Lady of the Sands

by Fuad Baloch

  Anger rose within her. She stomped her feet. “You are not going to deceive me. Hear that?” The words came out weak to even her own ears, carrying none of the venom she’d tried to inject.

  A traitorous tear pricked underneath her eyelid. She ignored it. Think. She did, recalling what she had seen. Unlike nightmares that began melting away the moment one woke up, what she’d seen minutes ago was still fresh in her mind.

  What would follow if she accepted the hypothesis that what she’d seen was real. It showed the passage of time and the rise and… fall of the Pithrean along with entire galaxies. The fall of the Pithrean. If the First had intended to scare her into following his bidding, then why show her the decay his species had undergone?

  Her thinking was muddled, evident by how she had ended up somehow ascribing a gender to the First.

  True, she had seen the aliens as demi-gods, masters of dimensions she could perceive but not interact with, but in the end, even they had begun to wither, die off like any other heavenly body.

  Was it then an accounting of history from the Pithrean perspective?

  Ruma hugged herself to keep warm. Gulatu had mentioned the Pithrean were escaping their dimension, which had run out of energy. Is that what she had witnessed? The sad, pathetic end of a once-almighty race of gods?

  All but one.

  Ruma chortled, pointed a finger towards her head. “Good to know you’re the last bloody remnant of your cruel race! How does it feel to know that, after you, your race would be extinct?”

  “Change the world and you will have yours back.”

  “Frack you!” she shouted, raising a trembling finger. “I told you to leave me alone. Vacate my mind or…”

  She trailed away. What could she really do except harm herself? And if she did that, whose purpose would that achieve? What was to stop the fracker from jumping from her mind and taking over someone more pliable… like the merchant girl? Besides, she’d barely seen Yaman, hardly had the chance to take him to task. By conveniently offing herself, she’d merely be doing him a favour.

  She had to do something, though. But what?

  Change the world? Ruma took in a deep lungful of air. What did the Pithrean seek from her? She shook her head. Can you read my thoughts, you slimy piece of shit?

  The Pithrean didn’t reply. Ruma exhaled, shifted her weight. It was possible that while he might have invaded her skull, he hadn’t penetrated her innermost thoughts.

  If that was the case, that was something to hang onto.

  And if that was not the case, well, it was hardly worth worrying about.

  Ruma coughed, felt cold relief starting to mix in with the fear. She’d had a chance to think things through. It hadn’t objectively helped her, but at least she had started working on the problems she faced.

  She had to find a way to rebuff the Pithrean. Little chance she could just waltz back to her reality if the Pithrean had brought her here for some nefarious purpose. Subterfuge, that was what she needed to use against the bastard.

  Ruma turned around, started towards the tavern’s open doors. Ten paces from the entrance, two figures lumbered out. The Kapuri siblings.

  “Oh, thank Alf you’re still here,” said Yenita, her voice unusually high. “I thought you’d left us.”

  “I would have beaten the bastard,” said Sivan, walking towards her. “He was this close to getting the worst beating he’s ever had!”

  Ruma blinked.

  “Nonsense,” declared Yenita, shaking her head, her full figure outlined against the tavern door. “You’ve got the coward’s disease.”

  “I do not!”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Ruma squeezed her eyes shut. The bickering continued. Sighing, she took a step forwards. “Oh, for Alf’s sake, cut it out,” she snarled.

  Sivan blinked, turned his face towards his sister, who watched her now.

  Before Ruma had a chance, Yenita broke into a trot. Ruma braced herself, stepping into a defensive posture she’d seen Tasina adopt at Heb. Instead, the young girl crashed into her, her arms wrapping around Ruma. The merchant girl buried her head over Ruma’s chest, her arms gripping Ruma tight, cooing words that that made little sense to her.

  “For what it’s worth, the tavern-keep threw out the trader who’d blocked your way,” said Sivan, rubbing his hands, looking increasingly awkward.

  “Good,” said Ruma.

