by Fuad Baloch
She began pacing, clenching, then unclenching her fingers. General Nodin Roh coughed, then stood. He might have been in his late fifties, but thanks to the rigid manner he carried himself and the alertness of his overall demeanour, he looked a decade younger than General Restam. “We’ve got scouts, Lady of the Sands. As do the Traditionalists and Vanico armies.” He nodded, making a sweeping movement with his arm towards General Restam. “There are other alternatives, of course, to explain our state of affairs. I’m a simple man, one able to judge all those who raise their sword beside mine under the sun. But if there is someone who cavorts with others in the dark of night, I know not what transpires in their heart.”
“What’s that s-supposed to mean?” sputtered General Restam. “Are you… accusing me?” He, too, jumped to his feet, his eyes narrowed in rage. “Need we discuss the price the respected mercenary general expects for helping the cause of Alf? How could one trust anyone who sells his sword not for honour but for coin?”
“No man has a window into another man’s soul, Nodin,” chided Brother Hadyan, raising his right hand. He shook his head, bells tinkling softly in his hat. “Nor is the love of goodly things prohibited by the Lord of the Words, Restam. The zulzalat tells us that.”
“Maybe,” said Qaisan from the shadows. Ruma blinked, having almost forgotten his presence. “But I’ve lived long enough to expect the worst from men.”
“Aye,” agreed General Restam, pursing his lips. “Brother Hadyan, with all due respect, even the Blessed Turbaza’s forces had men spying for Blessed Dadua.” He nodded at Ruma. “I’ll carry out a full enquiry, leaving no stone unturned.”
Ruma grunted, her body tense. This meeting wasn’t helping her get much direction, but at least Brother Hadyan, like always, was proving a calming influence over her councillors, allowing them to reveal the cards they held close to their chests.
General Nodin interlaced his fingers. “We’ve another issue we can’t ignore for long. We need men. Thousands of them if we’re to progress beyond skirmishes.”
“On that, I agree,” said General Restam slowly, his gaze darting over to the mercenary general. “Any enemy soldiers we capture, we should consider having them fight under our banner.”
“As slaves?” challenged Ruma. “I won’t have it.”
“We’re all slaves of Alf,” said Brother Hadyan. “Doesn’t every single one of us walk only because our Master demands so from us by granting our body its strength?”
“I’ve said this before,” she snapped, raising her fist. “If men wish to fight for my cause, they shall do so out of their free will.” She shook her head in annoyance. “Alf’s breath, why can’t you see it?”
Brother Hadyan offered a polite smile, then bringing his fingertips together, closed his eyes as if meditating. Ruma fidgeted with the lapel of the leather vest she had taken to wearing, the other hand righting the white veil to cover her hair. Muffled voices came from outside her command tent. Bells rang softy. It was almost time for the afternoon prayers, for men to huddle together in groups and kneel on the hot sands and beseech their hidden creator to shower them with His blessings. Alf had forsaken them though, gifting them one defeat after another, but it didn't seem to affect their faith much. Faith, one thing they had plenty of, something their leader lacked entirely.
Something fluttered in her chest. The First was still alive. Would he speak to her again? She’d been content living out her life here and ridding the peninsula of all extremist forces, but was there still the opportunity to return to her world?
“As Baosad would have said,” said Qaisan after a while, twirling his moustache, “the fastest way to outrun bad news is to be swift as wind. Maybe we need to rush into the Vanico infidels and the Traditionalist hypocrites without getting… bogged down by too much preparation.”
“You want me to jump into the abyss without even looking how deep it is first?” Ruma asked, arching her eyebrow. She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“The Charlatan grows brave,” replied Brother Hadyan instead. He stared at the tent wall, his hand clutching the prayer beads close to his chest. “He corrupts the hearts of men and women, singing lullabies of eternal sleep even when dawn approaches. We must not listen to the doubters.”
“That is true,” said Qaisan.
Ruma wrinkled her nose. “Is this the best you can offer me? Words worth nothing? I expect this from the other priests, but you’re beginning to sound like them as well now.”
