Nico held up one of the dark glass shards.
“Exactly,” Eli said and nodded. “Compressing it into a size he could carry around completely altered the spirit’s form. Considering the color, he’s probably had it like that for a very long time.” He frowned, and his next words were uncharacteristically gentle. “It must have been very painful for the storm.”
“Well, if it hurt so much, why didn’t the spirit just escape?” Josef said, leaning over to knock the glass dust out of his hair. “I’ve never been clear on all this wizard talk, but a sandstorm’s a lot bigger than he is. Couldn’t it have just up and run?”
“It’s not that simple,” Eli said. “A sandstorm isn’t a whole spirit to start with, not like other spirits. A rock, for example, has been a rock for a long time. It may have been part of a mountain in the past, but it’s always been stone. The rock’s spirit has a strong sense of identity. It’s fully developed. Sandstorms are different. They’re born when air spirits and sand spirits rub each other the wrong way, kind of like a spirit brawl. As the sand is thrown up into the air, both spirits merge into one violent storm. Eventually, they blow their anger out and the sand falls back down, separating the spirits again, but while they’re fighting, the sand and air spirits together are a sandstorm spirit. Believe me, neither side is very happy about it. Storms like that are impossible to talk to.
“Unfortunately,” Eli continued, “storms like that are also very stupid. Both spirits are battling for control of the storm, so there’s a lot of raw spirit power, but no control. That’s probably why Renaud was able to dominate it so completely. It didn’t have the presence of mind to resist.”
“So where is the storm now?” Josef said. “Did he roll it back into a ball and take it with him?”
“No,” Eli said, shaking his head. “If there’s anything left, we’re standing on it.” He nudged the sand gently with his foot, stirring up a small cloud of glitter. “Once a spirit degrades that far, it’s only good for one last blow. Renaud knew that, so he used the last of its self-control as a leash to sic it on us, and then left it to blow itself out, taking all the evidence of his double cross with it.” Eli ran his finger delicately over one of the long scars on the rock face. “It would have worked too, if not for my brilliant plan.”
“Very brilliant,” Josef said stiffly, pressing his injured chest. “Where’s Renaud now, then?”
“Back at the palace, I’d say.” Eli nodded toward the spires that poked above the treetops, dark and flat against the evening sky. “Princes who have just overthrown their brothers probably have better things to do than wait around for the likes of us. Maybe we should—”
He stopped as a strong wind blew across the clearing, swirling the loose glass dust into a biting whirlwind. Eli, Josef, and Nico huddled in the lee of the stone, trying not to breathe.
“Well, I think that does it,” Eli wheezed when the wind finally died down. “Cowering in a glass dust bath with no gold, no king, and no easy way to get either. This is, officially, our worst job ever.”
“It was your idea,” Josef said. He dug out one of his spare bandages and tied it over his mouth. “Here,” he said and handed one to Nico and another to Eli. “Let’s go.”
They secured the cloth over their faces and began their trek out of the dustbowl. It took much longer than it should have, for the dust was knee deep in places and so fine it got under their improvised masks within minutes, caking anywhere there was moisture. The bloody front of Josef’s shirt was black with it, and even Nico grimaced when it got in her nose. The dusty circle was deathly silent. In the forest ahead, crickets chirped and evening birds called out, but inside the clearing the only sound was the shuffle of their feet sliding through the dust and the wheezing of their own labored breathing.
“Faster,” Eli mumbled, trying to speak without opening his mouth. They picked up the pace, and by the time they reached the forest’s edge, they were almost running.
As soon as they reached the trees, they tore off their masks and collapsed panting on the ground.
“There should be a stream or something around here,” Eli said, spitting the dust out of his mouth. “If I don’t get this mess off me soon, I’ll be Eli jerky.”
A leather canteen flew through the darkness and landed with a wet slap as his feet. Eli jumped back with a sound that was half obscenity, half squeal. Josef whirled in the direction the canteen had come from, blades out. In the last dim light, a pair of amused orange eyes flashed down from the shadows.