Shifting Sands

by Fuad Baloch

  “No more than four thousand soldiers stationed there,” reported Qaisan, his voice surprising her from the shadows. “Well-provisioned, but without the benefit of walls to keep them from us.”

  “Seven thousand,” said Ruma slowly, “against four. Seems hardly fair.” Neither of the men replied. Whether she liked it or not, she had lost her chance at attacking Irtiza for the moment. Moving was good, though, bound to give her the direction she needed. She’d know what she needed to do.

  “Very well. Restam and Nodin, give the orders,” she said. “We march for Zaqar.”

  “Aye,” they replied in unison, turning away.

  “Make sure to reiterate my previous instructions. We fight as your prophet would have, exercising no more strength than required to defeat our enemies. Even when we fight people, in truth we fight an evil ideology. We don’t harm the innocents, the weak, or those who throw down their weapons. Even if they’re Traditionalists.”

  “Aye,” said the generals.

  “Alf has blessed your cause, Lady,” said Brother Hadyan, smiling broadly. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  Twelve

  Humble Plans

  Like sand kicked up in agitated whorls by a storm, the men of Lady’s Light charged at Zaqar, their armour glinting under the noon sun. Rubbing her hands, her heartbeat so quick she could barely hear much over it, Ruma watched the defenders—Yasmeen’s men—take up defensive positions just outside the modest town.

  The scouts hadn’t been wrong on the enemy’s strength. The numbers were stacked heavily against the defenders, but that hadn’t sent them routing, not yet anyway.

  “We’re sure they don’t have forces moving to flank us?” Ruma demanded, snapping her fingers at Qaisan.

  The scout general shook his head. “Nothing but the Ghal for miles on end.”

  “Hmm,” she said, her innards still queasy. Tapping her fingers together, she gritted her teeth. The soldiers were only a few hundred yards away now. “I should be there with them, with my men.”

  Once more, the older scout, his face covered with the mask, shook his head. “We need you here, Lady. A lesson I wish the Uniter could have lived to learn.”

  Chewing her lower lip, Ruma bit down the retorts that surfaced in her mind with a rush. Truth be told, she, too, had asked Bubraza to not accompany them in person when Ruma had concocted her ill-fated mission to attack the Vanico forces outside Salodia. Had the damned, headstrong girl listened to her then, everything would have turned out right. After all, no matter what these fools thought, she was no Lady—far from it, truth be told.

  “Tell Enidan to press in from the flanks,” shouted General Restam to her right. The young lieutenant beside him—handsome as they went—nodded, then whipped his camel on the back and set off.

  Her jaw clenched, Ruma touched her throat. Restam had stayed behind with her even as Nodin had volunteered to lead the fighting in person. Both men had seemed happy enough with the arrangement and she hadn’t disagreed. If Nodin was the traitor, well, then maybe Alf could take care of it himself.

  Her thoughts dark, she watched General Restam from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t swear he wasn’t the traitor, but no matter what others said about him, she knew he had real courage for agreeing to the suicidal post at the orchard.

  Fifty yards now.

  Ruma forced a chuckle, recalling General Restam’s eyes when she had turned up at the orchard after Bubraza’s death. The damned man had been expecting martyrdom then, only to find that it was his deliverer who had died instead.

  Was the same going to happen to her?

  The first horsemen smashed into the Traditionalists’ lances. No sounds came this far. No clang of metal. No screeching of beasts as they were cut down. No howling or grunts or screams as sharp metal penetrated flesh. Nothing but the soft neighs of the dozen horses directly behind her.

  Her eyes saw all, though. The sands underneath the warring men turned crimson. Distant mouths snarled and winced and screamed silently.

  “This may not seem a fair battle,” said Brother Hadyan, pulling up beside her. “But remember what they did to the Blessed Uniter. These men have no honour. Look how they attacked us at night when the book of zulzulat explicitly forbids aggression.”

