Shifting Sands

by Fuad Baloch

  She sniffled, wiping her nose with a sleeve. Bhalpur had become a personal crossroads for her just as much as for those who travelled through it. She had arrived here hoping to find a traitor before she made her final move. She’d found what she’d sought, but her heart hadn’t been ready for the revelation. The pain hurt way more than it should have. She’d never been one to give much attention to the priests, but somehow, a part of her had begun respecting the man beneath the stole and the conical hat, the one who’d helped her whenever they were in a bind.

  Dawn couldn't be far away. Outside, her army was preparing to march for the final battle that would end her journey in this world. They must have been raising a racket, but all she heard was muffled shouts. Perhaps it was her mind far too occupied to allow other senses to distract her.

  General Restam had warned her after she’d had Hadyan arrested. The priest was the holiest of the holy, Restam had argued. Someone the men looked up to as their spiritual father. She had to be careful in what she did with him. If the men lost their father, they would grow disillusioned, rudderless. Ruma had scoffed, but her general’s concerns had stayed with her.

  She had her own worries as well. If Hadyan wasn’t lying, then was his crime listening to these visions he regarded coming from Alf? Was she going to punish a man for following through with what his god demanded of him? Was he really that different from Gulatu then, both men driven to defy the world at the behest of their lord, even if no one else understood them?

  Ruma raised her fist. “Alf, what would you have me do, huh? Hadyan is one of your people, right? A follower of your beloved Gulatu and—” Something caught in her throat and she choked. “It’s funny how both Hadyan and I claim your beloved messenger, arguing over him and his legacy.” She chuckled. “Though, I doubt Hadyan would be doing quite the same things to Gulatu as I would if he was here.”

  If he was here…

  Ruma squeezed her eyes shut, her train of thought going wayward once more. The cool night air caressed her clammy cheeks. This blasted Lady business had brought her nothing but ruin, and disaster after disaster. She would have been much better off on her own, doing what needed doing, without having to assume responsibility for determining what men believed.

  “Too late now, girl,” she muttered bitterly. Then, the pent-up rage within her rose. “Why, Hadyan? Why?”

  Time was flowing. Even as she wrestled with stupid, rhetorical questions, the world outside was transforming, her force readying itself to become the divine fist of vengeance, even if it still didn't know whose face it’d be smashing into.

  The urge to pray overwhelmed her, squeezing her innards when she tried to turn her attention away. Ruma scoffed. There was a time and place for things, and this was pretty damned late for her to try and see what faith might have to offer someone like her.

  She dropped her chin after a long breath, though, then pressed the palms of her hands together. Ironically, now that she’d resigned herself to the act, she couldn't remember any Alfi prayers. They all had a certain formula, a rhyme to them, an order of phrases that needed to be followed. Damned if she remembered any of that. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. “The Zrivisi have prayed to you throughout their existence. They called out to you in their tongue, unaided by any messenger, looking for you throughout their existence. And eventually, you listened to them, sent them the word they needed to hear.” She clenched her fingers. “If you listened to bastards like them, do I, the fracking Lady of these fracking Sands, not deserve a similar favour?”

  She waited.

  And waited.

  Not even the faintest flutter of wind one might have mistaken for a divine sign. No quiver of the heart she could have confused for an answer. Nothing but the cowardly rants of a woman leading a bunch of fools against others.

  She grunted, then rose and began pacing in her tent. The world filtering through the slits in her tent had brightened a tad. Soon, she wouldn't have the luxury of time, of this calm before the storm.

  What happened when one died?

  The unexpected thought gave her pause.

  What happened to those like her whose minds just couldn't accept the Alf they kept hearing about?

  Her gaze wandered over to the map her councillors had been poring over the day before. Under the flickering torchlight, the Andussian peninsula spread out, surrounded by smaller nations. A simple abstraction of the place that had birthed the Alfi faith. A place that would soon grow, influence the world with its culture and scientific progress and philosophy for the centuries to come.

