Shifting Sands

by Fuad Baloch

  Ruma forced a chuckle. “If you’re trying to convince me to exchange one wretched existence for another, I’m afraid you’re quite off the mark here.”

  “The Shard won’t hold for long.” Simple words that shook her. “When it does, and I die, you will never return to your world. Never see this Gulatu Koza of yours.”

  Ruma pursed her lips, fuming now. “Mighty kind of you to remind me after six months of lying low.” She shook her finger, forcing conviction into her constituent atoms. “And I don’t care if I never get to see that damned man again. He, and all others like him, are most welcome to burn in hell as far as I’m concerned.”

  She let the words echo, wondering whether the Pithrean could read her thoughts.

  The vacuum pushed against her, then retreated, then rushed at her.

  Ruma screamed. The galaxies smashed into each other, producing fireworks on a magnitude unimaginable even to her elevated senses. Gravity pulled at her one way, then the other, then repelled her from all sides, the black of space growing luminescent for a moment, revealing white, crystalline lines of energy that connected everything to everything else.

  She knew what had happened. The knowledge terrified her. The First had laughed at her. Laughed at her!

  “You cannot lie to me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she demanded, forcing a bravado she didn’t really feel. The First didn’t bother to respond. Not that the fracking being needed to. He couldn't read her thoughts, something she was still reasonably sure of, but having seen as much of her interactions as he had riding over her shoulder every moment of her life here, it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out the deep emotion she felt for the man she’d tried to disown.

  Flickers of blue caught her eye. She spun around, the world adjusting to accommodate her will. The Shard, just as dull as the last time she had seen it, was surrounded by figures she had observed before. Shapes marching towards the Shard, their antennae intertwining with each other, linking them together like pearls on a string, their metallic chests draped with blue stoles.

  “No!” Ruma whispered, finally seeing what her she hadn’t picked up on before. “Are they… Yeth?”

  The First kept quiet. The Yeth, Ayel’s kin, circumambulated the Shard, the physical manifestation of the being who had created them.

  The created worshipping the creator.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “The Shard is about to collapse, Ruma,” said the First, the words seeming to come at her from all around. “Enter before it’s too late.”

  “Why should I trust you?” Ruma challenged. “What are the Yeth doing?”

  The Shard world shattered, a million brilliant white fragments accelerating towards her in great speed.

  Ruma screamed, her eyes snapping open.

  She was in her bed roll, her body drenched in sweat, the hairs on the back of her neck and arms standing on end.

  The Pithrean was alive. And like always, was up to no good.

  Eleven

  Men of Might

  The dusk sun was still bright, its light powerful enough to flood the sands with its golden rays. Hard to believe it’d give way soon to the night where nightmares like last night’s lived. Breathing slowly, Ruma watched her men at work underneath the shade of a tent.

  She had given no orders, hadn't even told her council what she intended to do, but with Popoan providing them horses and camels, everyone seemed to know they wouldn't be staying put for long. Here, in the Andussian peninsula, nothing stayed still for long.

  She owed gratitude as well. Brother Hadyan had come through with his promises, able to use his connections to bring in the help she so desperately needed.

  To her right, a group of soldiers polished their armour pieces. Beside them, another unit sharpened their swords on whetstones. A dozen feet from them though, Gareeb—his black hair free of the conical hat and falling across his forehead—scowled at the canvas made of stretched goat skin ahead of him.

  Shaking his head, Gareeb took a step back, paint dripping from the coarse brush in his left hand, allowing Ruma another glimpse at what he’d been working on. She gasped.

  Her campsite at dusk.

  He wasn’t finished, of course, but somehow during the past few hours, the illegible scribble of lines and shapes she’d first spied had transformed into something her mind could now comprehend. There was probably a word the philosophers would’ve used to describe the effect, but one thing was clear even to her. Gareeb was good, one of those lucky ones who were born with a natural talent.

