Midnight

by Joshua Rutherford

  Ashallah studied those around her. Yaromir stood with Rahim, a map between them, as they looked to the horizon. The Firstborne, with their hermit masks cast aside, knelt on the other bank of the oasis pond. They too cleansed themselves vigorously. Behind them congregated the best of the Tirkhan, a force of thirty strong. They busied themselves with unloading their packs, using sashes and belts to secure what weapons and belongings they could for the last leg of their journey. None of the men bothered to look at them directly. A few threw a glance their way. Even then, those that did failed to stare for long, because for all their courage in fight and battle, none felt at ease amongst two women in broad daylight, unveiled.

  ***

  Three days earlier, their newly banded group had left the tent city for Rilah. Fortunately, their departure did not conjure attention or fanfare, for Yago was a city of nomads and vagabonds. Their caravan was not unusual in size or wares. Overall, the start of their journey was without consequence.

  That singularity did not last, as one seemingly innocuous event changed their dynamic. Once their caravan had Yago behind them and nothing but sky and sand ahead, Darya had shed her veil. Her effort was not with hesitation nor was it brazen. Rather, it was nonchalant. She removed as easily as a man takes off a shora. There was no apprehension to see if a man was in her presence, no concern for breaking the Law and facing admonishment. Her move, as slight as it was, was liberating, powerful.

  The presence of one more face amongst them would not have garnered attention or generated whispers – had that face been that of a man. However, seeing a woman, unveiled, in broad daylight caused the most hardened of Tirkhan to gossip like elderly widows. Even the Firstborne, not accustomed to being perturbed in either physicality or emotion, raised a brow.

  In the face of such boldness, Ashallah had found herself upstaged. It was a position she was not accustomed to, as she was often the strongest and most daring of any group she was in, whether composed of women or men. At first, she felt compelled to match Darya’s action. Ultimately, she decided against it. For such a reaction on the heels of Darya’s blatant exposure would come across as an act of a follower, not a leader.

  As hours passed from the time Darya removed her veil, Ashallah felt the urge to do the same. Only then did hesitation – not inspired by Darya, but all her own - set into the recesses of Ashallah’s mind. Memories of her mother chastising her for not being proper flooded her consciousness. As did lessons on female etiquette from the teachers of her youth. Then there were the first lessons she received on the Law, words that passed from the mighty imams of Yasem through the grates and barriers of the temples, where sections of women sat apart from men. Recollections that she had not considered in years suddenly came to her again, and with them, the shame of being a woman.

  It was not until the prior night, more than two days after Darya first removed her veil amongst the Tirkhan caravan, that Ashallah removed her own. She did it in the presence of Darya, as the two sat across from each other before a cook fire. Except for a few guards, the men of their group had retired for the night, leaving the two women alone. With no other eyes upon them, Ashallah had stripped her veil from her face.

  Darya, through the heat and flames, stared back at her.

  She rose to her feet to circle the fire. Ashallah’s heart nearly beat through her chest as she reached down to her hand.

  “I’ll take this for you,” Darya had said as she pulled her veil from her fingers. “And return it at the appropriate time.”

  “When will that be?” Ashallah asked, her voice cracking.

  “When we have to hide ourselves again. For the last time.”

  ***

  The gurgling and grunts of camels beyond the palms drew Ashallah’s attention. Through the fronds, she spotted a few of the Tirkhan slapping their hindquarters to send them off into the desert.

  “Our mounts!” Ashallah exclaimed.

  “We won’t need them,” Darya replied.

  “But we are still so far. Rilah must be weeks away.”

  “By camel, yes.”

  Ashallah cocked her head. Do we run the remainder of the way? she considered. She eyed the other Tirkhan who were emptying their packs and choosing only the most essential of items.

  Darya met Ashallah’s curious look with her own. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “What?”

  “That night, when we were being pursued in the desert, and I blew my horn to summon the jinni. I thought that perhaps the journey we took would have stirred you a little. I suppose you were unconscious throughout.”

