Free Sahara Crosswind by T. Davis Bunn

said feebly. His mind rang with the impact of foreignness. The desert way.
    Jasmyn turned and bowed and spoke solemnly. The men responded with beams of real pride. Omar patted Jake on the shoulder, turned, and walked away.

Chapter Eight
    Although Patrique had a restful night, Jake found himself sleeping with one eye and ear open. So it was that he was up and ready before the guard came within ten paces. He slipped on his boots, grabbed his rifle, stood, and bent over to check on the sick man one last time. Then he heard the whispered words, “Take me with you.”
    He jerked. “I thought you were asleep.”
    â€œI sleep far too much. It comes and goes like the wind. You’re going out on watch, yes? I want to come with you.”
    â€œI’m not sure—”
    â€œPlease, my friend. Let me share your sunrise.”
    Jake helped him rise and dress, then with one hand holding his rifle and the other steadying Patrique, they made their way out of camp. Awkwardly they climbed a nearby rise. When Jake had settled Patrique near the peak, he descended to the camp and returned with two glasses and the pot of watch tea. They sat and sipped in silence for a time until Patrique spoke. “I have seen you walk out while the camp was still sleeping and seen you return after the sunrise. Your face changes while you are away.”
    Jake hid his embarrassment behind noisy sips of his tea that cooled the liquid as he swallowed. “You’ve been watching me?”
    â€œNot intentionally. But I often find it hardest to sleep around dawn.” Patrique paused to sip from his own glass. “Pierre has told me of your faith. I hear in his voice how it has given him strength. But I see it most clearly in your face, when you return from watching the sunrise.”
    Patrique lifted his gaze toward the star-flecked heavens. “There were times of great despair in that dungeon, Jake. I felt as though the darkness would crush my very soul. That day, when I heard a voice call out my name, I thought atfirst it was death come for me. I thought the tragedy of my imprisonment had given me the power to hear what should always remain hidden.”
    Jake sipped quietly and shivered from more than just the night’s lingering chill.
    â€œBut the voice came from above,” Patrique went on. “From the only place where light entered into my dark hole. And then I knew. I was hearing an angel. An angel with the voice of my brother. Even after I knew it was real, and my nightmare might indeed come to an end, still I knew that the angels had been at work. I knew that it would take the power of heaven to pierce the darkness that enslaved me with chains upon my heart as well as my limbs. So I was not surprised when Pierre began speaking of this new power in his life. I had already seen it at work, you see. I had already sensed this power at work.”
    He turned to look at Jake. “So tell me, friend of my brother. What is carried upon the sunrise that leaves you with the power shining from your face?”
    â€œI couldn’t put it into words,” Jake replied, ashamed by his inadequacy.
    â€œThen show me,” Patrique quietly implored. “Please.”
    Jake nodded once, closed his eyes in a moment’s prayer, then turned his face toward the awakening east. Patrique followed his example, sitting in utter silence there beside him, his eyes searching in the gradually strengthening light for that which remained unseen.
    Little by little the silence drew into their souls, stilling their mind, opening them to the quietest of sounds. Breaths of dawn wind puffed about them, whispering gentle secrets. Sand shifted and cascaded, an animal bleated, a loose fold on one of the tents flapped open and closed. The light strengthened, and with it the sense of sharing more than that which was seen with the eyes. The veil of night lifted enough to reveal an ocean of softly undulating sand waves stretching into