  Her eyebrows raised, she rubbed her hands slowly. Had Gareeb been born in Egania, he would have done extremely well plying his trade. No one in her world had to work to make a living, and a talent like his would have been lauded. Her thoughts drifted. Not that she had cared much for them, but in her world, she had heard the complaints of those bemoaning the loss of humanity to automation. Her world had been full of architectural wonders and aesthetically pleasing sights, but it lacked art, a raw labour of love birthed only with human spirit, able to transcend time and cultures in a way mechanical works couldn't.

  She was wasting time, dawdling, when there were a million things she could be doing instead. Despite knowing this, she made no move to step away. Raw truths were stacked against her, sapping her drive to move. Yasmeen had crippled them. The fracking Pithrean was up to something, still bent on following its ways, still trying to—

  She bit her lip, recalling the Yeth around the Shard, dressed in the ceremonial blue stoles of the priests. “Alf’s breath!” she shivered, hugging herself. She was in this world, yet her mind kept thinking of the created race of automatons who had allegedly developed sentience. Why was that? Even as she tried to order her thoughts, more questions continued to assault her. Was it possible they still listened to their creators? Could they be swayed by their masters going extinct? If so, what would a life look like where one couldn't ignore one’s gods?

  She saw Ayel in her mind’s eye. He had attacked them, him and a group of Yeth in an Alf-forsaken cave in Heb. Eibhi, her shipmate aboard Aroha, had died there. Instead of punishing Ayel, the only Yeth who had survived, Gulatu had pardoned him, giving him a berth on Aroha. Heck, she’d been the one to rescue him from the scientists at the GHQ who would have experimented on him otherwise.

  Was it possible—

  The thought was so terrible that she broke away.

  Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to go on. Was it possible that Ayel and other Yeth like him could somehow be used by the Pithrean?

  Something scratched at the corners of her mind. What wasn’t she seeing?

  “Argh!” She slapped her thigh. “Feels like I’m fighting battles across two time periods.” She’d spoken out her fears, yet even hearing the words out loud did little to ease the knot forming in her stomach.

  The Pithrean had spoken to her after all these months. All this time when she had thought herself doomed in this world. Now, he wanted her to return. “You brought me here,” she muttered. “Now you wish me to leave. Am I that stupid to listen to you?” A part of her urged her to take his offer. This wasn’t her world. And if the Pithrean was true, and the Shard was nearing collapse, she didn't have time to waste.

  But she couldn’t hurry. No matter how much she wanted to charge full on at Yasmeen or find a way back home, she couldn't leave a mess behind her. She was better than that.

  “Alf’s balls,” she said. Exhaling, she started to turn away, her eyes falling on the canvas one final time. She could see more details now: a gaggle of soldiers standing around simmering cook pots, the sand the same hue as the fading sun, a sea of soldiers outlined but not yet drawn in.

  Increasingly troubled, she marched towards her tent. Soldiers called out salutations, bowing, praying when she walked past. Ruma ignored them all, her eyes downcast. Guards outside the command tent stepped aside, one of them raising the flaps for her.

  The mood within was decidedly sombre. Torchlights flickering on two
walls cast a gloomy pallor on the five faces that turned up to look at her. Generals Restam and Nodin stood on either side of the large desk in the middle of the tent. Brother Hadyan had been chatting with Yenita, both of them falling silent as they turned towards her. Qaisan stood in the shadows, his face covered by the mask once more.

  “Lady,” started General Restam, waving an expansive arm about, “we must send a note of gratitude to Popoan and Blessed Dadua’s followers. Their help has been most timely.” Brother Hadyan nodded.

  “Aren’t the horses old and the camels well past their prime?” she asked.

  “Well, that might be… the case… b-but surely—”

  “Do it,” she said, marching over to the central table. “At least we are able to move once more.”

  “We’ve lost precious time,” said General Nodin, his voice terse. “Yet, the men are anxious to avenge the blot on our honour.”

  “Are they?” said Ruma. Her eyes met Yenita’s for the briefest of moments before the younger girl looked away. She’d been wrong unburdening her secret like that. A mistake she’d vowed not to make and yet had. Too late to repent now, though.

