“They call it a haboub,” Tyrus said. “Paedrin saw it first. Some sort of dust storm.”
The wind began to whip and ruffle their clothes. The camels were made to kneel and the supplies stripped from their backs and brought inside the tent. Everyone lent a hand, hurrying to bring the gear inside. The wind began to blast, and soon they could all see the dust cloud advancing. It was eerie and brown, longer than a forest wall and taller as well. Paedrin used the blade to shoot into the sky one last time, trying to get a sense of its vastness. The wind shrieked and pulled at him, buffeting him roughly as the monstrous storm advanced. He could not see the end of it as it bore down on them.
The tent pavilion was lashed to extra stakes, the drovers chirping and calling to each other to hurry. Paedrin nearly went end over end with the sudden gust of wind and quickly returned to the desert floor and joined the others as they entered the tent. They staked the camels to prevent them from escaping, but they were not allowed inside the tent.
As Paedrin entered, he saw that the gear took up a good portion of the space and that everyone was huddled close together, including the agitated drovers, who tightened the straps on the door ropes.
Paedrin did not like being in confined spaces and he glanced around nervously at the others. The haboub struck their camp like a blacksmith’s hammer. Everyone instinctively drew closer together as the winds began thrashing the hide walls of the tent. Fine grains of dust began to seep in through the open spaces, swirling like smoke. The storm blotted out the sun, dimming their vision like an early twilight.
“The storm will rage a while,” Tyrus said. “Rest if you can.”
Most leaned against stacks of provisions, trying to find comfort in an uncomfortable setting. The wind shrieked and howled, rattling the posts that held up the tent. Everyone was subdued, the darkness deepening with each passing moment.
The tent filled with the smell of the dust, and some started coughing. Paedrin sat in a calm stance, trying not to let it impact his heart. The light grew dimmer and dimmer, reminding him of that horrid dungeon beneath the Arch-Rike’s palace. He felt the prickle of sweat down his back and did all he could do to remain composed. That dungeon was his worst nightmare. He dreaded even the memory of it.
“Reminds me of the squall we faced by the cliffs of Shatalin,” Baylen said. Paedrin realized the Cruithne had settled near him. “The fog was so thick.”
Paedrin turned and looked at him, seeing the intelligent look in his eyes. He observed people. He had noticed Paedrin’s disquiet.
“That was a dark night,” Paedrin said softly. “We’ve been from one danger to the next.”
Baylen nodded sagely, looking nonplussed by the storm. “Storms are unpredictable. They are vast powers that none of us can control. It’s wise to be wary of them.”
The light was now totally vanquished by the haboub. It had scarcely been past noon and now it was as dark as midnight. Paedrin had never seen such a transformation in so short a time. He shook his head in surprise, grateful he had his second sight. Closing his eyes, he could sense where everyone was sitting. It was like seeing ghost-shapes in his mind, and he could tell who was who by their posture and size. Hettie hugged her knees, resting her cheek on her arm. He wished he was sitting closer to her. She looked like she needed comforting. He was grateful Kiranrao was farther from her than he was.
“Of all the lands I have visited,” Paedrin said, “I’ve decided that I don’t want to live here.”
“Where then? Silvandom?”
“No. Nor Kenatos either. I feel a duty to restore the Shatalin temple. There may be some Kishion to evict, but that craggy mountain is calling to me. The lessons must be taught again.”
“Will you only allow Bhikhu? Or maybe I should be more precise. Vaettir-born?”
“I will teach any who wish to learn,” Paedrin answered.
“I would be very interested,” Baylen said. “I’m not sure I will ever be able to float . . . no matter how much I hold my breath.”
“I’d welcome you there. You have no wish to return to Alkire?”
“I was orphaned in Kenatos. What I’ve heard is it’s smoky, cold, and a place you’d get lung rot. They’ve always craved a better climate and offered to help rid the woods of the Preachán to claim a better land. They’ll pay for it, over time. The Preachán won’t stay defeated.”
“I’ve been to Havenrook,” Paedrin said distastefully. “It will take many years to make that place livable again.”
“Cruithne are patient.”
Paedrin found the conversation had helped calm his nerves. He was grateful to Baylen for instigating it. “You said that when you were a boy, Aboujaoude helped you. What was the situation?”
Baylen sniffed loudly. The air was thick with dust. The camels moaned with discomfort outside. “It’s of no consequence.”
“Tell me.”