by Fuad Baloch
A part of her mocked the very idea. Who was she, Ruma Nuway, to even consider an idea as grand as this? She had always been the selfish survivor, seeking only that which benefited her all her life. All this was just play-acting, a role she was pushed into by the Pithrean, who might very well be dead now.
“Maybe,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I’ll be damned if I let the bastard Pithrean win.” The words gave her strength. Even if the First was dead, if she sat back and did nothing, she’d be helping his agenda. She couldn't let that happen. She had been happy walking away from the troubles of others with her father, but the First had snatched that life away from her. No matter. She would blind him, ensure his legacy vanished under the sands, even if the act took her down with it.
“Are you alright?” asked Yenita.
“Nothing changes,” Ruma replied. “We continue on to Irtiza.” The younger girl grunted, riding gracefully in her saddle.
Ruma’s eyes fell on a group of riders arguing to the right. She’d have ridden past them had it not been for a familiar face that caught her eye. She pulled up her reins, Yenita doing the same. Sivan and Gareeb were gesticulating at Qaisan, who must have circled back earlier. Her scout general kept shaking his head. A herald beside him flew the brown Scythe from a pole he carried in his left hand. Her pennant, her sigil. A symbol for men to rally around. A powerful, dangerous thing if not controlled properly.
The riders turned their heads towards them.
“Lady of the Sands!” one of them shouted.
“Lady of the Sands!” roared the others.
Sivan beamed, raising his hand first at her, then at his sister beside her.
Yenita groaned. “I should go see what my brother is up to. Don’t think it’s a good idea to let him carry a conversation by himself.”
“Probably not,” said Ruma. “He’d likely sell your inheritance for a pittance.”
Yenita giggled, the sound feeling all wrong in the gloom, yet forcing a much needed injection of life. “As I wait, it’s reducing by the moment.” She nodded, then rode off towards her brother.
Ruma loosened the reins, letting her horse walk onwards. She shouldn't have stopped here, and now she didn't know if she could ever shake away the memory of what she’d seen in the town centre. Moteka would have been bustling with activity today, had it not had a visit from the Vanico forces.
Crows cawed overhead. She raised her chin. Two vultures flew high in the sky, circling round and round, as if waiting for those still living to leave the dead for them.
“What a mess!” shouted Gareeb as he trotted up to her.
Ruma twisted the reins in her hand. “Tell Restam to bury the dead. We’re not going ahead until that’s done.”
“Nodin wouldn’t like the delay,” said Gareeb. “He’s pretty irate as it is.”
“I don’t care.”
Gareeb cleared his throat. “Qaisan has received word. Blessed Dadua’s delegation has camped at the oasis of Lanam, two days’ ride away to the west. They’re expecting us. We’d have to turn away from the main road to Irtiza, but if they can offer us soldiers, the delay would be worth it.”
Ruma grunted. “It seems the blasted fates conspire to slow me.”
Gareeb looked over his shoulder. “They’d have their demands, though. Might not be a straightforward meeting, that.”
Ruma shuffled in the saddle, weariness creeping into her movements. “I don’t care, Gareeb. I don’t understand them, and they don’t me.”
She turned as shouting broke out. Yenita was yelling, a finger thrust at Sivan. Even from the distance, Ruma could tell Yenita was pissed, and nothing Sivan said was making a difference. Ruma smiled. Yenita lived in a misogynistic society, but by God, she didn’t let it restrain her much. She was about to turn around when her gaze fell on Nodin and Restam heading back to their army. The two generals rode together but they might as well have been a mile apart judging by the coldness between them.
“Are you doing alright, Mzi? I mean, Lady?” Gareeb asked. He touched his throat as Ruma turned to him. “I mean… you ask everyone this question, but I doubt you ever get asked that.”
Ruma exhaled. “I can’t stop feeling that I’m… we’re sliding backwards even when we march forwards, Gareeb. Even if—when—we prevail over the Vanico forces surrounding Irtiza, we’d still have the Traditionalists to face.” She shook her head. “There is something I’m not seeing. And that scares me.”
Gareeb swallowed, still riding beside her.
After a while, she swept her hand back. “Ever considered painting this side of war for the generations to come?”
His shoulders slumped. “Don’t have the stomach for that.”
Ruma watched the young man for a long moment. “You’re a good man, Gareeb. In the midst of all this darkness, don’t forget that.”
“Aye, Lady.”