  None of that held her interest, though. Red stones covered the map. The blue stones for Gareeb and Yenita sat on the table, their last locations unknown even to Qaisan. Yet another gamble she had made.

  If she lost here, the red version of the Alfi faith would take over the peninsula. What would a world look like when it wasn’t the relatively peaceful version of Gulatu’s faith that had persisted until Ruma’s time, but the one twisted by Yasmeen and her Traditionalists?

  “What do you think, First?” she whispered. “What scares you more?”

  The First didn't answer.

  “Lady, might I have a word with you?” came a soft voice from outside the tent.

  Ruma jerked her head towards the flaps. Was she hearing voices? “Who’s that?”

  “Krishan.”

  Exhaling, Ruma straightened, drawing the shawl tight over her head and shoulders. “Enter.”

  Coughing, Brother Krishan entered her tent, the world a dark blue beyond him. He bowed. “I apologise for intruding upon you this early in the morning.”

  “Morning?” Ruma sneered. “Must be time for me to visit your disgraced leader, then. Have you come to offer prayers for his soul?”

  The tall priest straightened, the bells in his conical hat tinkling softly. “Lady, I wondered if I might be able to beg forgiveness instead. A man does only what Alf wills.”

  Ruma’s eyes widened. “You’re here to ask me to forgive the bastard who has been giving the position of my armies for Alf knows how long? To let go the butcher who’s condemned untold thousands to their untimely deaths?”

  Brother Krishan stayed still for a long moment, his eyes unblinking, his features neutral. “I’m no supporter of Hadyan, Alf be my witness. But…” A shadow crossed over his face and his fingers trembled as he raised a hand. “But Alf moves my heart to intercede for him, whether I like it or not.”

  “Then maybe I should take off your head as well,” Ruma said calmly despite the rage thrashing in her heart. “You’re a man, Krishan. Command your heart to follow your head for once!” The priest opened his mouth but she waved him shut. “If you can’t, then frankly, I’m repulsed. Men like you who cannot—”

  An itch she had been unable to scratch until now, gnawed at the edges of her mind and Ruma stopped. “You…” she started, raising a finger towards the priest. “You saw the same visions as Hadyan?”

  “Alf has blessed me too, Lady of the Sands.”

  Ruma narrowed her eyes. “Would you have wanted me to stay put for six months as well?”

  The priest didn't respond, his chin dropping. Ruma chewed her lip. How had she not seen any of that before?

  “Answer me this,” she said, taking a step forward. “Had you been in Hadyan’s position, and had your Alf commanded you to betray me to Yasmeen, would you have done it?”

  The priest didn't stir, his eyes still downcast, his fingers twitching.

  “Bastards, the lot of you!” Ruma spat to the side. “Wolves in sheep’s clothing. No, worse than that. Pigs, dirty and disloyal, masquerading as war hounds of God.” She slapped the priest on the face. The sound rang out in the thin air. Brother Krishan whelped, took a step back, one hand rising to his cheek. “I should put you all to the sword. Each and every fracking one of you.” Trembling with rage, Ruma punched the wooden post to her left. The world was turning red, murderous thoughts racking through her. Ruma swallowed, forced herself to count backwards from
ten. “But… sadly, I’m no Yasmeen.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “Despite everything, I am not her. I can’t punish men for merely thinking of crimes they’re too cowardly to act on.” She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together. “When the battle is done, assuming I win, I’ll deal with you lot.”

  Brother Krishan fell to the ground. “Lady—”

  “Get out of my sight.”

  The priest continued to whimper, his body shaking.

  Ruma watched him for a long breath, a mix of pity and rage brewing within her. Then, she raised her chin, and stormed out of the tent. Already, the first rays of the new day were peeking out over the horizon. Another hour and the night would be banished for good.

  “Lady!” said the guards outside her tent as one, snapping to attention.

  “Are they ready?” she asked.

  “Aye,” replied the one to the left, pointing straight with a hand.

