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The sun came down as judgement. Your navigation skills are lacking, it said. You should have escaped sooner. You never should have let yourself get captured.
Snagged by the Yiga on a visit to Kara Kara Bazaar. How embarrassing. Half those banana freaks couldn’t tell the sharp end of their sickle from the handle, and yet they’d gotten her halfway to their hideout before she’d managed to kick them off.
Then, the second mistake: she should have hid in the ravine until evening instead of venturing out into the sun hours before noon. Yes, that would have given those fiends more time to recapture her, but the Yiga were a far more manageable enemy than the sun. You did not win against the sun. She’d lived here all her life, how could she have forgotten that simple lesson? Even toddlers knew it.
But no. She’d arrogantly overestimated herself, thinking she could surely find her way back to at least Kara Kara Bazaar before the hottest of the day. This was her home after all, surely she wouldn’t get lost. Surely the desert wasn’t prone to sudden sandstorms that made it impossible to see your own hand in front of your face. Surely she was better than some cocksure foreigner who thought they could fight the desert and win. Surely.
Perhaps it would be deserved if she died here. Or when, at this rate. When she died here, it would be all her fault.
Her thobe and sirwal had been ripped in her escape, leaving her left leg unprotected from the sun. That had been her primary concern, hours ago, when she’d first set out. She’d tried her best to tie her thobe together, to cover her leg as best as it could. Her sirwal was a lost cause, and she’d ripped off the damaged part before she left the ravine, tying the scraps of cloth around her head to shield it from the sun as best she could. When she’d gotten caught in the sandstorm it’d also functioned as protection against the gauging grains, which at least was something of a consolation prize in all this. It’d been paltry comfort when every step had turned to agony, when she’d felt the back of her shin and realized half her leg was covered in vicious blisters, sticky to the touch. When she’d realized that the sun had scorched away an entire layer of skin and she still saw nothing but sand in every direction.
Her leg had stopped hurting a while ago, or maybe Riju had simply stopped being able to process the concept of pain. Her breathing came in dry, shallow gasps, sweat sliding down her skin to her fingertips and then dripping down onto the sand. Any hope she’d had of being able to find her way home had left along with her sense of left and right, or up and down for that matter. The world turned in vicious circles, turning her stomach with it and threatening to make her vomit, a loss of fluids she could ill afford. She’d stopped worrying about that a while ago, though, right before she’d stopped being able to feel pain. She couldn’t worry about most anything now.
She kept walking, probably. The world felt distant and looked it too, blurry no matter how many times she blinked, vague blocks of yellow and blue. Sometimes she saw something shine from the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head there was nothing. She tried to follow the shimmering, regardless. Once, she tried to ask herself why, a flicker of rationality quickly burned away in a wave of dizziness and confusion. She needed to throw up. Her heart was racing so fast it hurt, beating against her chest with the fervency of a moth near the light. It was trying to reach the sun.
Where was she going again?
She stopped, stumbled, fell to the ground. Something shimmered just out of reach. That, that’s where she’d been going. It was important. She tried to reach out, but her arm stayed still. Annoying. She tried again, and again, growing increasingly frustrated as her fingers didn’t so much as twitch. She screamed, but her mouth wouldn’t open, so it was just a high-pitched grunt. Mistake. She threw up into the sand beside her, too tired to sit up or even roll over. Sand scratched her fingertips and it was infuriating, enough that she tried to scream again. Her mouth tasted weird. She should rinse it. Something shimmered, and she tried to reach for it, but her hand wouldn’t move. Her head hurt. She was so tired. Maybe she should sleep for a bit. It was her birthday, mamma wouldn’t mind if she stayed in bed for a bit longer.
Someone hummed, a hand brushing over her hair. She sighed. Mamma was here. She fell asleep.
“Chief’s stopped breathing!”
For a second, Buliara stopped breathing herself. Then she forced herself back to firm, but calm action. She turned on her heel to look at Marta, who’d been the one to yell. Next to her, Bunri was already bent over Riju pumping her chest with a force strong enough to break ribs. If she did, they could deal with that later. Right now, priority was to get Riju breathing again.
The lizalfos she’d been fighting cried out and tried to hit her with its spear. Effortlessly, Buliara jumped out of the way and stabbed it with her own. There’d been six, and now there were two. Clearing them cleared the way for Riju to be safely transported to the nearby oasis, which Captain Teake was rapidly turning into an ice bath with the help of an ice rod.
“Status?” she yelled over her shoulder, spearing the fifth lizalfos in the tail.
“Breathing again!” Marta yelled back. “But it’s so weak Bunri can barely feel it!”
Buliara brained the lizalfos and turned to the last one. “Continue to monitor,” she ordered. “I’m almost done here.”
It had taken unforgivably long to find Riju. It had taken a whole fifteen minutes for Buliara to notice she’d been taken, and then it had taken the entirety of the guards hours before they stumbled upon her, delirious and already firmly in the grasp of late stage heat sickness. It had been mere luck that she’d collapsed near an oasis, and luck was fickle. Relying on it was unacceptable. They’d have to make changes to the guard to prevent such a thing from happening again, perhaps convince Riju to carry flares in case of an emergency. Pull up the Yiga Clan at the root and shred them to pieces.
If there was a next time.
The last lizalfos was stabbed straight through its chest, the force of the strike so strong Buliara nearly tumbled into the sand. But she didn’t.
