Chapter 3: The Sand Sailer

The desert dwellers did not dare venture beyond the city limits without the strictly necessary attire. The process of "shrouding" oneself in all of it could well be described as a ritual. Each person’s body was enveloped in a long robe, usually white or cream-colored. A narrow belt was wrapped around the waist, serving as a harness for the tools and supplies essential for navigating the boundless wastes—things like compass stones or hourglasses for precise route timing. The head was typically wrapped tightly in bandages, and everyone was required to wear goggles. Surprisingly, the outfit was quite comfortable; it didn’t restrict the movements upon which our Bending depended.

After spending several hours dressing and noting how well it protected me not just from the sand but from the sun, I finally understood the locals' smirks toward any "tourists." It was impossible not to laugh at someone who was completely exposed and yet intended to cross the Si Wong on their own two feet.

Looking out over the threshold of the Misty Palms Oasis, feeling the gaze of a few children pinned to my back, I took a breath and stepped forward. My inner alarmist rejoiced. I hadn't been blown up by a mine. But that was only the first step. To reach the gathering group, I had to take a few more.

"What’s with you?" At that moment, a man tightening a sail noted with curiosity how carefully and slowly I stepped across the sand, scouting it for wildlife. From the voice, it was Father.

"Oh, nothing... I heard inexperienced kids rarely look under their feet and end up finding venomous scorpions." Father and a couple of the men equipped for the crew looked me over slowly and gave a very slight nod. He introduced them as Bael and Hamri.

"Everything comes with experience. Now, get on the sailer and watch."

Approaching the edge, Tassad reached out a hand to me. Remarkably, this was one of the very few items made of wood, usually purchased from outside the desert. For the first time in this life, I stepped onto a wooden floor again rather than hard sandstone. Each of these boats was worth nearly its weight in gold, but they more than paid for themselves.

Father quickly introduced a few of his subordinates—non-benders. On their belts, alongside useful tools, hung curved swords. Each obeyed Father’s orders without question, flinching under his heavy gaze.

"You have your father's eyes," one of them smirked crookedly.

"Yeah, you're like two identical scorpions."

Tassad and I both gave them a long, pointed look, which sent them scurrying back to their business. Next, Father pointed to the platforms on either side of the small cabin where, as I had seen many times, the Benders were meant to stand. He stood beside me and handed over something from his belt.

"...Look, these are sand-clocks. A unique way of calculating time available only to us. Each glass contains the exact same number of sand grains, which we are able to sense easily and quickly. The assistant always holds them to help the navigator keep track of time." Tassad placed them in my hand and made me close my fingers around them. Sensing the exact number of grains inside, that was how you could tell time down to the second, though it required certain knowledge that Tassad tried to impart to me quickly. He wasn't expecting me to get used to it instantly.

After that, he stood behind me and found his footing. At that moment, all his workers ran into the cabin.

"The ancestors say they learned Sandbending from the Water Tribes and the Air Nomads more than a hundred years ago. The sailer is driven by the wind created by the smooth acceleration of sand grains. I am the navigator; I usually give the sand its speed and shape, keeping it from scattering. The assistant, in this case, you, provides additional acceleration. Circular motions with both hands simultaneously, smooth, each movement flowing from the last."

The sand began to rise, followed by the sail, which started to flutter lightly. Watching it up close was breathtakingly beautiful. But Tassad forced me to mimic all his movements, pouring extra inertia into every grain of sand and not even dreaming of spinning in the opposite direction or shifting my feet for comfort. The previous assistant’s blunder had jeopardized the current trip, so he took my movements very seriously. Seeing that I wasn't so dense that I couldn't follow a couple of instructions, and that I was apparently strong enough for my help to make the sail swell further, Father gave a firm nod.

"Let's go." Standing on the deck, Tassad abruptly accelerated his movements, and the whirlwind, picking up speed in a second, tore the boat from its spot. My heart literally skipped a beat, the sand flew past us at a staggering speed. The boat bounced over dunes and literally took flight, which was utterly terrifying. And with it, a sense of wild delight.

