... the wood isn't shaped. What do we do?" As we hauled the timber outside and set it by the sailer, I asked the obvious question. In response, Tassad shrugged, stomped his foot on the sand, and sent up a wave that sliced the wood into the exact shape we needed. With the workers' help, he quickly swapped the runner and boarded the vessel. "...Like new."

"We're not going to die!" Hamri nearly knocked me over, throwing his arms around me.

"You guys did great. If you hadn't pulled it off, I definitely would've gone to rob those bandits, I swear on my life," the other one hugged me.

They didn't do a thing, and here they were bragging. I squinted at them, wanting to snap, but Tassad grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks and tossed them into the cabin.

"Let’s finally move."

Giving me an approving look, he summoned a whirlwind. As originally planned, we headed just outside the city for a simple training session. We stopped a couple of kilometers away and stepped onto the sand with Father. While the others slacked off, he knelt down and ran his fingertips over the grains.

"You've noticed we build all our houses out of sandstone. Compacting sand into a solid state is a vital skill, but not just for construction." Picking up a handful, he shaped the sand into a dagger. He sharpened the edge of the blade and turned it into stone. "Sandbending attacks are primarily slashing, unlike the crushing strikes of earthbenders. While nothing stops you from compressing sand into a rock to smash something, it’s... well, it’s not as lethal."

At that moment, Bael and Hamri jumped from the sailer, drawing their curved swords. The sunlight glinted off the polished metal. They surrounded me on all sides.

"However, we are not very good at avoiding strikes. Fluidly parrying an attack while standing your ground, that is where our strength lies." Tassad suddenly clenched his fist, and the sand beneath my feet began to pull me down. It was hard even to lift a leg, as if I had stepped into a quicksand trap. In that same instant, Bael swung his weapon, slicing a piece of my clothing. They all looked at me coldly. Especially Father, who I thought had softened. "Without the ability to defend yourself, you'll be hunted down in the sands and you'll die."

He turned his back on me and walked toward the boat, while the workers raised their blades, cutting through the air. I couldn't run, I couldn't call for help; I was thrown into a brutal reality. Even now, with my twenty-first-century mentality, I struggled to grasp just how cruel this world was. High mortality rates? No antibiotics? That wasn't the point... there was a war going on, and smart men like my father understood that it could touch everyone. If you didn't become strong, you'd die like a cornered sand-viper.

CLANG!

Sand tentacles rose into the air, instantly parrying the incoming blades. The sharpened edges threw sparks upon impact. Bael and Hamri grinned broadly, but such a defense didn't surprise professional swordsmen. Their twin blades created a whirlwind of strikes, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. These feints reminded me of... sandbending.

Just as Father had taught me. Spin in one direction, directing every grain. Individually they were incredibly weak, but gathered together, they formed an unstoppable gale. My sharpened tentacles began to parry every blow in rhythm. The sand really did feel a lot like the waterbending I'd seen in the show, but with one tangible difference: every swing carried a weight that made the workers' arms quickly go numb.

"I hope you understand," Tassad’s voice rang out again. Following it came a sandstorm that swept the workers off their feet. Tiny holes appeared in their clothes. "How flexible our abilities can be. The key is not to limit your mind. But don't get cocky; there is always someone stronger."

His men's legs were encased in sand and petrified. The next moment, a sand-vortex rose, the kind that usually powered our boat. But the grains within it began to sharpen, turning the whirlwind into a harbinger of death. The workers were nearly shredded to ribbons; the boys fell onto their backs in terror until... the sand simply collapsed.

Hamri and Bael exhaled in relief and smiled.

"Tassad was holding back," they said, as if nothing had happened. The atmosphere seemed to return to normal, but my mood remained dark. The rules of the desert were no different from the laws of the jungle. And that was grim.

[Choose:]

[1 — Help them up. (Your relationship with the workers will improve.)]

[2 — Turn away. Survival of the fittest. (You learn to betray acquaintances to ensure your own survival.)]

[3 — Strike them to practice your blow. (They will fight for their lives; training accelerates. Relationship becomes strained.)]

And Anubis was preaching the exact same thing to me. Bowing my head and clenching my fists, I still didn't want to accept these terms. Betraying others? I wanted to live a decent life, not patch over my weaknesses with betrayals and backstabbing. That was a path for a morally bankrupt pirate.

"Oh... thanks," the guys blinked at my outstretched hand. They stood up and brushed the dust off themselves.

"I wanted to ask," I started in a half-whisper so Tassad wouldn't hear. "Is Father always like this? You know, harsh?"

Bael and Hamri exchanged a look and chuckled.

"Don't sweat it, we're used to it."

"Tassad is a child of the streets, just like us. We weren't even surprised when the boss took you on this trip. He went out into the desert at the same age to survive and find food. Hey, he actually didn't want to take you at first," Bael turned to his friend.

"But he picks on you more. Weakling."

"Hey, he’s actually tormenting both of us!"

Watching the bickering workers and thinking about this so-called "tender" side of my father, I was forced to nod. It was good that he was exactly the way he was.