  Ruma scoffed. “Funny thing, this zulzulat. Seems incredibly convenient depending on who wishes to wield it.” By way of response, the priest raised his hands towards the sun. He was wearing a strong flower-based perfume and the scent nauseated her. “Your zulzulat helped my councillors, but when it comes down to it, nothing can hold back men playing kabbad when the sun dips behind the horizon.”

  Brother Hadyan nodded, bells tinkling softly. Then, he waved his hand towards a group of mounted priests to their right. Their leader nodded and spurred his horse towards the fighting.

  Catching the eye of one of the younger priests, Ruma waved him over. General Restam was a dozen yards away now, relaying more commands. “Priest, tell Nodin to not enter the town until I’ve given the command myself.”

  His eyes widened, and he raised his chin towards Brother Hadyan. “But—”

  “Go, now!” she snapped.

  “Lady, we must—” started Brother Hadyan, but Ruma waved him shut, motioning the younger man to ride ahead.

  She squinted at Zaqar. Somewhere there, in that sea of men, a woman was fighting as well. She couldn’t see her though. Nothing but a jumbled mass of humanity was what her eyes saw, no longer thrashing as much as it had been a little while ago. Ruma stood up in the stirrups. She couldn’t spy Sivan’s tall figure either. Then again, in their helms, all men looked the same from this distance. “Oh, Yenita, you didn’t have to go there.”

  “She’s a good archer,” replied Brother Hadyan, his voice calm as if discussing the cool evening breeze. “I’ve seen her practise.”

  “In combat this close, no archer can tell friend from foe.”

  “Perhaps,” admitted Brother Hadyan, then he smiled. “Except those guided by Lord of the Worlds Himself.”

  Outside the town, time seemed to have slowed down, the figures stuck in ungainly dances of life and death. The priests had now broken into a canter, their Scythe-marked robes fluttering in the wind as they rode towards Zaqar. Paradoxically, it seemed no time had passed between her decision to attack the town and the actual act, but then that was the way of such matters.

  Ruma adjusted in the saddle. Brother Hadyan seemed certain the priests wouldn’t be harmed by the Traditionalists—a stupid idea as far as she was concerned—but so far no party had attacked the opposing side’s priests.

  Seeing General Restam ride towards her, she raised her fist in annoyance. “The battle will be over soon. We should start moving as well.”

  “I would counsel waiting until the last enemy soldier has fallen,” he replied, dabbing at his forehead. The fine chain mail he wore was two sizes too large, but the polished links gleamed under the sun. Either this was booty, or a keepsake from days when he had been a bigger, younger man. Either way, it wasn’t armour that had seen much fighting.

  “Bah!” Interlacing her fingers, Ruma turned back to the battle. Like elephants stuck in quicksand, the distant figures continued to pound into each other, the glint of metal catching her eye every now and then. But the result was clear already. She could barely see the Traditionalists’ flags anymore.

  Uneasy, she looked around. The Ghal spread out in all directions. If there was indeed an army hiding out there, she couldn’t see any evidence for it. As she jerked her head back, she caught sight of General Restam glaring at Qaisan with a thoughtful expression.

  Ruma breathed out noisily. Her veil flapped as a warm gust blew over and she yanked it down by an end. She might be called Lady of the Sands, but stuck as she was in place, she could’ve better passed for one of those useless marble statues lining the enlightened streets of Egania.

  That thought brought on more worry. This time for Gulatu, another man who had no business fighting, but one she had
left behind in her world. How was he faring?

  Shaking her head, reminding herself she was here because she didn't want her mind to dwell on negative thoughts, she squinted ahead. The silver flashes of swords had largely ceased now. Figures moved but no longer did they lunge or dash. Instead, they were marching into Zaqar with grim purpose.

  “What the Charlatan are they doing?” Ruma muttered. One of the lead priests rode up to a clump of soldiers. They parted, letting him in, presumably so he could speak with Nodin. Hands waved angrily at each other. All the while, more soldiers turned around, marched into the defeated town, writhing bodies left behind.

  “No!” she hissed.

  “Lady, I’ll send word now,” said General Restam, shaking his head. “Their orders were clear.”