“I’ve seen us succeeding,” said Brother Hadyan, still not looking at her, still staring at the wall. His hand holding the prayer beads trembled. “Alf has shared His visions with me. He promises a great victory.”
Ruma slapped her thigh. “Bah!”
Qaisan cleared his throat. “Others have reported seeing these… dreams as well.”
“Lady—” began General Restam, but Ruma cut him off with the wave of her hand, the pounding in her ears growing louder. For six months she had been drifting in this cursed world, smarting from defeats. If there really was a spy in her midst, the bloody bastard was wasting his time in the company of a woman who hadn’t made any difference so far. Worst, what was he to report back anyway? Her councillors offered her no vision, no great reservoir of tactics she could draw from.
“Leave me!” she shouted. “Get out of my tent and let me have some peace.” Leather creaked as they shuffled. “On second thought, stay where the frack you are. I need some fresh air!” Pulling the veil over her forehead, Ruma stormed out of the tent and into the brightness outside.
Like always, men stopped what they were doing, turning to look at her. Like always, their gazes dropped, their lips murmuring, “Lady of the Sands.”
Ruma wanted to scream. She had listened to them, accepted that damned title for the power it promised her she could use to rid the world of the Traditionalists’ cruel ideology, and the Vanico forces’ barbaric ways.
She had even sacrificed her chance of returning to her world when the First had still been speaking to her.
What did she have to show for it all?
Everything she had touched had crumbled to sand. All she had left behind was a trail of losses littered with corpses of those stupid enough to have followed her.
“Lady or not, I am going to defeat your ideology, Yasmeen,” Ruma muttered under her breath, striding towards the clearing the men of Lady’s Light had set up for kabbad. “And I will not rest until the peninsula is clear of the Vanico! And then…” Ruma shook her head, unable to think that far out. She’d never really been a bigger picture person anyway, and her odds of surviving the next battle were slim at best.
“First, what have you been up to?” she whispered. Two days had passed since their defeat, and she hadn’t heard from him again. “Did I just imagine you?”
To her left, a dozen soldiers were chanting, their voices soft, melodious. Ruma shook her head. Hers were a shattered, defeated force, yet they refused to acknowledge it, singing away as if bards accompanying triumphant forces. Her eyes fell on the priest standing in their middle. He swayed on his feet, his head bobbing in sync with the rhythm. Blowing out her lungs, Ruma continued forward. The sun was just as hot today as it had been two days earlier, and the warm sand underneath her tickled her toes through the open sandals.
“Damn this weather!” Ruma dabbed at her slick forehead. Months in this world and her body had still not acclimatised to it. She was melting just by walking in the sweltering afternoon, but no one else seemed half bothered.
Her mind replayed the conversation in her tent. Her councillors hadn’t rubbished her claim of a spy amongst them. That suggested they had thought the same, even if they hadn't voiced their concerns before. But maybe the traitor wasn’t one of them. Maybe, it was someone down the chain of command, keeping a profile just high enough to know what went on in her council meetings, but low enough to escape scrutiny. Had the shoe been on the other foot, she’d have done the same too. She
chuckled, recalling Manama, her friend from childhood. She used to call Ruma the ultimate hacker for sneaking through her mark’s network via obfuscation and then lying low for a long time. A virus that remained hidden, dormant, knowing the moment it surfaced it would get squashed.
She didn't trust the other priests, but maybe she could ask Brother Hadyan to see if his preachers had heard anything useful. Her thoughts drifted. There was this business between Nodin and Restam she couldn't keep ignoring for long. “Argh!” she muttered, shaking her head. Then, there were the constant reminders of her depleting strength. She needed recruits, more of them on account of her recent defeats, but because she was on the losing side, not many men volunteered, and so she lost more of those who remained beside her.
Her thoughts circled back to her plans that continued to leak. Yes, it was possible that despite her commands for their plans not to be shared with others, one or more of her councillors couldn't keep their mouths shut. Maybe it was one of the whores trailing after her army, managing to extract information for the price of a smile and bare tit.
