Tarrin pulled up. The western horizon, which was now off to his left since he'd been travelling northwest as per Var's advice, was starting to darken. He knew what that meant. "Sarraya," he called as he pulled up, "there's a sandstorm coming in."
"I see it," she replied. "This place is pretty bare. We'll have to dig in."
"Not much to dig into," he grunted, looking down at the bare stone beneath his feet. "And it'll let the sand drain into whatever we make."
"Then let's raise the stone," she replied. "You think you can do that?"
"Sorcery?"
She nodded. "I can't do that with Druidic magic."
"It would be easy," he said after a moment of contemplation. Basic Earth weaves. Simple. "I wouldn't even need High Sorcery for it."
"Then I'll choke down on you pretty hard," she commented, flying up to him. "This is as good a place as any."
"No doubt there," he agreed. The nearest rock spire, wall, or irregularity in the bare stone was a few longspans away, and they didn't have that kind of time. "Instead of raising a stone shelter, why don't I just use a Ward?"
"Because I'd rather have a shelter," she said. "If your Ward fails, we'll be exposed. The rock will still be there."
"You have a point," he acceded.
It was a pretty simple process. He felt Sarraya's Druidic magic fall over him like a blanket, and he reached through that restrictive presence to the Weave. It responded to him sluggishly, and he drew in the sweet power of it as quickly as the Faerie's barrier would permit. When he had enough, he began weaving flows of pure Earth, sending them down into the ground as he released them, then he raised his paws in a gesture. The stone in front of him began to swell, expand, then it suddenly began to rise from the rock table like a folded cloth pushed up by a pet beneath it. Streaming the magic through him, letting it flow through him as it continued its work, he systematically raised up the stone to form a triangular wedge, very low to the rocky floor of the desert, and gently sloped on both sides so that the wind wouldn't eddy around the top and cause sand to build up on the leeward side. It was just high enough to let him stand fully erect at the center without hitting his head. The rock continued to move, to flow, changing its color as its substance shifted to his directions, and throughout there was a low grinding sound, as if the stone did not flow as smoothly as it looked to move. He sealed up both sides of the triangular structure, then opened one side into a narrow entrance. After that was done, he formed a crude door of stone, drawing the stone right from the earth, and attached it to the structure with simple eyes and hooks. He remembered to make a slot on the back and on the walls flanking it to hold a bar, then formed a stone bar so the door could be secured against the wind. The last little detail was a series of tiny holes in the top of the door, just enough for air to get in, but not enough for sand.
Once he had the shelter formed, he used another form of Earth weaving to harden the stone to the wind, make it very hard to wear down, giving it strength to stand against the wind and the scouring sand it would carry within.
Blowing out his breath, he let go of the Weave and surveyed his handiwork. Then he marvelled at how it felt to use Sorcery safely, to be able to use the gifts granted him through birth without fear of them destroying him. How much others took it for granted! It wasn't until he let go of the Weave that the sweetness of it touched him, reminded him of what it once felt like to be a Sorcerer, to command the power and not fear it as he did now. What would have been commonplace, child's play, for Dolanna, Dar, or Keritanima was something for which he had to prepare, plan, get cooperation from Sarraya to accomplish.
How wonderful it would be to be able to use his magic the way they did.
But such warm thoughts were doused when the eyeless face seemed to settle into the back of his mind, reminding him that there was no escape from it, reminding him of the darkness he had perpetrated, the darkness that had blackened his soul. It effectively sucked away the joy, the satisfaction he'd felt at creating the stone shelter. He sighed morosely and looked to the western horizon, guaging the speed and direction of the storm. It was bloody fast, and it was coming right at him. As all storms seemed to do. At the most, they had about ten minutes before it hit. It wasn't a very large one. They'd be stuck in the shelter for at least a day, but no more than three, if he estimated the sandstorm correctly.
A couple of days of forced isolation. He hoped Sarraya could take it. He hoped he could. The eyeless face made him restless, and a day or more of being stuck in the shelter, with nothing more than Sarraya or the walls to look at, would not do him very much good.
He was right to worry. After retreating into the shelter, just as the wind wall struck, he immediately felt enclosed, restricted, isolated. Sarraya sat down in the back corner of the dark, triangular structure, where he could not possibly hit her by accident, where she yawned. "I don't think this is going to be very fun. Want to play some chess?"
"We'd better do something," he replied. "I'm already starting to get anxious."
But games only went so far. After playing chess, stones, cards, even little stupid games of words and gestures, Tarrin grew bored. Sarraya laid down to take a nap after conjuring herself some dinner, leaving Tarrin to sit and ponder and stew over what had happened in the last few days. He had nearly killed himself with Sorcery- again -but this time he'd learned a new trick. That trick of using High Sorcery on himself had worked, and had worked well. He couldn't see any reason why it wouldn't work again, and that made him relieved. At least now he didn't fear getting Consumed as he had before. With Sarraya to help, he could cut himself off from the Weave before it got out of his control. If things came down to him using his full power to survive, at least that option was again available to him.
Perhaps the Goddess did send him out here to learn. He had certainly learned that little trick. He had learned things about himself he preferred not to know, and the eyeless face made sure he couldn't forget. The desert was boundless, and it was empty. It left him with little more than Sarraya's companionship, and though that was enough, it was still little enough to feel that he was out here more or less alone. Tarrin didn't depend on Sarraya like he had Allia or Dolanna. He loved the little pain, but she wasn't Keritanima or Jesmind or Triana. She had a place in his heart, but she wasn't the closest of his friends. She would help him, but he still couldn't feel as if he could open up to her as he could with Allia, to speak everything in his heart and seek wisdom and support. She just wasn't like that in his mind. Even now, after admitting how badly the dream scared him, he couldn't bring himself to admit it to her again. Part of it was pride, part of it was uncertainty. Sarraya was a friend, but she wasn't family, not like Allia. He didn't feel comfortable saying things like that to anyone not family, like Allia, Keritanima, Triana, or even Jesmind.
Jesmind. Still it was Jesmind. Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? He hadn't seen her in so long, she'd probably forgotten about him by now. She was a memory, and a rather dim one at that, but there was still something inside him that yearned for her, the way plants yearned for the sun. In her was a woman that understood him, didn't judge him, was one of his kind. She was a bad-tempered witch, but all female Were-cats were like that to varying degrees. It was a racial trait. She had been the first woman he'd been intimate with, and he guessed that a part of him just couldn't forget that. That she had been the first to hear his deepest secrets, to become privy to his most private thoughts. She had shared a part of him, and though they had been enemies, he hadn't really been able to bring himself to do her any true harm, outside that one ugly incident when he thought she was threatening his parents. A part of him loved her, that was true, but a part also couldn't forgive her for abandoning him, hated her for her actions. She had left him alone and exposed, and when she left, he became easy prey for Jula's scheming. If she'd been there, she would have stopped Jula before any of that nasty business under the Cathedral happened, and he wouldn't have become feral.