by Fuad Baloch
“What in Alf’s breath are they doing?” she rasped.
Without breaking his stride, Gareeb looked back as well, Yenita a second behind him. “They honour the sand you walked over.” Ruma covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head in disbelief. “A new zulzalat is being written, it seems.”
Ruma turned away. “They go too far.”
“If that gives them the strength to face their enemies, what’s wrong with it?” asked Yenita.
Again, Ruma blinked. “You’ve changed.” From the corner of her eye, she spied a handsome, tall soldier watching them from behind a tent. She smiled. “Not everything in the world has, though. You’re still attracting admirers.”
Yenita smiled, the tension that had seeped in her vanishing. “I feel like a platter of ripe dates watched by hungry camels.”
Ruma threw back her head and roared with laughter. “Some of them are never satisfied, though!” Her mood lightening, a genuine, warm smile spreading on her face, she pressed on towards the priests. Yenita was a young, naive girl, unversed in the complex realities of the world, yet, seeing her again had given Ruma a strange comfort. In this unfamiliar world, Yenita was the one person who had known her before she had become the prophesied one. Or, maybe it was because after Bubraza, Ruma had been starved of female companionship.
“Lady, I really would like to paint you,” said Gareeb, pausing to cough to his side. “The next time we camp for a while, with your permission, I’d like to preserve your likeness for all time.”
Ruma shrugged uncomfortably, kicked up sand with her left sandal. “I never did take you for an artist.”
Gareeb chuckled. Behind him, a soldier sprinted over to the priests as if to warn them she was approaching. “Father and Mother wanted very different things from me. When I joined the Blessed Uniter”—he paused, as if wanting to give a respectful silence to the memory of Bubraza, the woman who had died with the two of them witnessing it—“I was placed under the command of one called Riyadh Uyana. A master sculptor and painter at Fanima who’d renounced his calling to fight against the infidels. He taught me the basics of composition and proportion in between battles. And over time… I guess, I just continued to practise.”
Ruma ground her teeth. “I’ll consider it.”
“By Alf, if you think I’m not up to the task—”
“I didn't say that,” Ruma replied, then forced a smile. “But you do know that if you mess up my facial symmetry, or make me look fat, or worse, cross-eyed, you’ll have seven hells to pay?”
Gareeb blanched as Yenita giggled.
“Lighten up, Gareeb,” said Ruma, shaking her head, when the young man continued to look scandalised. “You guys really need to learn some humour.”
Before Gareeb could respond, the sight of a tall priest striding towards them quietened him. “Lady,” the priest called, his voice sonorous, melodious. “You grace us with your presence.”
Ruma stopped a couple of paces from him, ordering her thoughts. “I’ve not seen you before. What’s your name?”
“I’m Brother Krishan,” said the tall man, bowing his head, the bells tinkling within his conical hat. He straightened, touching the brown Scythe painted on his robe with his right hand. He offered a respectful nod to her two companions, righting his blue stole of office. “Have you come to pray with us?”
“Not quite,” Ruma replied. She cleared her throat, then pointed at the dozen priests behind Brother Krishan. “I’d like to speak to your brethren as a group.”
“As you will, Lady.” Brother Krishan offered another bow, then turned around and began shouting at the priests to gather up. The priests, young and ancient alike, hurried forward. One of them tripped over a pail of water used for ritual ablutions, dropping the incense sticks he’d been carrying in his armpit to cries of dismay.
Gritting her teeth, Ruma watched them form up. The priests did all they could to hasten, but even her being the Lady of the Sands couldn't change certain things. They were a largely elderly group of men, most well past their sixth decade, and the more they hurried, the more rattled they seemed to get. What should have taken seconds had suddenly descended into a confused sideshow.
“Something’s ailing you,” murmured Yenita, watching her fidget with her shawl.
“Huh?” replied Ruma.
“I can tell. I always could.”
Ruma pursed her lips. “Six defeats in a row would weigh heavy on anyone.”