  Nodding, Ruma started for the kabbad ground. All the other tents had already been taken down, hers the only one still standing. Three hundred yards to the right, her army was forming up. Lancers, macebearers, pikemen, swordsmen in the front. Archers behind them. Light cavalry on the flanks. Each unit flew her standard, the brown Scythes fluttering proudly in the morning. Even as she strode forwards, she could see her force subdividing into three groups, one each for her remaining councillors.

  Directly ahead, in front of the kabbad ground, a dozen men stood in a semi-circle. Dressed in full armour, their swords polished and gleaming, their helmets covering their faces, they cut menacing figures. They stood at attention as she drew nearer.

  “The prisoner refuses to eat or drink,” reported General Restam, turning towards her. He, too, wore a full-faced helmet today. “I was of half a mind to force-feed him but thought you might disapprove.”

  “It doesn't matter,” she said, taking a step forward. General Nodin and Qaisan stepped aside, allowing her eyes to fall on the figure ahead curled up in the foetal position. “On your knees, Hadyan.”

  Hearing her voice, the disgraced priest jerked his head up. “Lady of the Sands! Indeed, you’re the prophesied one and—”

  “On your knees!” she snapped once more. “The day’s wasting.”

  “Help him up!” snarled General Nodin. Two soldiers stepped forward and pulled him up by the armpits.

  “Restam,” she said, raising her right hand. “Your sword.”

  The general coughed, then passed his weapon to her. Ruma gripped the hilt tightly, letting her hand get used to the balance of the sword. There was so much she would have liked to ask Hadyan. In her world, a traitor like him would have been interrogated until everything of worth had been extracted from him. But she didn't have time on her side here.

  “Restam, send word we are to ride west when we’re finished here.”

  “West, Lady?”

  “We’re attacking Yasmeen at Mukkur.”

  General Restam didn't move. “But Mukkur is swarming with her forces, Lady of the Sands. I strongly suggest we head north-east as we had discussed. By taking the province and the trade routes—”

  “We ride fast,” Ruma snapped, “and hard for Mukkur. She doesn't expect me to attack her directly, something I’ve tried very hard to establish. Right there is the only advantage I have, one I’m not going to squander.”

  General Restam cleared his throat, exchanging a glance with the mercenary general. “As you command. Though it would be remiss of me if I didn't counsel waiting for our other armies to join us before we proceeded.”

  “I hear you, Restam.” She raised the sword. Her reflection stared back at her. Ruma blinked, surprised by the sunken eyes watching her back. “There is every chance we won’t survive what’s to come.”

  General Restam thumped his weak chest. “I’d been ready to die at the orchard, Lady. Whenever Alf takes my life now, He’ll find me content.”

  Ruma nodded, annoyed by the tear prickling in her left eye. General Restam strode off, shouting at his lieutenants to finalise their preparations.

  “Why did you betray me, Hadyan?” she asked, stepping forward, raising the sword. “Damn you, you could have just talked to me!” She shook her head. “You believed in me being the prophesied one and yet you—”

  Hadyan laughed, the strangeness of it raising the hackles on Ruma’s neck. “The prophecy is wrong. All so wrong. All that matters are the true visions of Alf that He shows to those—”

  “Step back,” said Ruma, motioning the two guards beside Hadyan.

  “—and when the time arrives you will see—”

  “You betrayed me,” said Ruma, her voice rising over the rambling priest. “You put all those who followed me, your brothers in faith, in grave danger.” She raised her sword higher. “For that, I punish you to death. May you never walk the lonely path.”

  “—she must be the one to sit supreme in the holy cities and then—”

  Ruma heaved with all her strength. The sword was heavy, but the past few months had strengthened her considerably. The sharp blade cleaved right through Hadyan’s head, severing it from the torso. Blood gushed out. The torso fell forward, the limbs twitching as if under the thrall of some unseen devil.

  She turned towards the west, the bloody sword still clutched in her hand, very aware of all the eyes watching her. Yasmeen would be the one getting a rude awakening now.