  “Enough!” she growled, then kicked the mare hard in the flanks. The horse wasn’t as sleek as the one she had before the ambush, but as if sensing her urgency, it shot forward, breaking into a gallop without complaint.

  Wind blew against her face, took hold of her veil and snatched it away. She didn’t care, urging the horse onwards. Horses were galloping behind her now, men hollering. Again and again, she kicked the horse.

  Three hundred yards out of the town proper, she came upon the first bodies. Those whom the arrows had found. She raced past them. The corpses grew in number, the ground harder to see. Skirting the horse around the dead and the dying, she shouted at the men who looked up at her from looting the dead. “What are you lot doing?” Then, she turned towards those heading into the town. “Come back! Pull back the others!”

  “But, Lady—” started someone.

  “—the priests—”

  As the soldiers straggled past her, her murderous gaze found Nodin. The mercenary general sat straight in the saddle, his leather armour slashed and covered in gore, surrounded by Alfi priests. She rode towards him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yenita shuffle towards them.

  “Nodin, why have your men entered the town despite my explicit command to stay put?” Ruma demanded.

  The mercenary general frowned, then raised his index finger at the priest she had talked to before. “Ask him.”

  The young priest swallowed. “B-Brother Hadyan says all those who d-defy the will of Alf must be made an example of,” he whimpered. “A vision that I, too, have seen.”

  “You fracking prattler of words!” hissed Ruma.

  Yenita stepped between them, smiling, blood spattered across her cheeks. “We won!”

  Ruma narrowed her eyes. “Not like this.” She motioned a soldier. “Bring her a horse.” Stewing quietly while Yenita mounted, she forced her heartbeat to settle. Then, she turned around and spurred her horse toward the town.

  Rage burning through her, she rode into Zaqar. The town was of a same size as Astrinor, but its citizens had made the mistake of not fleeing. She reeled in horror when she rounded the corner and came upon the mangled bodies of two children. “Oh, Alf!”

  Two soldiers were searching them, patting the tiny bodies down for whatever valuables they might have had on them. “Leave them!” she bellowed.

  Swearing, the soldiers turned, then froze. “The Lady,” said one of them.

  Another soldier emerged from the shattered door beside them, dragging a wailing woman clutching onto her ragged shift. “By Alf!” he swore.

  “Alf damn you all!” the woman screeched, one hand trying and failing to contain her bare breast. “The Creator destroy you lot!” Her crying eyes found Ruma, loathing filling in them as she took in Ruma’s hair. “The red-haired devil! You… you will pay!” Then her gaze fell on the two unmoving children. “No! No!” Not caring for her nakedness, she ran towards the kids. She crumpled to the ground beside the boy and broke into incoherent sobbing.

  “Terrible,” said Yenita beside her. “But such is war, Father used to say.”

  “Shut up!” snarled Ruma. “I will not be among the Misguided.” She drew her horse close to the soldiers, raised a finger shaking in rage. “Pull every single soldier out before I skin them. Now!”

  The lead soldier gulped. “Aye, Lady of the S-Sands.” They sprinted to different directions, leaving Ruma alone with Yenita. The streets around them rang with shouting and howling, more mothers and wives and children being greeted by the victors.

  “This wasn’t meant to happen!” hissed Ruma through gritted teeth.

  “This is war,” said Yenita, her voice low, small. “These things happen, don’t they?”

  Ruma turned around to face her. “What happened to you, Yenita? Not that long ago, I remember you being the wronged woman who I had to help. How can you even try and justify this?”

  “That was before Yasmeen’s men raped me. Before I found my calling.”

  Ruma blinked. Yenita’s features had grown cold, her eyes shooting daggers her way.

  Ruma turned her horse, unable to bring herself to venture any deeper into this cursed town.

  They had won a battle, but the cost was enormous.

  She knew one more thing. Decisions would have to be made, terrible ones, that wouldn’t go down well.

  Thirteen

  What Alf Says…

  “A man who honours himself more than Alf’s final messenger, surrenders all that he holds true,” said Brother Hadyan, his skin bleak, blotchy despite the sunlight flooding her command tent. “So declare all the books of the prophet’s zulzulat.”