Yenita crossed her arms. “If you say so.”
A burst of anger flared up. “What else could it be, huh?”
Yenita didn't reply, but didn't back down either, merely shrugging by way of an answer. Ruma exhaled. A hundred affairs plagued her every waking moment in this miserable world, one in which she was slowly but assuredly losing ground. How did she even begin to explain something like that to someone as young as Yenita?
Hearing boots approaching them, Gareeb looked over his shoulder. “Oh, greetings in the name of Alf, Brother Hadyan.” He paused. “And to you too, Generals Restam, Qaisan, and Nodin.”
“Alf bless the light of your day, my boy,” intoned Brother Hadyan, joining them. He was beaming, his dark features split with a massive grin. “Lady, it gives me great pleasure to see you converse with men of faith.”
Ruma scoffed. “Wait till you hear what I’ve to say.”
“Once we’re finished here,” said General Restam, his high voice cutting through the coughs and prattle of the elderly priests, “I’d like to discuss a matter of great import with you.”
“A most grave one, indeed,” said General Nodin, his thick, baritone voice a sharp contrast to General Restam’s nasal drawl.
“What is it?” demanded Ruma.
“It might be best—” started General Restam.
“Now!”
General Restam gritted his teeth, his jaw moving without making a sound. General Nodin smirked, making no attempt to mask it. The general nodded. “We’ve heard from our scouts from the north-east. Mother Yasmeen…” He paused, dabbing at his slick forehead. “It appears, she has suffered a massive defeat against the Vanico forces in the region. She had ten thousand men, supported by a thousand horses and camels, but the enemy forces overcame them.”
Ruma felt her heartbeat quicken. “Yasmeen… has suffered a defeat?”
“My scouts confirm it too,” said General Nodin. “Before long, the entire peninsula will know.”
Brother Krishan was approaching them now, but Ruma froze him in place by raising her hand. Thoughts and ideas raced through her mind. The Traditionalists had lost! Wars and battles were as much matters of propaganda as actual warfare. Winning, or even the perception of winning, led to cascading effects for battles not yet waged, lending an aura of power and invincibility to the victor. An advantage Yasmeen had enjoyed for a long time. Had! If it was true and she had lost, that opened new avenues for Ruma.
Something felt wrong, though. A smuggler counted on good fortune, but when it came at just the right time, it was something to be wary of. Frowning, she looked at her generals. “Restam, when we looked at troop movements a month ago, I was led to believe the Vanico army heading back home was only six or seven thousand strong, largely made up of the wounded and sick. Is that right?”
“Aye, Lady,” he replied.
“And Yasmeen attacked that army? Personally?”
“Aye.”
“And still she lost?” Ruma tapped her cheek lightly with a fingernail, her heartbeat picking up. “How?”
“Alf has promised you victory, Lady of the Sands,” said Brother Hadyan. He raised his chin, the golden afternoon light making his dark skin gleam. “We have seen visions of you overcoming all odds.”
Ruma licked her lower lip, her eyes crossing over to Yenita. The merchant girl shrugged, looking neither pleased nor disappointed at the news. A part of Ruma wanted to dance, for one of the two foes she faced had suffered a major setback, yet some rational part of her continued to be wary. Was it the tiredness dulli
ng her senses? After all, hadn’t she thought she’d heard from the First as well? “Restam,” she asked. “Had it been you in command of Yasmeen’s forces, would you have thought defeat a possibility?”
“No,” said General Restam after a moment’s hesitation.
“Hmm…” Ruma scratched her chin. News, even in this world, had a habit of spreading. Even as her mind considered all the options that had opened for her, soldiers all around were cheering. Someone was beating a war drum. To her right, a group of young soldiers had broken out into frenzied dancing. A dozen or so soldiers beside them prostrated, laying their foreheads on the sands. A group next to them raised their hands towards the heavens. “They know, don’t they?”
General Nodin thumped his chest. “These men will fight better for knowing. Seven thousand we may be but armed with the knowledge that the prophet’s wife has been defeated will pour steel in their backbones.”
