Lady of the Sands

by Fuad Baloch

  They would be marching out soon enough. The truce between the Blessed, Traditionalists, and both governors’ forces had held up until now, but it wouldn’t last. The governors’ soldiers had done all they could. But the hostilities would soon erupt, would continue to burn through until one side ended up incinerating the other.

  It didn’t matter to her. Shouldn’t have mattered. Yet she found it hard to chuck the thought away.

  Ruma sighed, began dragging her feet towards the city centre. The night was chilly, the breeze blowing over the sand dunes cool against her skin, nuzzling against her neck, softly ruffling her hair.

  Clutching the shawl tight over her head—another annoyance she had to put up with to ward off unwanted attention her hair attracted—she let her feet take her forwards, not caring for the moroseness setting deep within.

  She was living the life of an ascetic at the moment, drifting aimlessly hour to hour.

  Yet she had options. Any other sane person would have used their knowledge to great advantage. Share the basics of medicine, of metallurgy and chemistry and astronomy, set the world on a path of greatly accelerated industrialisation and enlightenment, reap the benefits that followed.

  In another lifetime, she’d have done that.

  Except wasn’t that what the First wanted from her?

  Ruma cursed, kicked a pebble in the way. She would definitely change the world if she started influencing it through her knowledge and expertise. Yet what was so wrong about that? She was reminded of the weeping boy, who thrashed in agony as the surgeons tried to set his bones together using methods so barbaric it had set her skin crawling.

  She had bitten her tongue then, subjecting the boy to a life of misery, all because she had wanted to thwart the First.

  What if she was wrong? What if she was playing the pawn to the Pithrean?

  Wasn’t her mere presence changing events? True, she wasn’t doing anything overt, but these small steps she took, the few people she interacted with, how would all this minutia accumulate when examined with the benefit of hindsight?

  Was sequestering herself really the only way to save this world, the world she had left behind, and the prophet who she had loved?

  Her feet faltered. Had loved the prophet? Now that the words surfaced, she realised the falsity in them. Had? When had she assumed walking away would wash away all that had attracted her to him?

  She had begun falling for the confused, guilt-ridden, indecisive man who had finally found his path in a new world, before his actions had furthered the distance between them.

  Why did her heart still ache at his memory?

  How much of her anger towards him was justified, anyway? The man had thought himself married despite the passage of centuries. Then, had ended up forming connections with two women. The former was excusable, the latter… well, had she ever met a man who found it easy to commit to just one woman?

  Regardless, none of that really changed her lot right now.

  She was prowling through his world, separated by centuries and vagaries of space-time, even as her heart was secretly pining for him.

  “Alf and the Lady damn it all…” She trailed away. Finally, belatedly, she was beginning to understand some of the predicaments and inner struggles of a man she had derided without really understanding him.

  She’d ignored far more than that.

  Gulatu was different, unlike any other man she had ever known. Someone with a direct line to the divine Himself. She, on the other hand, was but a mule being ridden by a Pithrean watching her for some malevolent reason.

  Voices flittered over the chill night. Surprised, Ruma looked up. The doors to an inn stood open in the gloom, similar to the one she had hunkered down with the Kapuri siblings a long time ago. So much had happened since. Ruma swallowed, bit her lower lip, her stomach turning.

  For one who never really dwelled on the future much, again she wondered how her chance encounters with both Yasmeen and Bubraza would go down in the grand scheme of things? Had she said or done something she shouldn’t have?

  More playful voices rose from the doors, followed by boisterous laughter. Ruma hesitated. The Vanico Empire was on the march, only Alf knew how far from the city centres, with Fanima being a logical resting place in between. Did these people know what to do if that were to happen? Both governors would be sending the bulk of their forces back to the holy cities. Where would that leave Fanima and her inhabitants?

  Could she do something?

  Then again, whatever had happened in the past, it had to go down the same way again, right?

  The truth was, she had no damned idea how all these events had played out in the past. What did trouble her was not knowing her place in it all.

  Her stomach growled. Taking that as a sign, Ruma exhaled, then entered the inn.

