by Fuad Baloch
“Lady, you asked for parchments,” came Gareeb’s voice behind her.
Nodding, Ruma motioned him to approach her. “Write four missives for my councillors. We are to continue for Irtiza, no matter what’s happened. But leave the timings for me to fill in.”
As Gareeb sat down on the sand and began scribbling, Yenita brought her horse closer to Ruma. “I have a bad feeling about all this.”
“Aye,” Ruma agreed, her bones weary as if she were a hundred years old. “Someone I trust once said it gets worse before getting better.”
Her eyes fell on Gareeb. He’d finished one and was scribbling the second. She exhaled, cracked her knuckles.
Her plans had been fracked up. But maybe she could return the favour. She had to. After all, what other choice did she have?
Eight
Night Vigils
Ruma woke to a clamour.
“Alf damn you, you misbegotten faggot!” someone shouted, his voice rising over the clang of steel and braying camels.
“Shit on you and your mother’s cunt!” yelled another voice.
Fingers dug into her ribs, and Ruma jolted upright in her bedroll. She was in her tent, the torchlight casting a flickering shadow on one wall. Beyond that, silhouettes danced, pirouetting, lunging, melding into each other.
“We’ve been attacked!” a feminine voice shrieked beside her, setting Ruma’s ears ringing.
Clapping a hand to her ear, Ruma clambered to her feet. The world swayed under her feet for a second. “What? Who?”
“I don’t know,” yelled Yenita, her voice hoarse, a short sword clutched in her right hand. “We—we need to—”
Ruma pushed her way past Yenita and grabbed the sword set on the carpet to her left. She’d been up for less than a minute but already it felt the pandemonium outside had gotten worse. “You, stay here.”
Her hands sweaty, Ruma lifted the flap and exited the tent.
“—by the stables!” someone was yelling.
Ruma blinked, trying to orient herself. Despite the plentiful moonlight from the gibbous Tarani, everything seemed to appear as it should.
“—to the east—”
Adjusting her grip on the hilt, she took a step forward, her eyes darting from one empty tent to the other. Sounds of fighting were loudest to her left, so that was where she headed.
“Stay back, Lady!” came a shout from her left. A soldier burst into view, a mace in his left hand, his features covered by the night. “It’s not safe out there and—”
“Then accompany me!” she snapped. The soldier nodded, then motioned at a shadow behind him. Another soldier emerged. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yenita shuffling forward as well. Frack! The girl was no good with a sword. Worse, she would prove herself a liability should the enemy get through to them.
Her camp was in a state of chaos. Voices shouted in a dozen different dialects of Andussian. The air rang with curses and threats. Metal clanged and scraped against metal. Horses whinnied. Camels brayed.
Yet, something felt wrong.
Ruma froze to a stop.
“I’ll scout ahead,” volunteered one of the soldiers. Getting no response from her, he rushed ahead, raising a round wooden shield as if expecting arrows to find him.
“Have you seen something?” hissed Yenita beside her. Her voice quivered, but whether it was rage or nervousness, Ruma couldn't tell. Gritting her teeth, Ruma glared at her for a breath, noticing how pale her knuckles had gotten on the hilt.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “And that’s what worries—”
Flames burst over the tents to her right. More curses followed. The air crackled with static energy. “They’ve attacked us in the flank!” shouted the remaining soldier.
Despite her instinct to dash, Ruma remained in place. A dozen soldiers, unarmoured but each carrying a weapon, rushed past them towards the burning fires. A couple of soldiers approached them, then seeing who she was, shouted salutations instead and rushed off to face the enemies.
“Something’s not right,” Ruma muttered, standing up on her tiptoes. When she had woken up, it had felt like being in the eye of a storm, surrounded by shouts of fighting all around her. Was it just her or had the fighting suddenly shifted towards the tents?
“What do we do?” shouted Yenita, breathing heavily now. She raised her sword towards the flames. “What are we waiting for?”