  Ruma raised her right hand, her fingers clenching into a fist. “Do not provoke me, Priest.”

  Brother Hadyan offered a sad smile, exchanging a glance with Yenita standing at the other end of the tent. “As much as I am honoured to serve you, Lady of the Sands, duty to the prophet comes first.”

  Exhaling heavily to calm the murderous thoughts in her mind, Ruma began pacing. The cursed tent wasn’t the most suitable place to order one’s bearings, and the fact her eyes kept returning to the unashamed face of Brother Hadyan incensed her even more. “I had given explicit instructions! Clear and precise! The innocents weren’t to be harmed. Not even the Traditionalists if they were to lay down their weapons. Despite that, you and your priests defied me.” She bared her teeth. “You’ve left me no choice here.”

  “Zulzalat—”

  “There is no such thing,” she sneered, turning around to face the priest. “Surely, you don’t treat mere hearsay about what the prophet allegedly said or didn't with the same level of respect as the holy scripture of the Alfi faith itself!”

  “The scripture and the blessed zulzalat of the prophet are equally important sources of the faith.”

  Coming to stand beside the tent flap leading outside, Ruma closed her eyes. She was also responsible for this mess in a way. Despite the multiple chances she’d had, she’d failed to stop the priests and laymen from resorting to the twisted understanding of faith as captured by the zulzulat—these alleged practises of what the prophet either did, or saw but didn’t argue against. She’d failed to nip this nonsense in the bud, and now she was left with a priestly class who supported her but held bloodthirsty principles that were contradictory to hers.

  Heck, she could have contributed to the zulzulat instead of outright shunning it. After all, who here knew the prophet better than her? Hadyan had likely never met him, nor spent time with him the way she had. Gulatu had been horrified seeing how priests of his faith behaved in her day, and here she was witnessing that evolution without making any attempts at course correction.

  One could choose to not bother with a personal faith, but also couldn’t ignore when that faith began entangling others in its twisted vines. Hadyan was one of the good priests, one of the most pragmatic she’d seen, but at the end of the day, she hadn’t used her power over him to challenge and correct his wrong views.

  Why in the worlds were the fates targeting her?

  “You’ve put me in a difficult spot here, Hadyan,” she said, turning the full weight of her gaze on the priest.

  “Alf works in—”

  “We won a battle
just the way the generals wanted but I’m not happy with the price we paid for it,” she muttered. Yenita was shaking her head, but Ruma ignored her, her voice growing strained, as she pointed at the map on the table. “Yasmeen has won Salodia, her conquest no doubt bloodier than what we did here at Zaqar. I can’t get to Irtiza now, for surely there’d be an army or two waiting to ambush me.” She clenched her jaw even as her arms went limp, hanging at her sides. Her heart thudded dully in the chest, the world arrayed against her. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

  “We’re not out of options yet,” said Yenita. Unlike Ruma, her voice didn’t quake. She raised her chin, exposing her long neck. “As long as we live and breathe, we’ve got an opportunity to kill the snake that Yasmeen is.” She took a wary step forward. “Once the Vanico armies are gone, she’ll claim herself as the prophet’s successor. Before that time comes, we must remove her.”

  Ruma scoffed. “Time! The one thing everyone keeps reminding me of.”

  “Fortune favours the brave, and fates bow to iron wills.”

  Ruma drew in a long breath. This Yenita wasn’t the same young girl she remembered. When had she become this determined? She nodded slowly. “Perhaps you’re right. When the tried and tested ways do not work, maybe what’s necessary is a rethink. Even if it takes time. Even if it means the shrinking window of opportunity collapses.” She licked her lips. “A choice, even if a terrible one.”

  The noise outside had grown since she’d summoned Brother Hadyan. As if sensing her mood, the priest raised his hands, his lips moving silently as if beseeching Alf to turn her heart. The trick wouldn’t work, she knew, and Hadyan was lucky for the respect he had gained from her. Yet, someone had to pay the price. Maybe that price would be punishment enough for Hadyan’s conscience.