  Yenita still clung to her. Exhaling, tired of fighting everything, Ruma spread her own arms and hugged the girl’s rocking body back. Yenita sniffled, the outburst of emotions surprising but perhaps understandable considering the political situation of this time. Besides, in that embrace, Ruma realised one more thing she had been craving for so long without really admitting it.

  Human touch.

  The realisation stung more than it should have. She’d been on the run all her life, driven to the point of obsession. When was the last real relationship she’d ever had? And no, casual dalliances didn’t count. When a real change had come in her life, in the form of the most decent man she’d ever had the chance to meet, instead of committing, at the first sign of trouble, she’d bolted.

  For all she blamed her father for, was she really that different from him when it came to forming and cultivating meaningful relationships in both good and bad times?

  The traitorous tear slipped through her restraints. Ruma wiped it clean with a sleeve.

  The Pithrean sight rose in her mind and she shivered. She needed to get back. Get out of this blasted world. And the best chance she had was to start working her ass off to forge basic comms equipment. There might be no other human around capable of hearing her signal, but was there a possibility of reaching out to some curious Zrivisi ship who might be in the system?

  Ruma exhaled, then stepped away from Yenita. “We’ve wasted enough time. Can we get back on the road?”

  “Erm…” said Yenita, looking back at her brother.

  “We’ve already paid for our beds,” whined Sivan, extending his arms wide.

  Ruma pursed her lips, then nodded. “I understand. Would you mind if”—she groaned, then continued—“I borrowed a camel. When we meet up at Fanima, I’ll return it, gladly!”

  “Where are you going to go all by yourself in the middle of the desert?” asked Sivan. “This isn’t even your homeland!”

  “She isn’t going anywhere on her own,” declared Yenita, drawing herself up. “She’s still with us. Sivan, Father wouldn’t have wasted nights holed up in taverns when there’s good coin to be made from pious, hungry pilgrims.”

  “He wouldn’t have?” grumbled Sivan. Yenita glared at her brother. For a wee little thing, she contorted her face in a way that had the desired effect on her brother. “Very well.” Sivan sighed, then stomped off towards the stables.

  Ruma shook her head. “Perhaps, it’s best if I did travel by myself.” You don’t want to know who else travels with me.

  “No, we travel together,” said Yenita, her voice unshakeable. “You’re our guard, and we intend to make sure we get to avail your services all the way to Fanima. And beyond that, if it works with you.”

  Ruma chewed her lower lip, met the younger girl’s eyes. True, Yenita didn’t have an iota’s inkling of the troubles she could get into by hanging with her, yet the way she pouted her lips, stood tall with her legs parted, arms over hips, Ruma saw a bit of her old self in her. Besides, hadn’t she been obstinate back in the day, too, hanging out with the likes of Hanoos and the Misguided, no matter what others said?

  Yet this was different. A fracking Pithrean lived within her! A being even the best scientific minds of Ruma’s time would struggle to contend with.

  “The stable hands still haven’t unloaded our mules,” came Sivan’s annoyed voice from the darkness. “Probably a good thing, considering.”

  “Remember, we’re not paying them the next time,” said Yenita.

  “They’ve at least watered and brushed them down,” called out Sivan. “Should
be alright so long as we maintain a slow pace.”

  Yenita chuckled. “Like they’d win any races.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He doesn’t want to admit, but all this prophecy business has got lil Sivan all worked up. He might object, but he can’t wait to get there.”

  “I…” began Ruma, trailed away as half a dozen patrons walked out of the door. One of them glared at her. A friend of the man she had struck? Yenita stepped between them, cocked her head to the side.

  The men shuffled past without incident, muttering under their breaths.

  “Ready to go?” asked Sivan when he finally joined them a couple of minutes later.

  “Yeah?” asked Yenita, turning to look at Ruma.

  Ruma exhaled. They were centuries and worlds apart from each other, yet she liked the spark in the young girl. Yenita had an indomitable will and a restlessness that she too possessed. “Yeah.”

  “In Alf’s name—” began Sivan, pointing his hands towards the heavens in the manner Ruma had seen Gulatu do before.