She slapped the air to her right as a fly buzzed. Her veil slipped and she caught it just before it could fall on the ground. Placing it back over her head, she heaved a sigh. She’d have to cut her hair again soon.
Her feet continued to move as her mind drifted again. A spy, like a virus, was only good for a while. Once it outlived its usefulness, it was followed by overwhelming force. When would either the Traditionalists or Vanico forces come out in full force to wipe her off the map? A deep, cold sense of foreboding settled in her gut. She was like the corvette racer rushing towards the Shard to jump to the next leg of the race knowing absolutely nothing of what awaited her on the other side.
“Yasmeen,” she whispered. “You’re the one spying on me, aren’t you? What are you waiting for?”
“Alf is with us, Lady,” came a voice from her right. Ruma blinked and looked up to see an old man, the blue stole of his ministry draped across his weak shoulders. “We must hold true to our faith.”
“If you insist, Priest,” replied Ruma, unable to check the venom in her voice. She stopped at the edge of the kabbad field and straightened her back. Empty for the moment, but at dusk it would be crowded like always. The priest was still watching her. “To me, it seems He prefers that other woman over me.” Ruma bit her lower lip, her heartbeat racing suddenly. “She’s going to knock out the Vanico forces first, then come for me.”
The priest shook his head, setting off the hidden bells within his blue hat. “The Blessed Mother doesn't matter. You are the promised one, the Lady of the Sands.”
Ruma opened her mouth, a hundred arguments rising up, but then she bit her tongue. What good would empty rhetoric bring? Tiredness, ever-present and always looming at the corners of her consciousness, pressed inward. She exhaled, her knees threatening to buckle underneath her. “Is all I’ve done worth nothing?”
“Lady, Alf tests us all in the way He sees best.”
Ruma closed her fists. “Well, He should consider taking a break.”
The priest blinked. “You… you should join us for the afternoon prayers.” He raised a quivering finger towards a dune to the distance where a dozen soldiers were chanting. “Alf will listen to us if you were beside us.”
Ruma scoffed. “I thought He was closer to a living being than their own jugular vein.” She waved her arm. “Leave me, Priest. I’ve got plenty to think about.”
She exhaled, then closed her eyes, letting the voices around cocoon her. It felt good. If she didn't know any better, based on just the sounds, she could have been in Egania. The sights and sounds of her world rose from the dredges of her memory. An impossibly huge wave she couldn't duck away from. Her world was real, one bursting to capacity with humans who had conquered divisions of religions and race and creed, intermixing with aliens. Not just the humans in her universe either. She longed for the other races. Even for the Hengoli and their perennial warlike existence. The shifty Zrivisi and their eternal quest to find their messiah. The Yeth, beings moved by pure logic and cold metal. She sniffled. Could it be this was all a dream? That if she opened her eyes, she would see ships sailing across the horizon?
Ruma shivered. No matter what her heart wanted to believe, her mind knew otherwise. She was on Doonya. A planet that was the same as the one she had been born on, but in most other measures, as alien to her as any she’d ever set foot on. Her mind railed at the thought, quaking at the idea of the familiar mixed with the strange producing this unimaginable reality.
The seeds of an idea began taking root. She opened her eyes. Viruses were things she knew well. Surely, she could coax them to do her bidding? The biggest advantage a virus held was obscurity, but once that was lost, it was susceptible to all sorts of countermeasures ranging from brute force attacks to neat nips at the bud. Yes, there was advantage to be had, but she had to be careful, ever vigilant.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Gareeb approaching her. The young lieutenant had a big smile on his face, his conical hat sitting askew. Exhaling, Ruma turned to face him.
“I’ve got news,” Gareeb announced.
“So do I,” she started, then she saw the figure walking a step behind him. Ruma rubbed her eyes then squinted in disbelief. The young girl behind the lieutenant smiled, raising a hand in salutation as she stepped forward.
“We meet again!”
Ruma blinked. “Yenita?”