Ruma teetered, then she nodded. Her insides churning, her thoughts scrambled, Ruma led the way. Since she’d become the leader of the Lady’s Light, she had insisted on tents being spaced out. Though her primary reasoning had been to give the illusion of a greater force to enemy spies, in hindsight the decision would hopefully contain the fires from spreading too quickly.
Flames danced over tents, the bright colours banishing the dark of night. The closer they got, the louder the shouts grew. The air grew warmer, now accompanied by stink of burned canvas and ash.
“We’ve engaged the enemy!” shouted General Restam, running towards them. He was still dressed in his night shift, his pale rotund belly straining against the flimsy cloth. “They’re in retreat. But I swear by Alf, we’ll pursue them to the ends of Doonya and back!”
“Hmm,” Ruma replied. She was a good hundred yards away from the burning tents now. Unable to shake off the queasiness in her stomach, she marched forward, the sword held out in front. Soldiers stepped away, making space for her. These men of Alf had been taken unaware, had been shouting profanities that would have shamed the most weathered of soldiers in Arkos, but when their eyes found her, they grew quiet, a bubble of respectful silence cocooning her in the middle.
Then, she was into the outer edges of her campsite, a dozen tents burning directly ahead. “Restam, where is the enemy?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. She waved her hand, first pointing at the armed soldiers bursting through the alleys towards the fire, then waved it over to the two score who were busy dousing the flames with buckets of water.
“We’ve repelled them, Lady,” said General Restam. He puffed up his chest, the effect almost farcical as a button popped open to reveal wispy chest hair. “And—”
“Sivan!” Yenita shouted. She broke into a sprint, then fell into the outstretched hands of her brother.
“Thank Alf, you’re alright!” Sivan said, holding her tight. He raised his head, his long hair spilling over his shoulders, his eyes finding Ruma. “I feared the worst when the attack happened.”
Ruma offered him a terse nod. Unlike Yenita, she hadn’t had a chance to talk much with him yet. Once, they’d had enough time to share stories and anecdotes, but now they were different people, travelling together yet aware their destinations would take them away.
“Restam,” she asked, turning back to her general, “how many men have we lost?”
The general scratched his chin. “We don’t know for sure. It seems… some of our own men might have engaged each other.” He waved an apologetic arm. “Hard to tell foe from friend in this dark.”
Ruma exhaled. Friendly fire was hardly a phenomenon she hadn’t experienced, but it did little to take away the sting she felt at hearing that. “Gather Nodin and Qaisan. And Hadyan too. I need to know how the enemy slipped past the guards and how—”
Horses whinnied behind them. Ruma turned about, her heart thudding against her ribs. The dread that had been gathering in her stomach suddenly grew ten times heavier.
The groans grew louder, death rattles carrying over the thin night air. Bestial and horrifying.
“No…” Ruma whispered.
Beside her, Yenita broke away from her brother. “Oh, Alf!”
General Restam gaped dumbly, his beady eyes squinting in the darkness. “I don’t understand. There’s no…” Then, he too fell silent, his jaw growing slack.
“Restam, take half the men here and rush to the animals!” Ruma bellowed.
“But—” tried the general.
“Now, Alf frack you! Move! Move!” She balled the fingers of
her left hand. “Oh, what the hell!” She raised her sword, then turned towards the panicked soldiers. “All men born on an odd date, follow me!”
Her pulse racing, her heart pounding, Ruma sprinted to the other side of her camp. Men followed, shouting, bellowing. They were confused, bewildered, afraid of the deathly noises they were rushing towards. Soon enough though, they, too, would see what she should have realised from the beginning.
They burst out of the tents and into the area Lady’s Light used as makeshift stables. Ruma stuttered to a stop, bile rising in her gorge.
Hundreds of horses and camels lay on the ground, their limbs thrashing, blood pooling underneath them, those still alive grunting in pain. Ruma took a disbelieving step forward. A white mare right in front, its mane glistening black with blood, thrashed out mightily once, whimpered, then fell silent.
“They attacked our animals!” came General Restam’s quaking voice behind her.