  “Oh, just get on it with,” barked Yenita. Turning to wink at Ruma, she reached forwards, her fingers finding Ruma’s hand.

  Ruma followed the siblings in a daze. Once more, the strange sights she had seen came flooding in. The world of the Pithrean. Beings who had the power to mould space and time. Gods in any human or alien world she knew.

  But mortal in the end, just like her kind.

  She shivered.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Yenita.

  “Tell them!” whispered the First. “Tell them everything!”

  “No!”

  Yenita arched an eyebrow. Ruma offered her a tight-lipped smile, then turned her face up towards the night sky.

  Did a Shard exist this very minute, floating far off in space, waiting to whisk her back to her life?

  “Tell me why and I might consider!” she hissed through clenched teeth. Or else I will find a way out on my own.

  The First fell silent.

  Dread settling in her gut for what she feared was coming, Ruma followed Sivan towards their animals.

  Ten

  Plans

  “Mother would not like this,” said Yenita, waving a hand towards her brother, her shadow shimmering, moving over the sands to the side. For his part, Sivan chuckled, upturned the flagon of water over his head once more, the other hand gripping the reins lightly.

  “You should try it sometime. Nothing better than the feeling of water dripping over your head in this blasted heat.”

  “Do we have enough water to waste?” asked Ruma, apprehension growing in her stomach as she looked around at the unchanging landscape.

  “Just a day’s ride from Yiahan,” he said, then looked at Ruma, the stubble on his beard glistening. “Oh, if you didn’t know, it’s an oasis town much like Fanima. Not as large, but it has good inns.” He turned to Yenita. “And this time we are definitely spending the night there. All this riding is hurting me in places I didn’t even know I had!”

  “Your head?” asked Yenita, her voice all innocent.

  Growling, Sivan reached into his pouch, retrieved a pebble, and threw it at Yenita. Yelping, Yenita dodged the throw, then bared her teeth.

  Ruma smiled, whipped her head around to the distant horizon.

  Even after two days of travelling that had obliterated all signs of civilisation and greenery, the memory of her waking nightmare still haunted her. But at least she was moving, had a destination in mind, her subconscious mulling through the outlines of a plan—a step towards her mission to escape this cursed world—and present company was pleasant enough.

  Ruma exhaled, adjusted her weight. The camels were rightfully called ships of the deserts, always moving onwards without complaint, engines fuelled by a seemingly inexhaustible supply of fusion energy. The mules, though, were a different story. Even as she thought of them, one of them brayed as if to draw her sympathy towards its plight.

  As she turned east, Ruma spied dark figures moving across the glittering sands. Bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the harsh sun, she squinted. More soldiers? Another caravan like theirs? Though they hadn’t interacted, two days ago they had spied an army on the move a few miles away. They never found out whether they were the Traditionalists, those that supported the claim of Bubraza, or the Blessed, who wanted Yasmeen to be in command of the believers—something absolutely fine by her.

  Ruma shook her head, her eyes narrowing. Not an army but not a group of merchants, either. For one, they were moving too fast over their camels.

  Her hand dropped instinctively to her right, reaching for the blaster rifle. She didn’t find it, of course. Shaking her head, Ruma reached down into her rucksack.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Sivan, noticing her furrowed brows.

  Ruma’s fingers brushed against the handle of the sword the Kapuri siblings had given her. Exhaling, she pulled it out of the sheath, brought it up to rest atop the saddle. She pointed east with her chin. “Who are those people?”

  “Which people…” Sivan trailed away as he saw the figures. “Oh, Alf!”

  Ruma sat up straight on the saddle. The figures were no longer moving across the desert. Instead, they were rushing towards them.

  “Full speed!” yelled Ruma. She kicked the camel with all her might. The animal grunted, maintained its stately gait. Raising her hand, she clapped it on the rump. Once more the beast bleated but this time did pick up its pace.

  “Oh, Lord of the Words!” yelped Yenita. “Raiders!”

  “We’re not going to outrun them,” yelled Sivan.

