Lady of the Sands

by Fuad Baloch

The leader turned towards her, said nothing for a long minute. Time enough for a bead of sweat to start flowing down her back. Ruma shifted uncomfortably, cursing herself for accepting Yenita’s clothes, which were far too short on her, instead of using her worn mechanic’s overalls, making it all so hard to draw in a long breath.

  “Two women… one a guard, the other the expedition master,” observed the leader, shaking his head.

  “Doesn’t feel right, Mza,” said the man to his right. “Women birth and suckle and cook.”

  “Are you forgetting two women wage war this very second for the soul of your religious empire?” challenged Ruma, hoping she didn’t stumble in her ignorance. “Who are you, anyway? Defectors from the Vanico armies? Know that you’re going to be hunted down like dogs in this pure land!” A bluff she hoped would likely work.

  The leader spat to the side.

  “Who then?” she asked. “The Blessed? Or Traditionalists?”

  For long seconds, the leader glared at her. “Heretics, the lot of them. The prophet wouldn’t have wanted either Yasmeen or Bubraza to lead his flock. When was the last time God or the prophet entrusted His word to a woman, anyway?”

  Ruma blinked. Gulatu, in his final speech to the fleets, had asked the ships to follow her should he never come back. A stupid, illogical decision indeed.

  “Never, Mza,” offered the companion.

  “Now, considering you’re womenfolk,” continued the leader, “and the prophet did accord great respect to the weaker sex, how about you dismount like good girls and just walk away from here, eh?”

  Sivan coughed, his strength draining as all eyes turned to him. He waved his sword. “L-leave us!”

  “Or what?” asked the leader.

  Sivan swallowed, looked around at them as if seeking help. Ruma shook her head. A good captain knew when the battle was not winnable. And like it or not, her odds were seriously fracked up at the moment.

  She had to do something, gain the initiative somehow.

  But how?

  “You”—the leader waved his hand to the man to his side—“check the strappings on the mules are secure. If they’ve messed with them, I am going to get into a foul mood.”

  “A very foul mood indeed,” agreed the bandit beside him. He clicked his tongue, then moved his camel towards the mules. Watching him approach, the mule closest to him let out a loud bray, kicked up sand. Ruma took in the fine sand. The bandit reached forwards, whipped the beast on the rump, the sound of the lash ringing out like a discharge of a particle cannon.

  “Hey!” Yenita shouted indignantly, thrust out her middle finger at the men.

  “And don’t worry,” said the leader. “You two will be picked up by a caravan soon enough. One that manages to go past us.” He chuckled. “After all, the religious folks do seem to have a particularly soft spot for women nowadays.”

  The men laughed.

  Ruma blinked. Without thinking things through, she raised her sword, leaned forwards. “Are you so afraid of the weaker sex as to train two men with bows at us?”

  “Afraid of the likes of you?” Again, the leader cackled. Ruma restrained the urge to reach forwards and snap the man’s neck. In another life, with just the two of them in a bar, things would have been much different.

  “Then how about you show it, eh?” She let the sword slip through her fingers, fall harmlessly onto the hot sands below. “Face me one on one, or are you too afraid of losing your masculinity to the weaker sex?”

  She couldn’t see the leader’s face but could almost hear the teeth grinding under the mask. “You dare challenge me?”

  “Yeah, she did just that,” shouted Yenita. “Didn’t you hear, you old fracker?”

  “Too old to hear properly,” said Sivan. “Or lost his manhood in the sands.”

  Grinning, Ruma kicked her camel forwards. “How about a wager, eh? Throw me off my feet in a one-on-one challenge, and you can have your way with us. Fail, and you leave us alone.”

  “Just… Just shut your mouths, the lot of you!” shouted a bandit. “Or I swear by Alf, I’ll fill you with holes.”

  Ruma shrugged. “So you are all afraid of us weak women! Such a shame.”

  She could feel the subtle change in the balance of power. The bandit beside the mules turned around. Those around their leader shifted nervously in their saddles. They all waited for a cue from their leader, who glared at her.

  “I do not touch women,” he growled.