  “We must move,” continued General Nodin. He jabbed his finger at the crude map on the table. “Qaisan’s scouts report that the Mother has got armies converging at Irtiza. Hence, heading there as we had originally decided wouldn't be prudent under present circumstances.” His finger stopped at a town. “But over here, we can break open the enemy’s fist, announce our intent most clearly.”

  “Yasmeen is not the Mother,” said Ruma, forcing to keep her voice calm. “She is a terrorist, one whose forces have put to the sword untold innocents throughout the peninsula. She’s no better than the Vanico forces on that front. She perverts the teachings of the prophet, twists the words of Alf.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or have you already forgotten what she did to Bubraza?”

  “The Lady of the Sands speaks the truth,” declared Brother Hadyan, nodding, the lines on his face growing deeper. “Nodin, you would do well to watch your tongue.”

  General Nodin pursed his lips, then jabbed the map again. “We must move. If we’re attacked here, we’ve neither got high ground nor walls.”

  General Restam coughed. “As much as I hate to agree with the mercenary”—General Nodin shot him a baleful glance but General Restam ignored it—“we must not linger here any longer.”

  Ruma exhaled, turning her gaze towards Yenita. Truth be told, she was a little surprised to see the merchant girl in the tent. Since their chat in the dark of night, Yenita had been keeping well out of sight. “What do you think, Yenita?”

  The young girl’s eyes widened. She wasn’t wearing the veil now, but her hand went up to her hair as if wanting to fix it in place out of pure reflex. Then, she straightened her back. “Has all our business been concluded otherwise?”

  Ruma frowned, not sure what Yenita meant. There was an odd note in her demeanour, though. Biting her lower lip, once again ruing the wine that had so loosened her tongue, she turned her gaze back to the map. If Yenita was half as clever as she thought, then hopefully the girl wouldn’t abuse her trust and tell others what she had heard.

  Time was against her, pulling her in different directions. She wanted to move, needed to keep busy, but if her instincts were right, Yasmeen was tightening the screws on the traps she’d set for them. The Pithrean, on the other hand, was urging her to leave all this behind and take the Shard. All her enemies wanted her to keep putting one step after the next, leaving her little time to think. She needed to slow the pace down, though, take stock of her lot. Besides, there was also the matter of the traitor—moving on like this wouldn't give her time to set up a way of baiting him. Her initial plans had already been disrupted with the Traditionalists kneecapping her. She’d sent four different messages regarding their journey to Irtiza, but which one had been meant for the Traditionalists, she’d never know now.

  She ought to wait but that wasn’t her. She’d changed, but not that much. She was like the evening breeze, blowing on, no matter what obstacles stood in her way, a force of nature that couldn't be tamed. Maybe she needed to turn into a hurricane, blow so hard that nothing could keep up with her.

  Nodding to herself, Ruma pointed at the map. “We could take these roads, cut across the north-eastern plains towards Irtiza and get there before Yasmeen.” When no one replied, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Or, we could head south for Salodia, take her by surprise instead.”

  “All… valid tactics, Lady,” said General Restam, scratching his nose, his face slick with sweat. “Indeed, they are all wise options.”

  “But?” she demanded.

  “We need a battle on our terms,” said General Nodin, his voice cold, calculating. “The men hunger for a fight. Denied a battle of our making, one we need to win, their spirits would sap.”

  “Mercenaries!” hissed General Restam, shaking his head as if to show his disappointment. “Always the souls wavering in faith.”

  “Real men settle affairs through the strength of their arms,” said General Nodin. “Not by hiding behind pretty men in the dark of night.”

  General Restam blanched. “Wh-what d-do you mean?”

  “Eyes have a habit of watching, tongues, the habit of wagging, General!”

  Ruma narrowed her eyes. What was Nodin accusing Restam of? The two generals glared at each other for a long breath, then Restam’s shoulders sagged, and he turned away. Ruma’s gaze fell on Yenita. The merchant girl—no, that wasn’t right anymore, for she was making her name as a capable enough commander—met her gaze without flinching.