  Heads turned towards her, quite a few lingering longer than might have been modest even in her own time. Ruma didn’t care. She patted the coin purse she carried with her, hoping for a rattle.

  Nothing.

  “Fracking hell,” she muttered.

  “Ruma…” came a quiet, quivering voice.

  She looked up. Yenita stood two paces away. She wore a purple dress, cinched tight on the waist, the hair spilling out from under the veil.

  “It’s good to see you again.”

  Ruma nodded, unsure of what emotion she felt in the moment. In hindsight, it made perfect sense to see her here. This was a small world, one where coincidences and happenstances seemed to take place with a great deal of regularity. “It is.”

  “Join us for supper?” asked Yenita, waving a hand to a table pulled up against the window. Sivan waved back, a grin splitting his face. “My brother has been telling some very tall tales of the time he spent with you.”

  “Has he now?”

  “To practically anyone who would listen.”

  Ruma groaned. Was that how word of her deeds had spread to the Traditionalists? She really had to be more careful. Her stomach growled once more.

  She nodded. “Well, I am hungry.”

  Yenita beamed, leaned in to pull Ruma into a tight embrace.

  Nineteen

  The Mysticism

  “And then I stood over him, my weapon aimed at his face, his mates all squirming, rushing away from us,” recalled Ruma, her voice growing louder, the world beginning to sway around her.

  “What happened then?” asked Yenita, leaning forwards. Ruma blinked. Had her eyes always twinkled so?

  “Well… not much to say.” Ruma spread her hands. “I gave them options. Kept giving them time. But they… just wouldn’t listen. The blasted captain was the most stubborn being I’ve ever seen.”

  Sivan chuckled. “A bigger stubborn mule than my sister?”

  Yenita scowled, pinched his arm.

  “More so!” said Ruma. Yenita refilled her goblet. Ruma licked her lips, thought about turning it down. A decade might have passed since the death of the prophet here, still an era where folks seemed genuine in their desire to follow the Alfi faith, yet alcohol hadn’t yet been banished from inns and taverns throughout the peninsula, as far as she could tell.

  Not something she minded too much.

  “So faced by a captain who wouldn’t give you the key to this treasure chest and a companion hell-bent on causing violence,” said Yenita, her fingers reaching out to brush against Ruma’s, “that would’ve been a tough place to be in.”

  Turning her head to the side, Ruma burped, felt the remnants of her meal rise. She swallowed, blinked hard at her surroundings, then giggled uncontrollably. Where had everyone else gone? Was it already midnight? Nodding at no one in particular, she surveyed the room once more. The tavern-keep, standing behind the counter, scowled at her. Her eyes found no one else.

  “Where… is…” she stuttered, unsure of what she wanted to ask.

  “Forget them all,” said Yenita, her fingers squeezing hers. The young girl smiled, cocked her head to the side. “Whatever did you end up doing the
n?”

  “Well… I killed him,” replied Ruma simply. The world was losing colour, texture, yet the memory of how her heist with Hanoos from the Misguided had gone down over the Zrivisi ship brought a vivid edge to the silhouettes around her.

  “The captain?”

  “No… my companion.”

  “Ah,” exclaimed Yenita. Ruma didn’t look back, her thoughts returning to the universe she’d lived in a long time ago. Hanoos and she had infiltrated the Zrivisi ship parked on a spaceport in the middle of Ghoban, a sister desert to the larger Ghal. Armed with hindsight, she now wondered how things might have turned out had she went along with Hanoos and killed the Zrivisi captain instead, as he had been clamouring to do.

  She would have started a war with the Zrivisi. But… could that have prevented the destruction of Irtiza and Salodia by Tasina years later?

  Had the war begun, though, would she have ever happened across the unconscious body of Gulatu Koza she’d dragged up to her apartment in a fit of compassion?

  Ruma shuddered. The lucidity that had returned began leaking away again.

  “What else do you need?” came a loud, irritated voice from her right. The tavern-keep most probably.

  “Keep ’em coming,” said Sivan.