  Twenty-Four

  The Times

  “What’s the word?” Ruma asked, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her horse’s neck frothed in sweat.

  “Lady, the Traditionalists are three miles to the west. Another mile and we’ll be definitely spotted,” reported the scout, looking even more wretched than she felt.

  “Hmm,” said Ruma, drawing in a long breath. Behind her, men of the Lady’s Light were just as tired as her after the weeklong march with the bare minimum of breaks. Then again, if she was right, they should have outrun news of their advance. For the moment, though, the men were happy enough to be under the shade of date trees against the scorching sun.

  General Restam dabbed at his forehead. Two days into the march, he had stowed his helmet in his saddlebag. “What do you propose we do, Lady?”

  Ruma smiled even as her insides churned. “We haven’t come all this way just to say hello, have we?”

  “Of course not,” the general replied. Beside him, General Nodin squared his shoulders. Ruma watched the mercenary general for a moment before turning her gaze forward. Her heart pounded against her ribs, their animals neighing and braying behind them.

  “We’re here,” she said slowly. “A stone’s throw from Yasmeen.”

  Both of her generals kept quiet. Ruma craned her neck northwards. Squat hills, bereft of houses and humans, punctured the otherwise shimmering horizon. Crushing the reins in her fingers, she fidgeted with her vest. She could wait here a bit, cement her position, wait for the scouts to come back, see if her gamble had worked. But every moment she waited, she risked dooming her entire gambit.

  “The soldiers will do you proud,” said General Nodin. “They’re hungry for glory.”

  “Alf and His angels shall meet all those who walk the lonely path,” said General Restam.

  “Don’t talk like the priests,” chided Ruma, waving her arm in annoyance. Even as she said the words, Hadyan’s warnings filtered up in her mind. The priest had rejected her as the prophesied one. Something felt wrong. Yes, the cursed man had betrayed her, but she had heard truth in his words before, felt the conviction in his belief whenever he’d declared his intent to support her. How had that faith corrupted so much?

  Focus!

  Ruma turned her horse around. Faces looked up at her. They were exhausted, spent. Many, no doubt, carried grievances against her for the manner in which she had executed Hadyan. But as they watched her, most of them bobbed their heads at her, their lips moving silently as if praying to Alf.

  “I’m no leader anointed by God,” she started, her voice loud, clear. “Instead I’m one you have elected to
follow by listening to your hearts.” She raised her sword. “I’m not a gifted warrior, nor a great tactician. In truth, I’m a nobody, a humble soul, given an impossible task to meet evil in the eye and blind it.”

  “You’re the Lady!” shouted someone.

  “Alf is on our side!” shouted another.

  The men roared, thumped their chests.

  She raised her hand, waited for them to quieten down. “I’m also not good at giving speeches. All I want to say…” she trailed away, the accursed prickling growing in her right eye. She cleared her throat. “The passage of history is like a beast that cares for no one, and does what it wills, no matter what others desire. Sometimes, though, it presents little hooks, tiny chinks one can grab onto, levers one can press, to try and influence it. My friends, what we’re about to face is one of those rare opportunities!”

  Excited voices shouted, but she waved her arm to quieten them.

  “It’s cliché to say great movements require great sacrifices, but it is true.” She drew in a long breath. “Men and women of Andussia, know this. We march not under the name of a god, or in the name of someone who died decades ago. We march against the great evil of our times, for the sakes of those who live now, and for those who are still to come.”

  “The Lady!” came another shout, followed by more thundering ayes.

  Ruma clenched her fingers, her voice shaking now. “Men and women of Andussia, you’re not compelled to fight with me. If, having observed me all this time, you still have your doubts, part company now and no harm shall come to you.”

  No one stirred, the date trees swaying gently under the wind, her brown Scythe flags fluttering softly.

  “In that case,” she shouted, “do you promise to lend me the strength of your arms so we can fight this great evil together?”

  “Aye!” the men roared, both her generals joining in throatily as well.

  “And should we succeed, do you promise to shun extremism and slaughter of innocents?”