  Ruma sighed. She’d almost forgotten about the infighting plaguing her forces. One more problem she couldn't keep on ignoring. Once they had a victory under their belt, she’d gather her generals and sort them out. Until then, she had to out-think the Traditionalists, figure out what the Pithrean wanted from her.

  Brother Hadyan cleared his throat. Ruma looked up. “Lady, might I be allowed a word?”

  Ruma stared at him for a long breath. “We are in your debt, Hadyan. But if you expect me to sacrifice my principles and do what Popoan wanted me to do, then—”

  “Not about that, Lady,” said the priest.

  Ruma arched an eyebrow, then nodded.

  The priest shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his cane. “No two men are ever the same height, something the zulzulat tells us. Where there is a leader, there is a follower. Such is the way of Alf and those He has blessed.”

  “I do not wish to hear about man-made zulzulat,” said Ruma, her heartbeat beginning to pick up.

  Brother Hadyan chuckled. He was still in his late middle age, but the manner he seemed to crumple in on himself made him look three decades older. “With your permission, with the example of the prophet’s zulzulat to guide us, we can sort this matter between our two generals.”

  Ruma licked her lower lip. Debts had a nasty habit of gathering, of growing heavy as time passed. She nodded.

  Brother Hadyan approached the two men, each looking discomfited by his proximity.

  “What—” started General Restam.

  “Alf!” cried the priest, throwing up his stick in the air. Ruma blinked, Yenita gasping beside her. The generals jerked their heads up. They had been standing near the central pole, a good thirty or so feet high. The stick spun in the air, catching bits of torchlight on its smooth surface. Then, it started to descend. General Nodin took a step forward even as General Restam held up a hand in front.

  Then, both men jumped at the same time, each startling the other. They crashed into each other, each man’s fingers finding one end of the stick.

  “Let go!” growled General Nodin, shoving General Restam.

  “Mercenaries will never see the Blessed Garden!” yelled General Restam.

  Ruma opened her mouth, ready to stop this charade when a loud crack froze everyone.

  The stick had snapped in two, each man left with one half.

  “Alf is wise, all-
knowing,” drawled Brother Hadyan. He extended his hands towards the men, nodding sagely when they gave him their ends. “Ah.” He turned around, holding up the broken bits. “Both appear to be of the same size, though one is the part that clears the ground ahead, and the other which commands it.”

  “Indeed,” said Ruma slowly, beginning to see what he meant.

  Brother Hadyan turned to the two generals. “Nodin, you shall plough ahead, clear the path for what’s needed now, with Restam leading you from the top.” When General Nodin opened his mouth, Brother Hadyan raised his hand. “When the seed has been planted and you’ve cleared the ground, you shall be the one to reap the harvest afterwards.”

  The mercenary general stared at Brother Hadyan, his face quivering. Then he turned his eyes towards her. “Do I have your blessings?”

  “Aye,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “When the war is done… you shall have what you seek.”

  General Nodin stood still for a long moment. Then he bowed deeply. “As you will, Lady.” Rising, he nodded at General Restam. “My men are yours, my commander.”

  Ruma exhaled, feeling tension drain from her body. The matter had been weighing heavily on her and now that it was resolved, thanks to Brother Hadyan who continued to be a blessing in disguise, she felt light as a feather. Maybe this was the sign she had been waiting for. An idea struck her. A dangerous one, but one she couldn't ignore. Hopefully, she’d never have to use it, but if she did, at least she’d get the groundwork laid now. She grabbed a pen, then started preparing a list of base metals. She handed it to Yenita. “Give it to the quartermaster. Tell him he is to start procuring these items with haste.” Yenita nodded, then, taking the parchment from her, exited the tent.

  Both her generals were staring at the map. Ruma rolled her shoulders back. She found herself agreeing with her mercenary general. It wasn’t just her who needed to keep moving, no matter the risks, no matter what lay ahead. Maybe, like a sword that grew rusty when not oiled, men’s inner beasts needed to be fed. “You mentioned this town, Nodin?” she said, squinting at a dot on the map. “Zaqar? What are the defences like there?”