  “You’d never get close enough,” replied Ruma. Yenita tittered.

  “Enough!” shouted the leader. “Ijman has never backed down from an insult. Never!”

  Grunting, he dismounted his camel, unbuckled the sword from his waist, and let it fall down to the sand. One of his companions started to say something, but he waved his hand, the other hand taking down his mask to reveal a man in his fifties with a patchy moustache.

  “Come, you foreign witch!”

  “Gladly!” Ruma slid off her own saddle, hoping she’d make half as graceful a dismount as Ijman had. The shawl caught on the saddle, ripped apart into two. She fell on the ground, struggled up, her clothes dusty.

  The leader’s eyes fell on her hair as she shook her head. “Red-haired witch! Alf protect us all.”

  In Ruma’s opinion, honour and form were virtues given far too much credence. Luckily, the company she’d kept had beaten that out of her a long time ago.

  Lunging forwards, Ruma thrust her fist towards Ijman. The raider’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then the sand she had grabbed on her descent fell in his eyes. Yelping, Ijman stumbled back, his stubby fingers clawing at his face.

  Not one to let the initiative slip, Ruma crouched, kicked at Ijman’s left knee, then the right. He went down, hands still at his face, a geyser of profanities she could only half understand rushing out.

  Ruma kicked Ijman in the solar plexus. When the older man gagged, she jabbed her other fist into his eyes, throwing the last of the sand she had grabbed.

  She heard Yenita gasp behind her but didn’t turn. She still had the element of shock on her side, and she would do everything in her power to make it last as much as she could.

  Again and again, she kicked the raider captain, not relenting even when he fell into the foetal position, squealing like a pig.

  “Enough, Ruma,” came a voice just behind her.

  Ruma blinked, would have continued if not for the gentle hand that fell on her arm.

  “I think you’ve made your point,” said Yenita.

  Ruma exhaled, then, dusting off her hands, stepped back.

  The five raiders glared at her. One of them dismounted his camel, a sword in one hand, and walked over to his commander.

  “Time to go,” whispered Yenita.

  Ruma chewed her lower lip, her eyes narrowed, blood pumping through her veins. “I can take the fracking lot of them!”

  “Ruma, let’s go!” urged Yenita.

  Exhaling, Ruma nodded, turned around wordlessly. In another life, she would have stood atop the beaten foe, gloated a bit—not something she liked doing, but it made for a good lasting impression.

  Except a lasting impression was precisely the thing she did not want to leave behind in a world she was just travelling through.

  In a state of daze, she let Yenita help her mount the camel. Yenita clicked her tongue, mounted her own. His eyes darting nervously, Sivan watched them both, one hand still clutching the sword.

  At another click of the tongue, Ruma’s camel lurched forwards, her body falling back to the tempo of the jostling ride.

  The bandits were shouting. Ruma looked back. Propped against one of his companions, Ijman stood stiffly, shaking his head. Ruma felt the ghost of a smile spread on her lips.

  Men never liked being bested by women. In this era, it held doubly true. Something she could use to her advantage for the little time she was stuck on this blasted world.

  Eleven

  The Old World

  Sighing, Ru
ma closed her eyes, felt the warm water roll up against her half-submerged chin. When was the last time she’d had a chance to let her hair down like this, luxuriate in a bath for three whole hours in either world?

  She couldn’t recall ever doing it. A sad fact she didn’t really want to dwell on.

  “Ahh…” she moaned, soaking in the feeling of weightlessness accompanied by bucolic sounds of the little oasis town outside the shuttered windows. She cracked open a lazy eyelid, stared at the ray of light filtering through a crack in the wall.

  Ruma flexed her fingers. It was good to be out of the grimy clothes at last. Closing her eyes, she lapped up the water, contently sniffed the strong rose extract the maids had poured in the water along with oils she knew nothing about. She’d tried stopping the maids from putting in the rose extract, fearing it would be too overpowering, but now she was glad she’d let them.

  Thoughts bubbled up.

  Ruma let them roam free, taking on the role of a disembodied mind watching the automatic processes of an exhausted body. She’d been worrying about too much for far too long. Good to just… not give a damn about anything.