Three
Alignments
A stilted smile plastered on her lips, Yenita bounded over. Ruma extended her arms. Yenita hesitated for a second, then breaking into a grin stepped into Ruma’s embrace. All memories of defeats and concerns and worries melted away as Ruma held onto the younger woman, Yenita’s long, thick hair tickling her left cheek.
Finally, Yenita stepped away. She was still smiling, even if it looked a bit forced. “I… We were passing through the Pinjan province. Joaca’s crops haven't had a great yield this year and with the battles and all else happening, we thought—”
“That this would be a great opportunity to arrive bearing nuts and spices,” Ruma finished for her, leaning in to tap her on the shoulder.
“Aye, Mzi,” said Yenita. “Lady, I mean!”
Ruma flinched. Titles had a way of putting up divides between people. Something she hadn’t really recognised before, and now couldn’t shy away from. “Call me Ruma.”
“If you insist, Lady.”
Ruma scowled, but then caught the twinkle in the younger girl’s eyes. Reaching forward, she pinched her arm. Yenita screeched, swatted at Ruma’s hand, and ended up striking her own arm as Ruma pulled back just in time.
Both of them broke into giggling to the astonishment of the soldiers gaping at them. A moment later, Ruma’s mood darkened again, the initial rush of meeting Yenita leaking away, leaving behind the demands of her current reality. Exhaling, she looked over Yenita’s shoulder. “Where’s Sivan?”
“Arguing with one of your men.” Yenita cocked her head to the side, biting her lips as if to hide a smile. “That brother of mine trusts no one, not even for something as simple as brushing the horses down.”
Ruma offered a sad smile. “Not much has changed, then?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Yenita hesitated. “You’ve been quite busy these past few months.”
“Doing what I think I should, no matter how hopeless.” Ruma spread her hands. “I’ve become quite the idealist, aye?”
Yenita didn't answer even as Ruma watched her. She wanted to say something, Ruma could tell, but the younger girl kept her tongue. The shadows had begun stretching around them now, the men around them busy with both gaping and going about their afternoon chores.
To her right, Gareeb stood mutely, unable to keep his eyes off Yenita. The two of them—both of a same age—hadn’t had a great first meeting when Gareeb’s companions had tried to loot the Kapuri siblings. Now, though, it was as if he was seeing a woman for the first time in his life. R
uma smirked. Men had base instincts that couldn't be curbed for long. They made fantastic warriors, pliable soldiers, but they had as much control over their impulses as did a dog kept away from a bone far too long. Yes, though she herself was a woman, she was also the damned Lady, less a living being and more a symbol. Yenita, though… Well, she was a mirage turned to glorious life.
Her eyes fell on the priests standing some two hundred yards to their right. Peddlers of faith who had convinced her and Brother Hadyan that they should keep up attacks on their enemies. Time had come for her to give them an unfiltered piece of her mind. She clicked her tongue, startling Gareeb. Then, she motioned to Yenita. “Care to join me? There are some questions I’d like these holy men to answer.” She started for the priests without waiting for their replies.
Yenita and Gareeb joined her on either side. They passed two priests, their backs bent with age, bells tinkling as they stepped aside. Their white robes emblazoned with the simple brown Scythe of the Alfi faith were pristine, clean, reeking of incense and rosewater. Despite their age, they both bowed deeply. Next, they passed through the weathered, tired, bandaged warriors of Andussia who had vowed to fight under her banner. They gawked at Yenita, their eyes mesmerised by her long, flowing hair, but they bowed just as deep.
“Quite a few unclaimed bedrolls,” murmured Yenita.
Ruma jerked her head to the right. There, heaped beside a large tent—probably the quartermaster’s station—sat a heap of bedrolls. Hundreds of them. All that the dead had left behind, now requisitioned and waiting for the next set of recruits—ghosts that refused to show up.
“They want me to press slaves into fighting for me,” Ruma said, turning away from the sight.
“Anything to defeat the Traditionalists!”
The heat in Yenita’s words gave Ruma pause but she bit back the arguments brewing in her chest. What was the point after all? On a whim, she looked over her shoulder. The two priests now sat on their knees on the ground. They filled their hands with sand, then, bowing their heads, rubbed it on their faces.