"Holy crap!" My hands rotated frantically along the same trajectory; my brain had locked up and refused to violate the instructions. When my life was on the line, I usually tended to respect the rules of engagement very carefully.

Since no incidents occurred, Father looked down at me.

"Navigation is done with compasses that always point to the magnetic center, the Si Wong Rock. A damn dangerous place." He spoke more seriously than usual. But listening to him was more interesting than before.

As we swept across the sandy vastness and time slipped through our fingers, he occasionally spoke of dangers like quicksand, bandits, and sandstorms. As for our destination, even on such a fast transport, we didn't reach our goal in a single day, so we set up camp for the night.

Father's assistants started a fire near the sailer, breaking up some dry wood found nearby, and caught a few scorpions. Tassad, meanwhile, patted me on the shoulder and tossed his head, asking me to step aside.

"You did well. The endurance of some novice benders leaves much to be desired. They spend too little time on the fundamentals, thinking that because they deal with pliable sand, they can train less."

"I can't feel my arms." I wanted to collapse by the warm fire and stare at the night sky, but Tassad just grunted. On his face... a smile appeared!

"This trick is exactly what you need to relax." We approached a solitary cactus, and he quickly sliced off the top with a wave of sand. Bringing the cactus over to me, filled with a suspicious liquid, he made me squint. "Watch. You can use sand to draw the moisture out of cacti. That way, you can reduce their hallucinogenic properties."

Quite unexpectedly, the cactus began to shrivel before my eyes, losing almost all its liquid. It was as if I were seeing the seventh wonder of the world, or perhaps just some unimaginable Waterbending. But no, Tassad was absorbing the moisture through the sand, after which he sliced the pulp and enjoyed the taste of the cactus.

"Applying this ability anywhere else is quite difficult, but if one could do the opposite, extract moisture... I developed it so that we could eat cacti if we ran out of food on the road without experiencing that 'slight' euphoria." He looked at his workers, who had gorged themselves on the same cacti. I venture to guess they were already used to the consequences.

Nevertheless, it was very impressive...

"Will you teach me?"

Tassad smirked and nodded. He didn't say it aloud, but his gaze made it clear he was teaching me this for self-defense. And as it turns out, cacti actually taste pretty great.

******

Other settlements differed little from our Misty Palms Oasis. The population was just as small, and the number of suspicious characters just as high. I had been standing for a couple of hours near the house Father had entered after unloading all the goods we brought—fruit, water, and basic necessities. The sailer was nearby, and I kept an eye on it, watching all the strange figures from under my brow. Father's assistants stood not far away.

"They usually try to surround you so they can strike from behind," one of the assistants said, looking at the reflection in his sword. "If I saw a crowd like that right now, I'd take them all down."

"You got kicked half to death behind that house last time."

"I was just kidding around."

To say I was on edge would be an understatement. Perhaps that's why I wasn't surprised when a crowd of costumed people approached, letting out some sort of mocking laughter. Some had weapons at their belts; beneath others, the sand parted. It was obvious—thugs.

Father’s workers turned pale, as if they recognized someone.

"Hey—" But nothing bad had a chance to happen. The door to the house opened, and Tassad appeared, a sand-dagger in his hands, which he pressed against the bandit who had approached me. The dispute was resolved before it could even begin.

"Heh... They usually try to intimidate, but they're afraid to fight. They don't want to lose their own people either," one of the workers explained, sliding his blade into its scabbard with a smile. This was the one who, according to the second man, had been beaten by a mob. I met Father’s serious gaze, as he had seen me standing guard with my arm extended, encased in sand. I had been ready to drain living flesh; not much, just enough not to kill.

"It's dangerous here. Since you're traveling with me now, I suppose you’ll have to learn how to fight back against Benders. You're going to need that skill badly." It seemed things were starting to look up in my life, and now I could finally take a step toward becoming independent. "Come on, we need to head a little way out of town."

With a wave of his hand, Tassad signaled the workers to get up and hop onto the boat. In high spirits, I jumped on myself, eager to use Bending again. But at that moment...

Snap

Something cracked. Out of habit, I checked my spine.

"...Our runner broke."

"Phew, thank god for that."