  She lost track of time, slipping into a blissful state most saints would kill to achieve.

  Finally, she cracked open an eyelid. Motes of dust floated inside. The sun might still be harsh outside, but here, cocooned under a roof and four walls, the air was damp, pleasantly warm, her body in heaven.

  “Ah…” she croaked, feeling her eyelids droop again.

  She felt her lips curl back in a smile. As hard as it might be to believe, they had come out alright in their altercation with the bandits. Furthermore, she had humbled their leader.

  No matter what had happened to her, at least she still had her wits about her. A useful thing to know.

  Her mind drifted, thoughts beginning to form faster, move even faster than she could latch on to. Had she just played into the Pithrean’s hands by fighting the bandits as she had? The leader she beat up, would his actions have any meaningful impact on what happened?

  The more she thought, the more disorienting it all became. Far too many fracking permutations and possibilities she needed more time to wade through.

  Exhaling, she let the worries ago, instead focusing on what lay ahead. A lot of work, that was what awaited her when she finally got the elements and instruments required to set her plans in motion.

  She forced her mind on the sensation of weightlessness, relishing the moment of quiet, letting thoughts roam free once more.

  The cosmos spread out, everything springing from nothing. The galaxies spiralled about, spinning along axes her mind perceived but the eyes didn’t see, following laws only her intuition hinted at.

  Spluttering, Ruma sat up, shook her head. Fear that had taken the back seat for so long pressed against her senses once more, wanting to be heard, to be acknowledged.

  “No,” she whispered, forcing her thoughts free.

  Feet rustled outside the door. Ruma exhaled. Who was there? An irrational part of her mind announced it to be the Pithrean come to visit her in person. A silly idea. One she couldn’t shake off.

  The shutters creaked. Ruma whipped her head, fear finding a willing host in her now. She had seen the cosmos from the perspective of the Pithrean. A being that powerful, almost omnipotent, was residing in her mind this very second, always the other whenever she was alone.

  Ruma shivered despite the warm water.

  Shaking her head, she forced herself to think of other thoughts. The many chores waiting for her. The accounts that needed to be settled. Priorities, that was what she needed to work through. Get to Fanima. Procure minerals. Construct comms devices. Reach out…

  Reach out to whom?

  Pointless question. She needed to do what needed to be done without letting the fear of failure keep her back.

  The door creaked open. Ruma looked up, one hand instinctively rising to cover her naked left breast. “Who’s that?”

  “Just me,” came a soft voice, followed by the swaying figure of Yenita Kapuri. She grinned at Ruma, one hand rising to undo the ponytail.

  Ruma let her hand drop. “Something the matter?”

  “You…” began Yenita, her eyes trailing down, settling on Ruma’s chest, “saved my life. I never… got the chance to thank you.”

  Ruma shrugged, then saw the flush on the girl’s face. “You hired me as your guard. Least I could do.”

  Yenita’s smile wavered. She took a step forwards, her eyes unblinking, her own chest rising and falling rapidly. “I… need a bath, too.”

  “I’m about finished—” started Ruma.

  Yenita reached behind her back with a trembling hand. She yanked, and the tunic tumbled down in one smooth motion, leaving her completely bare.

  Ruma blinked, surprised to see the girl wore nothing underneath the tunic. Yenita shifted her weight, the flush growing darker on her cheeks. She took an unsteady step forwards. Ruma shook her head, raised a hand, finally putting two and two together.

  “Yenita, you’re a pretty girl, but—”

  “Am I?” she said, coming to her within an arm’s reach. Sighing, Yenita shifted her weight. Ruma drew in a long breath. The girl was young, too young, the body unblemished, free of the ravages of time. The full breasts stood proudly over a shapely waist, the gap between the legs covered by a soft layer of fuzz.

  “As I was saying,” said Ruma, rising awkwardly, suddenly very aware of her own nakedness and of the younger girl’s eyes gazing at her body, “I am finished. You’re welcome to soak in.”