“We have new choices now,” said Ruma slowly. “The deck is rearranged.”
“Indeed, Lady,” confirmed General Restam. He even looked over at General Nodin and offered him a warm smile.
“Lord of the Heavens smiles brightly upon the justness of our cause, Lady,” said Brother Krishan. He waved his arm towards the priests behind him. “We, the men of faith, have never doubted this.”
Ruma had come over to chide the priests for goading her into attacking the Vanico forces. Now, though, she didn't feel like it, not when their blind loyalty seemed justified all along. “Why not?” she asked instead. “You couldn't have known this was going to happen. What made you hold strong?”
“We believe,” replied Brother Krishan simply, as if that explained everything.
“Weren’t you wrong before when you supported Bubraza as the rightful heir of the prophet?”
“We had faith then, even when it warred with doubt,” said Brother Hadyan, stepping in beside Brother Krishan. “But this time, it comes with certainty of true knowledge.”
“How?”
“We’ve seen the visions.”
Ruma clapped her right thigh. “Visions, again! What in the damned worlds are they?”
Brother Hadyan exchanged a glance with Brother Krishan. Then, he raised a hand towards the darkening sky, his eyes falling shut. “The Lord of the Worlds blesses us every night with the ecstasy of following His commandments. You, Lady of the Sands, are His instrument, and we pawns for you to command as you see fit.”
“So, let me get this straight. These visions are dreams?”
“We’re no prophets to receive the fullness of His visions in moments of consciousness,” said Brother Hadyan. “So, we hear from Him when our souls are most receptive.”
Ruma gritted her teeth. What in the seven hells had she expected to hear from these religious zealots anyway? Ask a stupid question, or two, and receive equally stupid answers. Even Brother Hadyan, no matter how pragmatic a voice he could be at times, wasn't fully immune either. Regardless, the news she had just received about Yasmeen’s forces routing had definitely altered the playing field for all stakeholders. She turned her back to the priests, facing her four generals. Qaisan nodded at her, his face masked as always, the gentle breeze setting the ends of his long grey robe fluttering.
Her stomach dropped. Could it really be that one of these four was a traitor? What would he do now, hearing what had happened to his mistress’ cause?
General Restam crossed his arms over his chest. “We can use this opportunity to regroup. With news spreading of her defeat, there will be many who’ll join our banner.”
“Fickle men, those,” grunted General Nodin. “I say, we attack the prophet’s wife directly. We might never get a better chance.”
“I would caution against that,” countered General Restam. “We are at least three weeks’ march away from Booqa, where I’m certain the Traditionalists will go lick their wounds. By the time we do arrive, they’ll likely have received reinforcements.”
“Nonsense,” thundered General Nodin. “Time is of great essence here. If not the prophet’s wife, then we march straight to Irtiza. Not many soldiers besieging it. We can take it back for the glory of our cause!”
“Your dreams of governorship aren't more important than the lives of my soldiers.”
“Your soldiers?” General Nodin scoffed, then spat to the side. “Had it not been for my men, you’d have been marching in chains to the Vanico homeland.”
All through the exchange, neither Qaisan nor Brother Hadyan had said anything. As her eyes met the priest’s, Brother Hadyan shook his head gently. “Don’t worry, Lady. Alf’s chosen one will not have her strength disintegrate on account of fools. I will personally ensure this matter goes no further.”
Ruma exhaled, dropping her chin. “Thanks.” The shadows had lengthened even more, hers stretching out four times her height. Another hour or so, and she wouldn't be able to tell the shadows apart from each other.
“There are potential allies I will reach out to on your behalf, Lady,” grunted Qaisan.
Ruma nodded. She had been flailing these past few months, but at least she had been an active participant. The change in fortunes though meant she had to go on the back foot, take a more passive approach until she was certain of her next course of action. If Vanico forces were ascendant, maybe it was time to move her focus to the Traditionalists on the run. Maybe, she could reach out to their command again, see if they would consider an alliance. Brother Hadyan would be key there; if she could convince him, he would prevail over the objections of other priests.