“Clear!” she yelled. “Move!”
Bunri was a good soldier. A very solid runner as well. She arrived at the oasis only a second after Buliara, carrying the chief unconscious in her arms. The air around the oasis was cool from ice, solid chunks floating in the water. Captain Teake handed Buliara the ice rod. “Everything is ready,” she reported curtly. Then she turned to her soldiers. “What are you waiting for? Do you need an invitation?”
Marta mumbled something under her breath, but Bunri did not waste anymore time and rushed forward, gently sliding Riju into the water. She shivered when she hit the water, but did not return to consciousness. Even from several paces away, the sweat was visible on her forehead.
They’d gotten so, so lucky.
“We’ll have to monitor her temperature,” Bunri said, as if anyone here was unfamiliar with the protocol for heat sickness. She was a good soldier, so she did not fidget, but even Buliara could tell she wanted to.
“She’ll be alright.”
Buliara nearly jumped in the air. Somehow, Marta had snuck up on her from the side. Sloppy. It was these kinds of mistakes that had allowed this situation to happen.
Buliara did not answer. She glared, but at nothing in particular. Marta had done her job well. She’d been the one to spot the chief to begin with. There was no reason to glare at her, and yet, Buliara desperately wanted to. More than that, though, she wanted at least thirteen more lizalfos to stab.
“You can go to her,” Marta said, nodding at Riju. Buliara glared. Marta held up her hands. “It’s not an order.”
Buliara held the glare for half a second more, then sighed and looked at Riju. She seemed so small, half covered in water, her head propped up by Bunri. She always seemed so small. It made Buliara want to stick her in her room and not let her out until she was of age and at least half a head taller than Buliara.
Stiffly, she walked forward and knelt next to Riju. Bunri looked up and gestured for her to come closer, shifting the hand on Riju’s head so Buliara’s could fit beside it. She gently handed the chief off to Buliara and, with one last worried look, moved to meet with Captain Teake.
Riju’s hair was frighteningly warm and sticky with sweat, her braid knotted together as rope. Riju did not like brushing it. Her mother had used to do it for her, but now Riju grumbled and cursed when she thought no-one could hear her, raking the comb through her hair with far too much violence. Untangling it would be a nightmare after this.
Gingerly, Buliara held a hand in front of Riju’s mouth. She was breathing, still shallow, but steady and regular. Odds of recovery from heat sickness were favorable when prompt treatment was provided, and Riju had managed to make it most of the way to safety herself. Gerudo Town was relatively close by, and behind her, Buliara could hear Captain Teake ordering Marta and Bunri to get help. In all likelyhood, Riju would make a full recovery.
Riju sighed, head leaning forward a bit and eyelids almost fluttering open, before she seemed to change her mind and laid her weight back onto Buliara’s hand. She was lighter than her spear. By the heroines, who had thought it a good idea to entrust a child to Buliara’s care? She was a soldier, not a mother, not even an older sister. Wholly unqualified. Technically, it was not her job to care for Riju, but with her mother having left this world, it was now the whole town’s job to take her place. Buliara just wished someone more experienced had claimed the position of personal guard.
Riju made an incoherent noise. Her temperature was noticeably dropping, thank the gods. Awkwardly, Buliara tried running a hand over her head. Of course, she did not react. She was unconscious.
Buliara was loyal. She’d loved the late chief with all her heart from the moment she entered service to her deathbed, squeezing her hand as she left to meet her ancestors. Mourning had been vicious, and Buliara’d had to take leave so as to not endanger anyone in her distracted state. She’d stayed awake whole nights, numbly watching as the night grew brighter, uncaring of time passing. But eventually, life moves on. You cannot let a death destroy your life.
Riju groaned. Finally, her eyes blinked open. “B’iara?” she slurred.
A wave of euphoric relief swept through Buliara, and she had to close her eyes against the tears.
If Riju died, she’d die with her.
Riju awoke to cold water licking at her skin, heavenly against the heat. For a few moments she simply basked, idly letting her brain pull itself back together. Yiga. Sandstorm. Heat sickness. Unconsciousness.
There was a step missing between heat sickness and the water that must explain why she hadn’t died. She’d been in a bad way; even now, her thoughts were sluggish and easily distracted, wandering to the hydromelons growing at the edge of the pond, the sunlight glittering off the ice, the hand holding up her head.
Wait. Couldn’t that last one be of use?
With effort, Riju looked up above her, and met Buliara’s perpetually worried expression. ‘Buliara?’ she tried to say, but her lips did not cooperate. Instead, she slurred, “B’iara?”
Buliara gave her a very serious nod. Someone was stroking the back of her head, and it suddenly occurred to Riju that it must be her.
“Pleased to see you awake, Chief,” she said. Riju blinked, and tried her best to understand the sentence. It was a lot of words. “I am here with Captain Teake. Bunri and Marta are making their way to Gerudo Town for reinforcements. They will be back shortly. You should take your rest while you still can.”
That was too many words. Riju blinked.
“Rest,” Buliara said, and that she understood. Riju tried her best to nod, then settled back against Buliara’s hand. A few stray strands of hair, wet with sweat and grainy with sand, fell against her cheeks, and from some distant place that annoyed her. But Buliara was stroking her head, and the palm fronds gently rustled, and the water was nice and cool. Held tight, Riju allowed herself to drift off.