  Thrown off her guard, Ashallah replied, “If you’re suggesting I had a moment of weakness...”

  “Now, now,” Darya cooed as she stroked her cheek. “I meant no ill will. I was only expressing my surprise. That is all.”

  The touch of Darya’s soft fingers upon her skin soothed Ashallah. She closed her eyes until Darya withdrew them. “The journey, that the jinni... when he rescued the three of us, I didn’t think it special,” she admitted. “I mean, I know we traveled far and fast. Truthfully, I don’t recall it.”

  “That’s fine. In hindsight, it is understandable.”

  “Did we... fly?”

  Darya grinned, nearly laughing. “Well, I suppose you can say that.”

  “Would you say that?”

  “I believe not. And as to why, you will soon see for yourself.”

  A whistle pierced their exchange. Both turned to find Rahim atop a dune to the south, waving at them to join him. At his side, standing a full head taller, was the same Firstborne who had unmasked in the cavern at Yago, one they came to learn was called Caleb.

  The two were conversing as they pointed to the southeast. Ashallah noted that Rahim’s brow furrowed, as though a concern had struck him.

  Darya saw it too. “What is the matter?”

  Rahim looked at Caleb. “Tell them.”

  “The storm we anticipated,” Caleb began. “It is approaching.”

  Ashallah and Darya looked to the southeast. Ashallah could see no disturbance on the horizon, just a stretch of cloudless blue sky. By the expression on Darya’s face, she could tell the pending weather was lost on her too. Then again, Caleb had that power as a Firstborne. The gift of seeing far and beyond what any of them could, even turquoise as skilled as Rahim and Darya.

  “Neither of you will be able to see it until tomorrow morning,” Caleb said. “But when you do, it’ll stretch from north to south.”

  “Caleb thinks it’ll be the strongest storm of the decade,” Rahim added. “One that will sweep from these heights all the way to Rilah.”

  “That is good, isn’t it?” Darya asked earnestly. “We were hoping for the cover of a dust storm to conceal the final leg of our trip.”

  “Yes, we were,” Caleb confirmed. His eyes narrowed.

  “You have reservations,” Ashallah ventured.

  “The storm may be too big, too powerful. If we had the supreme power of the jinn, no storm, however mighty, would concern us. But even we Firstborne have limitations.”

  “Are we in danger?” Darya asked.

  “Always. In regards to this, though, the risk lies not in our journey, for we Firstborne can withstand the wind and sand better than all. The threat will not harm us. Possibly... it may affect you.”

  Ashallah looked to Rahim and Darya, who appeared as puzzled as she did. “I can handle a storm, no matter the onslaught of sand and wind. My training ensured that. Amongst the midnight sisters, I am one of the finest.”

  Caleb lips pursed ever so slightly, as though he was about to smile in amusement. “Do not take offense by my concern. I do not question your strength or skill as a warrior. I question your mortal body. Your flesh. Your bones. Your ability to journey just as Darya said you three did to Yago.”

  “Again, with that rescue from the jinni?” Ashallah exclaimed, her frustration mounting over his obtuse speech.

  “Ashallah, please,” Darya begged. She turned to fac
e Caleb. “When we traverse the desert, what will be the danger?”

  “For you and your brother, your power – as turquoise – will most likely save you. But with so many mortals,” Caleb stared down at Ashallah before glancing in the direction of the Tirkhan. “I cannot guarantee that all will remain with us. Some will steer off course, to settle into the expanse. Others will find their essence ground away like a stone worn by the elements. Alas, as Firstborne, my brethren and I lack the power to encapsulate the lot of you for the entirety of the storm.”

  “Some may perish?”

  Caleb nodded.

  “We should warn the others. I suspect some of the Tirkhan will balk at dying in the wind as opposed to battle.”