  “Yes, we are,” replied Ruma, shooting him an evil eye.

  “What she said,” came Yenita’s panicked reply. “Not going to go back home empty-handed.”

  Despite her insistence otherwise, Ruma knew Sivan was right. If their little group could be likened to corvettes, the six men with the fast-moving camels were like Zrivisi battleships, capable of twice their velocity and armed. Was the fracking Pithrean behind this? His way of forcing her to do his bidding?

  “Yenita, leave the mules behind!” she shouted at the young girl. “They’re slowing us down!”

  Yenita turned, her narrowed eyes balls of fire under the veil whipping in the wind. “Not so long as I breathe!”

  “You can’t risk your life for mere goods!”

  “They are not mere goods!”

  For long moments, both women stared at each other, neither backing away, their camels sprinting. Ruma gritted her teeth, looked away first. Not an act of weakness, just an awareness of how fast they were wasting time. “Fine!”

  Ruma raised the sword, turned around in the saddle to face the oncoming figures. Six men dressed in leather vests, their faces hidden by dark masks, swords raised high.

  “Could have taken up more classes in fencing,” she muttered, struggling to keep her balance over the camel with just one hand. Truth be told, there were no classes in Egania that would have prepared her well enough to face six men who’d spent most of their lives waging battles with these primitive weapons.

  “What do we do?” came Yenita’s trembling voice. Surprised, Ruma glanced at the younger girl. The adrenaline had faded, leaving her blinking in confusion.

  The six men were closer now. Ruma exhaled. “Grab a weapon.”

  “I’ve a spare crossbow,” shouted Sivan, moving his camel beside Yenita. He reached into his rucksack, pulled out a crossbow, and threw it to Yenita. She caught it, then,gripping it with both hands, trained it towards the figures. With a whelp that he might have intended as inspiring, Sivan waved his sword about.

  Ruma felt her heart sink. She could tell by their fumbling ways that the siblings were inept with the weapons and would be practically useless against six armed men. Just as useless as herself with a sword she’d never wielded before.

  “Of all the fracking places to die…” Ruma swore under her breath.

  “What?” asked Sivan.

  “Shut up and let me think.”


  The siblings fell silent even as the mules brayed. Ruma racked her mind. In a life not that long ago, she had raided Zrivisi and Hengoli ships, smuggled goods through systems with hawks monitoring every atom that passed their borders. She’d been part of the Battle of Doonya, a part of the prophet’s own fleet, and then a commander in her own right forcing her way into Tasina’s frigate and freeing the prophet. She had seen death on the battlefield and had dished it out many times before.

  How could she translate all that knowledge and experience when the enemy struck from a distance counted in feet instead of light years?

  Poorly, came the answer.

  “Halt!” cried one of the men. His voice was harsh, loud, the Anduras dialect crude. “Or we will cut you down with arrows.”

  “Try!” shouted Yenita, smacking her camel with the back of the crossbow.

  Ruma turned back towards the men. True to their words, two of them were training bows at them, the arrows already nocked and ready. She sighed, shouted, “Stop the camels!”

  “What?” protested Yenita, but already Sivan was pulling on his reins, yelling at the braying mules to get in line behind him.

  Exhaling, tightening the grip over the sword with one hand, Ruma pulled on the reins with the other, steered the camel to face the raiders.

  Their leader, a stout man, his face covered, dressed in a long flowing white tunic and a matching conical hat cinched across his chin, came to a stop a dozen paces from her. His camel grunted, a good foot taller than hers.

  Beneath the mask, the eyes moved, surveyed their little group before settling on her. “Woman, are you the leader of this expedition?”

  Yenita snorted. “She’s the guard. I am the leader.”

  The raider’s leader guffawed. Two of his companions joined in, the others maintaining their bows at them.

  Judging by the way they moved, they were well trained. Ex-soldiers?

  “What do you seek?” asked Ruma, feigning casual indifference. “Surely, you do not intend to invoke Alf’s wrath by stopping provisions for the faithful at Fanima.”