  “This is a decent establishment, I would have you know. And frankly, Alf as my witness, I think—”

  Ruma turned her face towards the tavern-keep. Something in her face seemed to give the old man pause. He swallowed, then, muttering, stomped away.

  “Maybe… we should be retiring up to our rooms,” suggested Sivan a breath later. “It is kind of getting late.”

  “You go and lie down,” said Yenita. She turned her chin towards Ruma, smiled. “Someone needs to watch her.”

  Ruma returned the smile. Memory of the shapely girl naked and standing over her bubbled up. “You’re a very pretty girl!” she mumbled, turning to pat her awkwardly on the arm, unsure where she wanted to go with it.

  Sivan took a sip, then, making a face, pushed his goblet to the side. “Camel piss would taste better than this.”

  “Not easy to keep a good stash of wine with all these pious warriors on the prowl,” said Yenita. “Drink up.”

  “You need a smuggler,” muttered Ruma. “Someone who can… erm... work through the cracks, move stuff over borders and customs.”

  The siblings fell silent. Ruma blinked, unsure if it was her words that were the cause.

  “Hear that, brother?” said Yenita, exchanging a glance with Sivan before turning to her. “Sivan doesn’t seem to have the backbone for some of the more… lucrative trade opportunities out there.”

  Sivan shook his head. “Not even father would touch this. If the Alfi priests—no matter the denomination—ever found out we were smuggling alcohol, we’d be excommunicated. If the Traditionalists found out…” He shuddered, colour draining from his face.

  Ruma chuckled, reached out and pinched the young man’s cheek. “You’re such a worrywart!”

  “He is?” mumbled Yenita, her voice sour.

  For his part, Sivan turned as red as a beet, adjusted his weight, then winced, a hand shooting up to cradle the injured arm.

  That’s right. Here was one casualty she had already caused in this world. Far from the only one. Even as her vision was growing blurry by the second, the recent past rushed towards her. She saw the young soldier once more, so proud and confident over his horse, falling down on her sword to his death.

  She hiccupped, beat at her chest.

  “Something the matter?” asked Yenita.

  Ruma began shaking her head, checked herself. “Nothing you would understand.”

  The girl’s round face fell. Pursing her lips, she nodded at Sivan. “Perhaps you’re right and we should retire for the night.” Without waiting, she stood up, the force of her sudden movement setting the chair behind her crashing.

  Leaning on the table heavily, Ruma tried getting up. The world jerked left. She twisted to balance herself. The horizon suddenly fell the other way. Crying, she burped, reached out to right her balance. Yenita caught one flailing arm.

  “Thank you,” croaked Ruma. Then she chuckled. Waving a hand towards the star-lit night outside, she felt a grin settle on her face. “Millions would kill for a view like this… A… night so… c-clear!”

  “Sure,” said Yenita, not sounding overly impressed. “Now, I do think it’s time—”

  “Walk with me, will you?” asked Ruma, her fingers digging into Yenita’s arm.

  Yenita waited half a breath, then nodded. “I will see you on the morrow, brother.”

  “Yenita—” began Sivan.

  “Shoo!” Pulling Ruma forwards, Yenita led her through the tavern’s main hall that had suddenly transformed into an impossibly complex maze of furniture and shadows. Grinning foolishly, a tinge of fear clouding her thoughts, Ruma let the younger girl lead her through the hall and out into the night beyond.

  She welcomed the cool air grazing her skin, relished the feel of her tunic flapping behind as a gust blew in from the west. “Feels great.”

  “It does,” agreed Yenita.

  Together, they walked a dozen or so steps. Ruma blinked, turned her head back at the torchlight filtering from the inn. Shrugging, she turned back, the night growing dark once more.

  Onwards they walked, neither of them talking. Not that it really mattered. She had nowhere to go. No great urgency that required her immediate attention.

  When was the last time she’d had this luxury?

  Ruma raised her chin. Both moons hung in the sun. One gibbous. The other beginning to wane. Which was which? She tried recalling the details. Though the cool night was already beginning to help shatter the stupor that had crept into her veins, facts were still too slippery to latch on to.