“They outwitted us,” said Ruma, her fingers growing slack around the hilt. Yenita shuddered, one hand reaching out to a wooden pole as if to steady herself.
“Fan out!” bellowed General Restam at the men. “Seek out the enemy. Spare not anyone you find.”
Ruma found no strength in her to belay that order. They’d find no one. Once more, she’d been outsmarted by Yasmeen. A fleet, no matter how mighty, was only as fast as its supply ships. A lesson Ruma knew well, one that Yasmeen seemed to know instinctively as well. Ruma chuckled drily. She would have done the same, truth be told, being the pinprick that sought to cripple the foe before waging all-out war. Now, she was on the receiving end, sensing the traps snapping shut.
The full ramifications of what had happened crashed into her.
She hadn’t just lost beasts, but the very means of transportation in this world. She had been reduced to the lone ship, its fusion drive shot out, forced to drift aimlessly in space.
“We will find them,” said General Restam, waving his hand in the air.
“Aye,” came General Nodin’s grunt from her left. Ruma blinked, looked over her shoulder. The mercenary general wore chain mail, one hand carrying a mace, the other a sword. “That, I, too, promise.”
“It’s too late,” Ruma said. Even as soldiers continued to rush past her, trying in vain to save their animals, she stuttered back, strength draining from her limbs. “This is a massive blow.”
“We’ll bounce back,” said Yenita, taking a step towards her, her face earnest and keen. “We always do!”
Ruma forced a chuckle. “Yeah?” Then, she shook her head. “At least you’re not offering false hope of miracles.”
“This… this is a minor setback,” the younger girl insisted. She reached forward and grabbed Ruma’s left hand. “We haven’t come this far to be defeated now.”
“We?” Ruma asked, feeling her eyes well up. Nodding gratefully at the young girl, she stepped away, then began trudging towards her tent. Yenita slipped in beside her, making soft, cooing noises that Ruma couldn't hear over the noise, but still appreciated.
“I keep underestimating her,” Ruma said, her voice so low even she had trouble hearing her words.
Yenita heard her though. “We need to out-think her then. Do something she never expects!”
Ruma retraced Yenita’s words in her mind. There were many ways of winning a war. A series of pinpricks, growing increasingly potent, required time. She’d thought she had time. Now, she wasn’t sure anymore. When the lioness was done chomping on the tigers plaguing her patch of the jungle, she’d come looking for the wolves.
There was another problem. Ruma needed to move quickly if she was to outsmart the Traditionalists. However, a part of her feared that was precisely what Yasmeen was counting on. The spy must have fed enough about her patterns for Yasmeen to predict what she would do next. Currently, she had two options: sit on her ass and wait for the Traditionalists to wipe her party off the map, or move swiftly and walk into a trap. Either way, she lost. Neither way gave her enough time to squirrel out the cursed traitor in her midst.
She had to break the mould. Do something the Traditionalists didn't expect of her. Yenita was right on that front.
“What do I hate doing the most?” Ruma whispered to herself.
“Huh?” asked Yenita.
Ruma shook her head. She did have an edge over her enemies. Her knowledge of the future. Was it time to break her self-imposed restraints? There was another thing she hated she might have to swallow. Waiting. Watching the foe play out their moves. As much as it galled her, she’d have to make choices she didn't like.
“What are you thinking?” Yenita asked.
“Nothing anyone here would understand,” Ruma muttered, then turned around and made for her tent, leaving the dead animals behind.
Nine
Price of Solitude
Sand gave way under Ruma’s sandals. Again, the urge rose in her to lash out, but she held her emotions in check. The one she couldn't contain though was the longing for her own world. Tonight, of all nights, she wanted nothing more than to return to her world, to walk in the lush jungles surrounding Egania, to feel grass and dew under her toes, to be alone, anonymous.
Mirages. That was what she had been reduced to wishing for. Even as the sands shifted under her, the falseness of the mask she had been wearing all this while choked her. Was she really like these sands now, forced in place to be tread upon, no one ever realising who she was, what she wanted?