  “No,” Ashallah protested. “Do not assume such things of the Tirkhan. Yes, to die in battle is a great honor. You are correct to assume that if presented with the option to turn away from the storm, they would take it, though you must realize they would do so only if approached alone. If you decide to ask them in front of each other whether they would like to walk from this danger, none will step forward, and all would be insulted by the question.”

  “Then we should decide for them,” Rahim stated.

  “It is what a strong commander would do,” Ashallah confirmed. “The Tirkhan would expect nothing less at this juncture.”

  “Then let them be,” Caleb affirmed. “Allow them to continue preparing for the journey. For we leave as soon as the sands are upon us.”

  Little time had passed before the blue dome above gave way to a blanket of sand and dust. Though expected, it somehow came all of a sudden. At one moment, the storm was miles away. The next, it had rolled over them. Their entire camp at the oasis found themselves caught by surprise, with warriors and turquoise scattered apart from one another as the first waves of sand swept through, bending palm trees and turning the pool of life-giving water to mud.

  The wind howled through their hoods and shoras, as particles seeped into every crevice and slit of their bodies. For her part, Ashallah shut her eyes tightly, in the exact way she had been trained to do when faced with inclement weather. Still, even as her lids remained closed throughout the onslaught, the sand found its way into them. As it did into her mouth, her nose, and her lungs. With every orifice it invaded, a stinging pain followed. For all her training as a warrior, for all her experiences in past storms, this was by far the worst for Ashallah.

  Then, a hand touched her. With that one motion, all of it stopped.

  The howling of wind upon her ears. The granules between lips and teeth. The stinging.

  Ashallah ventured to crack open her eyes. She spotted a torrent of sand and dust rushing past her, slightly out of her reach. Millions upon millions of grains. Red, white, black and brown. Bits from a thousand deserts. Blended together to create an endless curtain in motion.

  Ashallah looked around. The storm raced behind and over her. It came towards her and sped away. All the while, a radius of the untouched – of which she was a part – grew outward, expanding.

  A dome, she said to herself. I am in a clear dome.

  The space around her continued to expand, pushing the rapidity further away.

  “Ashallah!” cried a muffled voice.

  She searched the sea of sand outside her dome.

  “Ashallah!”

  “I’m here,” Ashallah responded, not caring at that point who or what was speaking.

  “A light. A bright spot. Find it.”

  Ashallah searched the entirety of her dome. All was clouded above, as was that directly in front of her. Only the granules of white sand outside appeared as light, but even then, they were fleeting.

  “Find it! Hurry!”

  Ashallah felt the urge to question the urgency of the voice before realizing the space she inhabited had contracted. Ashallah watched the edges of her dome creep slowly inward, reducing her once spacious circle inch by inch.

  Panic was not a commonality in her life as a soldier. Though then and there, it was real.

  Her heart raced, in a way she had not endured since her early days of military instruction. The breaths she took became more forced. Her brow moistened as her throat dried.

  This is not my way, she repeated to herself. I am a warrior. I am midnight.

  “You are midnight!” came the muffled voice.

  Ashallah searched the curtain of sand beyond her increasingly smaller dome.

  “You are a warrior!” said the voice again. “You are a warrior! Now find your light!”

  As though eyes she could not spot were watching upon her, Ashallah nodded. She scanned perimeter once more. Once more, she saw nothing.

  On a whim, she stroked the dome that had been protecting her. To the touch, it was firm and smooth like glass. It was also thin, as Ashallah could feel the grains of sands rioting on the surface of the other side.

  Ashallah’s hands and eyes felt and searched. The same spots they came to, over and again. The only difference in touch or sight was the contraction of the dome, the loss of space.

  With her elbows bent and her palms firmly against the invisible barrier, Ashallah fell to one knee.

  “I am going to die here,” she said aloud, her hands settling on the ground.

  “You are not,” replied the voice. “You are midnight.”

  “I am midnight.”

  The edge of the dome crept inward, pushing back her finger. Instinctively, Ashallah looked down.

  At the curvature, where the edge of the dome met the sand, Ashallah found the invisible barrier moving her finger. Not more than six inches from it, a dot of light radiated.

