Sandstorm
Kellett School, Lana Davies, Fiction: Group 3
I
awoke with a start. Muffled shouts came through the thin fabric separating me from my
parents. They were fighting again.
There was never a day without it happening. It was normally over what clothes to buy
Naranbaatar and Naransetseg, or how many cattle we could afford, but this time it was
something different. Something more serious.
I pushed myself from my thin mat, and poked my head through the sheep’s wool curtain, to
see what was happening. The sound instantly amplified. Shouts echoed around our tiny yurt, and
objects were flying everywhere. Naranbaatar and Naransetseg, my younger brother and sister,
were sheltering under a low wooden stool. I wish I was small enough to join them, to escape the
power of my father’s wrath, but the time for running and hiding was over. I, a young man of 14
years old, would finally stand up to my father. The time had come.
“Batukhan!” bellowed my father. “What are you doing here? You should be outside, with the
cattle, which is where you belong. Now, go. Give your mother and I, and darling Naranbaatar and
Naransetseg, some peace.”
These words made all my defiance crumple inside of me. I blindly obeyed him, as I had for
every day of my life, and stumbled out of our dark yurt into the blinding sunlight, off down the
same path I had walked since I was five. Following my own footprints, each day being blown over
by the relentless wind.
I suddenly noticed how powerful the wind was. It wasn’t normally like this, more like a gentle
breeze. I forced myself to swallow my nervousness and continue. After all, sandstorms were rare
in this part of the Gobi. There hadn’t been one since Naranbaatar and Naransetseg had been born,
four years ago.
With every step I took, the wind picked up. Howling gusts of wind started collecting small
pieces of gritty sand and hurling them at me. All I could see was a spiral of golden-brown,
enveloping my body, slowly closing in on me. Wind whipped my face and pieces of sand lodged
themselves in my eyes, refusing to move even with the frantic rubbing of my hands. Suddenly,
with a large cry of the wind, everything went black.
I woke up for the second time that day. I seemed to be lying on something, something knobbly
and extremely uncomfortable. It was continually moving with lurching, jolting steps, and I felt
like I would have already fallen off it if I hadn’t been belted on with a thick piece of gnarled rope.
Suddenly, with a massive jerk, the rope slipped off of me and I fell onto the hard ground, a cloud
of sand appearing around me. Deep voices came from above me, and I heard two men, their faces
shrouded in pieces of cloth, discussing something that seemed to do with me.
“This one looks unhealthy. Why did you pick him up? I told you to abandon the sick ones!”
demanded the larger of the two.
“He is not sick. He is simply showing respect for us, his new masters. He will make an
excellent slave,” replied the other man.
Slave? What were they talking about? I, a proud member of Chinbat Tribe, a mere slave? I may
only herd cattle, but I should not be a slave. Could not be a slave. Would not be a slave.
I stood up, brushing the sand off my shirt. Now was the time to say it. So what if they