What she hated more than anything though was the realisation she was being forced to sit back. The thought galled her, even when she knew it was the right thing. Then again, it gave her the perfect opportunity to shake up the dynamics of her group, see if she could solve some of the simmering issues.
She raised her head. “Yenita and Gareeb, from now on, both of you will be members of my command council.”
“What?” said Yenita just as Gareeb said, “Me?” Brother Hadyan and General Restam looked shell-shocked.
Her blood was pumping again, reckless thoughts roaming free within her. She knew that she should wait, let the sandstorm abate, and then cross the desert, but something General Nodin had said earlier had set her heart racing. Time was indeed of the essence. She might never get the Traditionalists in this state of panic again. Spy or no damned spy, it wasn’t her nature to sit still.
“Lady?” asked General Restam, turning towards her. General Nodin had fallen silent as well.
Ruma clenched her fingers, turning slowly to the west, nodding to herself. “Water that sits still gets sucked by the desert. It’s time to make our presence known. For breaking the shackles.” She exhaled, hoping, praying, she wasn’t making the wrong decision. “We ride west. Towards Irtiza. It’s time to break the Vanico empire’s siege there.”
“Alf blesses our cause,” came Brother Krishan’s voice behind her, even as someone grumbled the city being three weeks of hard ride away.
Ruma punched her open fist. “Once we liberate the city, we will turn around and face this misguided so-called Mother of the believers! Then, I’ll be done.”
Four
Challenges
Ruma let out a deep breath, a massive headache pounding her temples as her generals continued to argue in the command tent.
“Say one more word and I’m going to smash your teeth, you simpering coward!” General Nodin clenched his fists, leaning toward General Restam. “Just give me the opportunity.”
“I… I am g-going to—” stuttered General Restam, taking a step backward, one hand rising as if to ward off the mercenary general’s attack. Outside her tent, tired horses neighed.
“Enough!” yelled Ruma. “This has gone far enough, and I’ve had it with both of you. With all of you in fact!”
“If there is indeed a traitor amongst us,” said General Nodin, his short, grey hair shining silver under the fading sunlight filtering into her command tent as he pointed with his inde
x finger, “it’s this sorry excuse of a man.”
“The zulzulat denies paradise to any man who fights for money,” snapped General Restam. “Do not forget your place, mercenary!”
“Oh, really?” scoffed General Nodin. “If one were to go far enough, the holy scriptures decry any fighting, do they not? Surely, a world like that would sit better with useless talkers like you.”
Heat flushing through her body, Ruma glared at the men. By Alf, her body was exhausted, she hadn’t had a good sleep for three nights, life had become a blur of long marches across the desert as they rushed for Irtiza, but this animosity between her generals was grating on her more than anything else.
“Nodin, Restam, I’ve grown weary. Either sort your issues or by all that’s fracking holy, I’ll get rid of both of you!”
“But—” started General Restam.
“You’re dismissed,” she snapped. “Both of you!”
Shoving his hands into his leather vest, General Nodin turned about. General Restam stood still, his nervous glance darting between her and the mercenary general. The tent flaps rose and Qaisan entered. “The men have decamped for the night—” Sensing the mood in the camp, he fell silent abruptly.
General Restam forced a cough, his chin dipping. “Lady, as per your command, I shall go check on the men.”
“As will I,” rumbled General Nodin.
Qaisan stepped aside, first letting General Restam shuffle past him, then the huffing mercenary commander. For a long moment, the scout who had become the eyes and ears of her army kept quiet, waiting to see if she’d say anything. Then he gave his moustache a final twirl, bobbing his head. “Maybe, I, too, should see if my scouts have returned.” Again, he waited, but she continued to fume wordlessly. He exited her tent, leaving her alone.
Ruma exhaled when the flaps dropped. No matter how shattered her body felt, her heart was thudding away at full speed.