  Wordlessly, Ruma stepped out of the tub, then stomped over to the corner where she had discarded the grimy clothes. Without stopping to dry herself, she grabbed her tunic, then walked out the door.

  Her heart beat hard as she dressed hurriedly. There was little denying what the girl had desired when she’d come into the room. Even a blind person couldn’t have missed the glint in her eyes. Ruma shook her head, forced a chuckle to calm her nerves. Nothing wrong in lying down with women as far as she was concerned—never mind how much the Alfi faith might frown on it—but that was hardly something she wanted. Or needed.

  A nagging voice rose in the back of her mind, ready to challenge her contention she didn’t need human company.

  Ruma shook her head, then, cinching the tunic at the waist with one hand, she righted the shawl over her head with the other and walked out into the harsh sun.

  The heat enveloped her immediately, a warm fire glove pulling her into a suffocating vice-like grip.

  Clenching her fingers, Ruma headed towards the town square. If her luck held, Sivan would still be resting up in the tavern. As much as she hated it, time had come for her to part ways with the Kapuri. She had to remain low, find a way out discreetly, and the last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself.

  And a girl lusting after her would most definitely set the tongues wagging.

  Assuming she did give in, didn’t mind their dalliance becoming public knowledge, how would that be looked at by the future generations? Ruma chuckled. “Is that what you’d like to see, First? Hastening the sexual revolution by a good few centuries?”

  The Pithrean didn’t deign to respond to her sense of humour. Perfectly fine as far as she was concerned.

  Soldiers dressed in iron mail and the brown colour of Salodia’s governor, traders in their flowing robes, and women clad in all-enveloping shawls looked up at her as she passed them without paying them much mind.

  Though the beggars lining the streets clinked their empty bowls at her, the children screamed as they did in any market she’d ever visited, and the market space rang out with the expected din of commerce, even she could feel a layer of tension gripping the residents.

  As yet another man gazed at her hair, she cursed, pulled the shawl tighter. Was she really the only red-headed woman in the entire peninsula?

  “—ceasefire going to hold?” a labourer, bare to the waist, was shouting at another as he bent to lift a barrel
of dates.

  “The prophet’s wife hasn’t committed yet,” grunted his companion.

  Ruma slowed down. She had to find another way to get to Fanima. Then again, she couldn’t just walk up to the caravans on the main square and ask to be taken in. For one thing, she had no coin with which to pay her way, and present luck not counted, she was no expert in thwarting bandits. A blaster rifle, a ship cannon, those she understood. A clumsily built sword, not at all. Maybe it would be wise to understand her surroundings a bit better.

  Yiahan felt like a small town temporarily bloated well past its usual size. The narrow streets felt thoroughly inadequate for the teeming masses of traders and their carts, with ranks of soldiers watching everyone suspiciously.

  “The prophecy—” said someone to her right.

  “Sign of Alf,” replied another.

  “Whatever would that hold for us?”

  “Whatever Alf desires, He—”

  “—the Vanico armies are marching—”

  Ruma shook her head, began threading her way through the masses once more. She’d been stuck a few days already in this world, but the internal politicking here was just as confusing as the power plays she’d heard about in Arkos.

  And just as boring.

  She came upon more mutterings about the prophecy. Ruma ground her teeth. Whatever the blasted thing was about, it had certainly ended up taking the fancy of these people. Hardly anyone could sneeze without some reference to the blasted prophecy.

  Or these allegedly roving Vanico armies.

  Or the battles between the Blessed and Traditionalists.

  Her eyes fell upon a mason laying bricks on a lot lined with palm trees. Half a dozen other labourers worked beside him. Up went his hand, a brick sliding in smoothly beside others he had laid already. Then, down went the other hand, aligning the brick, setting it in place.

  Something about the primitive process, the hypnotic nature of the movement arrested her moment and she stuttered to a stop. For long minutes, she gaped at the masons, a work relegated to the automatons in her time.

  Though worlds apart, the work appealed to her, its simple monotony reminding her of her own life aboard the ARK Aroha as she painstakingly soldered wires, worked out algorithms, interacted with fusion engine parts that needed to be calibrated one at a time.