  “Listen… about that time…” tried Yenita, her fingers digging painfully into Ruma’s armpit.

  “Oh Lady, don’t worry…” replied Ruma, flapping her free arm about like a queen waving indulgently. “Water under the bridge… and all that!”

  She felt Yenita shudder. “Again, this Lady… Who is she, this Lady you keep bringing up all the time? Is she…” The girl trailed away, letting silence fall over them. They continued walking slowly, their feet falling gently over the soft sands.

  The sea of confused emotions in her belly roiled up and Ruma chuckled. Almost surprised by her reaction, she clamped her jaw shut, feeling a sob coming on. What was happening? Feeling the corners of her eyes begin to mist, Ruma shook her head, squeezed the eyes shut to keep the blasted tears from falling.

  One of them seeped through, trickling down her cheek.

  “Ruma, what’s the matter?” asked Yenita. Though she was both weaker and shorter than Ruma, Yenita twisted her arm around, bringing the two of them face to face.

  Ruma swallowed, Yenita’s face a pleasant blur. “I… miss my world.”

  Yenita shook her head. “Your world?” She crept in closer. Close enough that Ruma had to blink to clear her vision but still could not quite see her clearly. She was so young. So… nubile. Ruma chuckled. When was the last time she had ever used that word? Was that what loneliness did to a person, blinding them to anything except the overriding, almost selfish urge to find companionship one way or the other?

  “Did you know you speak to yourself quite a bit?” said Yenita.

  “Do I?”

  Yenita grinned, then the smile faltered. “Ruma…” she whispered, then raised her hands, bringing Ruma’s fingers close to her face. Her soft, moist lips grazed Ruma’s skin, sending tingles up and down her spine, taking her by surprise.

  “Um…” tried Ruma, indecision gnawing at her. She didn’t really dislike the touch, almost relishing the feeling of being wanted by another human. But drunk or not, a part of her knew this was wrong. Not wrong in an objective sense, of course, just not… something for her. And not something she ought to put the younger girl through just because she was all alone here.

  “I…” star
ted Yenita, her lips nuzzling against Ruma’s hands once more. Then, without warning, she jerked her head back, turning to the left.

  Ruma cleared her throat.

  Then she too heard the voices that must have captured Yenita’s attention.

  Shouts.

  Bangs.

  Getting closer.

  “Oh, Alf!” croaked Yenita.

  “What’s going on?”

  More shrieks filled the night air.

  The ice in Ruma’s mind thawed, consciousness asserting itself against the previously welcomed blanket of oblivion. “We’re being attacked.”

  “What… W-what are we going to do?” said Yenita.

  Ruma blinked, shook her head to clear it. Curse it all. Did she really have to be in this state? The world swayed for a moment. Ruma narrowed her eyes, freed her hands.

  “Come along!”

  Twenty

  The Night

  Cries filled the air as they stumbled back to the tavern. The doors were flung open, the hall in a state of wild panic with men and women shouting inside. The tavern-keep ran out the door, his arms raised in the air as if beseeching Alf.

  More men rushed out the door.

  Yenita yanked at Ruma’s arm just before a burly man, having lost his balance, could crash into her. Ruma blinked, shook her head, willed the world to steady.

  “What do we do now?” shouted Yenita.

  “Get…” Ruma paused, looked around. No answers rose from the darkness, but she did recall taking charge. “We… need to get your brother.”

  “But—”

  Angry shouts came from the door. A gaggle of panicked patrons were trying to get out at the same time and had gotten stuck. An older woman, squeezed in the centre, whimpered, extended a hand towards them.

  “Lady’s tits!” exclaimed Ruma. She marched towards the press, reached for the old woman, and pulled with all her might. The woman moved an inch, cried as even more bodies piled on top. Ruma swore at the sea of grunting humanity. Rats, the lot of them, trying to jump off the sinking boat.

  “Stop your whining!” Ruma shouted at them, her rage momentarily cutting through the fog in her mind. One of the men continued to curse, grunting, the veins on his face growing purple. Ruma slapped him. “Step back! Let the others pass.”