“Argh!”
She was a mile outside her campsite, no one but Cian and Tarani keeping her company in the skies, but still she knew she wasn’t alone. Like shadows, her guards followed her. They might have bowed in submission when she ordered them to let her be, but they had lost too much already, and so they disobeyed her, hoping for Alf’s forgiveness over her wrath.
Ruma scoffed, kicking up sand with her sandals. All she saw was a formless mist of fine particles impossible to tell apart in the night. “This is my life, isn’t it?” she mused, shaking her head. “A life of ignominy ending in the backwaters of history.” A choking sound escaped her chest, both scaring and amusing her in equal measure.
Rubbing her hands, her chin bowed, she trudged forward aimlessly, her feet leaving marks she knew would be wiped clean by the evening breeze. How long had she been circling here anyway? There was a metaphor in there somewhere, reflecting her time in this fracking world. No matter how hard she tried to do the right thing, she was always too late, an inch too far. What had she done right instead of lurching from one fracking disaster to another? First, it had been the foolish decision to call for Bubraza without suspecting the Pithrean’s hand, and then buying into that cursed prophecy that had changed the course of her life for good.
The First. Unease grew within her. The damned being hadn’t spoken to her in a long while. Was it possible… no matter how remote the possibility, that he was alive, that somehow he was behind some of her troubles?
She hugged herself, hands gripping her elbows tight. Her mind was trying its best to distract her, ease some of the shame from the attack three nights ago. Three nights and still the memory stung. The would-be liberator of Irtiza couldn't even keep her own animals safe, now left moored in the middle of nowhere. Despite Brother Hadyan’s assurance in the morning that Popoan would help them with provisions and horses—a miracle she hadn’t counted on—what confidence would that give to those who followed her? What did that speak of her suitability to lead this group of men towards a better world?
“I’m no fracking Lady of the Sands,” she murmured to herself. “How did that blasted prophecy go anyway?” She tried to recall the words. Something about the end times being close. She chuckled drily. That was always something the religious paraded out, a ticking time bomb that ensured it got the attention of the easily distracted believers.
What else did it say?
Something about Water and Fire. Doonya and the Sun. Ruma shook her head in derision. Then there were the bits about the two moons and the bla
ck nothingness. That, too, was understandable. A sprinkling of suitable metaphors added just the right hooks for the faithfuls’ pliable minds to latch on to.
The only bit of the prophecy she did remember well, set her heart racing.
Life and Death. When one comes, so does the second. And the second shall rival the first. Together. Apart. Fire and Water.
What did all that mean? Hair at the back of her neck stood on end. She rubbed her arm. No, none of that meant anything. Mere gibberish, that was all. Drivel meant for the priests, vague enough for them to support anyone they wanted.
Fidgeting with her clothing, she went on for long minutes. Her mind continued to conjure and magnify all the challenges facing her stranded seven thousand. She’d have to find a way. She had to. And even when she did, she had to pull off a move the Traditionalists didn't expect.
Ruma turned her chin up, her gaze darting about. Some hundred miles to the north, she could tell the sands hadn't claimed the plains yet, her eyes settling on the distant hills standing rigid like immovable sentinels. The world around her was quiet, though. She might just be a few miles away from her camp, but that might as well be a world away.
“First, are you still there?” Ruma whispered, then waited.
Long seconds passed. She began moving.
“Aye,” a low, weak rumble finally answered in her mind. “Time is growing short. Any day now, the Shard will collapse, sealing both of our fates.”
Ruma stuttered to a stop, breath catching in her chest. Nothing but the undulating sand dunes around her and a terror unlike any she’d ever experienced before crawling under her skin. “No… I… I’ve imagined it.” She slapped herself, her knees threatening to buckle under her weight. “You’re dead… Gone. Finished!”
Time passed, or slowed down, Ruma couldn't really tell.
“Are you there?” she shouted, her voice a futile blast of wind in the darkness.