  It was no larger than a granule. Had Ashallah not been searching, she would not have thought twice about it, taking the speck for a grain of white sand.

  Yet it was far from that.

  For all its size or lack thereof, it was brilliant. Ashallah stared at it deeply. As if the radiance sensed her attention, it glowed brighter and stronger.

  Flecks assaulted Ashallah’s face. She raised her eyes to spot cracks in the dome, and the spreading of their veins as sand and wind forced their way inside.

  “Ashallah!” the muffled voice strained to scream.

  She reached for the light. Upon touching it, she felt not heat nor sand, but flesh.

  Her first reaction was to pull back. Out of curiosity and stubbornness, she fought against her judgment – a rarity for her – to place her faith in the voice beyond the dust and sand.

  “I found it!” Ashallah shouted. “The light. I have it.”

  The dome contracted further. The invisible barrier that up until that moment had been protecting Ashallah now pushed her back. She leaned away from the light, feeling the other side of the dome against her shoulder blades and head. Still, she kept her fingers on the light.

  More granules assaulted Ashallah’s skin. The cracks above and around her gave way.

  Then the light at the base of dome grew, it radius expanding as it became brighter. Ashallah’s eyes stung from the sudden brilliance of it all. Then, upon feeling a familiar touch, she froze.

  Fingers - radiating white light - wrapped around her wrist as the light stretched wider and taller. The dome, as though a tent with a flap, opened to a safe space free from the dust and sand beyond. Before her, Ashallah spotted two figures, one her height and the other much taller, who glowed with such splendor that she shielded her eyes and stared above and around her. Much like the personal covering she had just left behind, this one was spherical though taller and wider. Unlike her small, temporary haven, this one was not clear but opaque, although Ashallah knew the storm remained outside due to the howling of the wind.

  The grip on her arm loosened. Ashallah, squinting, saw the shorter of the two step back from her. The taller figure, with hand on the shorter one, guided it back by the shoulder. Both only took a few paces before their radiance faded. White glow turned to flesh so that Ashallah was able to look upon the faces of Darya and Caleb once again.

  Caleb looked
the same as before, his turquoise exterior having not lost its luster nor his eyes their shimmer. Darya, on the other hand, appeared disheveled. The cloak that had draped her shoulders was torn and unkempt. Her hair, as black as the cavern where Ashallah first saw it, hung in strands, in contrast to the braid she had sported. Then there was her face. Scratches spotted her cheeks and forehead while her hazel eyes held red veins.

  Ashallah raised her hand, wanting to comfort Darya with a simple stroke of her fingers. For her wounds, though, Darya was not saddened nor concerned.

  “Ashallah!” Darya exclaimed as she reached out to embrace.

  Ashallah, never accustomed to touch she had not initiated nor paid for, stiffened. Darya seemed not to care.

  “Are you well?” Darya asked after stepping back.

  “Yes, I suppose.” Ashallah looked to Darya then to Caleb. “What in the Five Doors of Hell happened?”

  “She reached out to you once,” Caleb replied.

  “After Caleb had touched me, bestowing on me his power, I set out to find you. A small endeavor, given that moments before we were but feet apart, yet made nearly impossible by the Hand of Jaha. I groped and crawled. Finally, you were close enough. I extended my hand to you. However, the storm was fiercer than I anticipated. My power to protect myself, and you, waned as the wind and sand beat down upon my barrier.”

  “So she let go,” Caleb interjected. “That you may be protected while she lay exposed.”

  “You should not have done that,” Ashallah admonished her.

  “It was the only way,” Darya replied curtly.

  “It was not. I have training. I am a warrior. I am midnight.”

  “You are a mortal woman,” Caleb offered. “More susceptible to pain and suffering than us. Those wounds you see on Darya’s face, that same storm would have ripped the skin and flesh from your skull had you endured it for even a minute longer.”

  “I am stronger than you give me credit for.”