Rebel of the Sands (Rebel of the Sands, #1)(75)

Like it was second nature.

A gun felt like second nature to me; this didn’t. But this was raw power that was part of me, not something I’d learned. Something ancient in me that tugged toward the sand. My father’s bloodline that stretched back to a time before death.

Across the sands, my eyes met Noorsham’s. He was extending one blazing hand toward my friends. He was going to burn them all alive.

I whipped my hands up, pouring every scrap of my energy and focus through them and into my newfound power. The sand roared up like a wall. It sliced behind Noorsham, cutting between him and the rest of Naguib’s men. Between him and my people.

Exhilaration surged through me. I’d done it. My whole body was shaking. Sweat from the effort was streaking my face. My throat tasted like rising bile. Noorsham was right: I was like him. This was the sort of power that could level cities. That I couldn’t control. That could slip away too easily and take revenge against a whole backward Last County town. That could fill the sea with sand out of spite.

I heaved the sand up higher, splitting Noorsham and me off from the army once and for all. We were on one side and Naguib and the rebels were on the other.

Now it was an even fight.

Noorsham raised his hands, and the ground at my feet blackened. I staggered backward. Beyond the wall of sand I heard a gunshot and a cry. I prayed that bullet had found one of Naguib’s men.

Noorsham turned at the sound. Heat surged off him, striking the churning wall of sand. I flung my arms up, squeezing my eyes shut even as the sand turned to glass, peppering my arms, my scalp, my legs. When I looked up, my arms were bloody.

“Amani.” Noorsham’s voice sounded from deep inside the brass armor. “Why are you fighting me? It’s not you I’m after. It’s them.” He spread his arms expansively, encompassing the Gallan soldiers and the rebellion.

“Them, and an entire city of your own people.”

I had to lead him away from them. I took a staggering step backward, dragging the sandstorm wall with me, forcing Noorsham forward. Drawing him away from the fight. This came down to the two of us.

This was Demdji business. We took care of our own.

I felt searing pain across my leg where a bullet grazed my calf. I screamed as I dropped to my knees.

Just the touch of iron was enough.

My grip on the sand loosened. The storm separating us from the fight fell. I held my breath, trying to control it, but I’d lost it.

I could see the fight now. Rebels against Naguib’s army. Half of Naguib’s men were fighting invisible opponents, ones that existed only in their minds thanks to Hala. The twins shifted from one shape to another, huge leathery beasts to small birds, talons digging into a man’s eyes. Shazad was fighting two men at once, her swords spinning in a blur that turned from steel to red in one motion. Jin and Ahmed were back-to-back, moving in sync as if they had spent their whole lives doing it. And I supposed they had.

They were holding their own. But Noorsham was already turning toward them, ready to level the battlefield. I reached for my power again. The barrel of a gun against my neck drew me up short. The kiss of iron turning me into a human again.

“You will put your hands on your head.” I recognized General Dumas’s heavily accented voice without having to look up.

I did as I was told for once in my life.

It was a matter of moments before I was surrounded by two dozen Gallan soldiers, armed and armored. Ready for battle.

My eyes were fixed on Noorsham. He was standing perfectly still a few paces away. His back was still blessedly turned to the battle raging between his army and my mismatched group of Demdji and rebels. His head was cocked like a curious bird as he watched me with the Gallan.

General Dumas walked a slow circle around me, the barrel of the pistol dragged along my head, never leaving my skin, until it was pointed squarely at my forehead. Until he was blocking my view of the fight. And of Noorsham.

He ripped the sheema from my neck and handed it to someone else. They tied it around my eyes. Blindfolding me.

The last thing I saw before the world disappeared was the general raising his gun to kill me.

I closed my eyes.





twenty-nine


A scream came instead of a gunshot.

I felt the cold metal of the gun leave my forehead. I grabbed the moment, flinging myself to one side in the sand. I ripped the sheema off my eyes as I moved. The sight that awaited me was horrifying and glorious all at once.

General Dumas was burning. Burning the way Bahi had. As he dropped to his knees I saw Noorsham behind him, one hand raised, like a Holy Father in the middle of a blessing. The Gallan soldiers turned their guns on him. Shots went off. Most bullets missed harmlessly, badly aimed in the frantic shooting. One or two hit his breastplate, leaving a dent but nothing more.

The Gallan soldier nearest me wasn’t rushing, though. He was taking his time, taking his aim. I could see the line of the shot. I could see it would be a clean hit.

His finger squeezed the trigger even as I whipped my hand up. The sand below his feet exploded, throwing him off balance. His cry drew Noorsham’s attention. A second later it turned to a scream of pain as the soldier burned.

One of the Gallan turned toward me, gun already halfway up. My hands moved on instinct, like they did with a gun. Like this was as familiar as the feeling of a trigger.

A body made out of sand surged up in answer. I twitched my fingers and its arms grabbed the soldier around the neck, yanking him down to the ground.