“Tell Restam to bury the dead.” She nodded. “They deserve that much at least. Then, tell Nodin to chart a part to this oasis. Let’s see if the delegation from Dadua has anything to offer beyond more delays.”
Six
The True Cost
Ruma squared her shoulders, glaring at the pitched tent fifty yards ahead in the middle of the oasis. “I don’t need all of you to come with me. I’m perfectly capable on my own.”
“We serve the Lady of the Sands,” said Qaisan, his eyes darting between the tent and the swaying palm trees around it, his face covered by the grey mask he’d slipped on once more. “If you ask me to sacrifice my life, I’d do that willingly. But know this, by asking me to stay behind when there is a chance of the enemy ambushing you, you sentence me to a worse fate. If anything were to happen that I could have prevented, Alf will never forgive me.”
“Qaisan speaks the truth,” drawled General Nodin. His brows were furrowed, his massive forearms crossed over his chest. He appeared at rest, but Ruma had seen him fight. At a moment’s notice, the sword strapped to his waist would come out, and once it did, it’d only go back bloody. “We can’t afford surprises.”
Yenita shrugged, standing half a step behind the other members of her council. Even General Restam was nodding.
Brother Hadyan stepped in between the two generals, his white robes unblemished, the brown Scythe sitting proudly on his chest. “We must make allies in the name of Alf, for what He loves more than one believer is a group of them.”
Ruma arched an eyebrow, aware of her soldiers watching on from the distance. She carried their hopes and aspirations here. Hers were a tired group who had been beaten a number of times, but here was finally an opportunity of finding allies before engaging the Vanico forces surrounding holy Irtiza.
Yet, one of these four men was very probably a spy. She couldn't really afford details of her talks with this group to leak to Yasmeen she believed behind the traitor. The woman was playing an elaborate game, letting her spy help the Vanico forces Lady’s Light had been attacking to draw attention away from the Traditionalists. A ruse Ruma could see through easily—or so she hoped. She shifted her weight to her right leg. She’d eventually have to address the matter, but with Yasmeen licking her wounds for the moment, Ruma doubted the Traditionalists would be that keen to keep up with her ragtag army.
“Lady?” pressed Brother Hadyan, his dark eyes emotionless, his voice flat.
“If Alf wishes to support my cause, I’m enough by myself,” she said. “And if he wanted me destroyed, the whole world couldn't stop him.”
Brother Hadyan nodded grimly. “True words.” General Nodin turned away as General Restam muttered something under his breath.
Ruma exhaled, preparing herself for what lay ahead. The delegation from followers of Dadua Contee. She didn't know much about the prophet’s companion apart from the basics. He’d been one of the first people to believe in Gulatu Koza’s claims of being Alf’s prophet. A wealthy merchant who had supported the early believers both monetarily and politically. After Gulatu, he had been assumed the de facto leader of the believ
ers, until Turbaza Dia had led the revolt against him.
Her chest tingled. Whatever had happened in the past, whatever the impulses that had moved these men, all of them were well and truly gone now. All that mattered was forging an alliance which she could use against the Traditionalists and ascendant Vanico forces.
She was dithering, she knew. Each minute she wasted, her task became that much harder. Yet, doubts swirled within her. What would these followers of Dadua want in return for supporting her? No matter how much she had pressed Qaisan during their march to the oasis, he had been unable to get word on their motivations. Would they ridicule the claim that she was the Lady of the Sands, the one promised by prophet Pasalman? She’d been the one to plan the attack which had resulted in Bubraza’s death. Would they take her to task for that?
“Argh,” she exclaimed in annoyance, slapping her thigh with her left hand. Faces turned towards her. She pointed at Yenita. “You, come with me.” Then, without waiting for her response or others’ objections, started for the tent.
A warm breeze buffeted her. Grabbing the end of her veil with one hand, she gritted her teeth, tasting something sour in the back of her throat. Yenita ran up to her. Like her, she too had covered her hair with a grey veil.
“The Blessed Dadua’s followers have at least three thousand soldiers stationed outside the town of Sanamp, Sivan and I heard from a merchant caravan returning from Irtiza,” Yenita rasped. “Seasoned warriors, that lot. If they join our cause, we can take on both the Vanico and Traditionalist bastards.”
“Hmm,” grunted Ruma.
“Can I offer a word?”
Ruma wheeled around. “What?”
Yenita rubbed her eyebrows. “Our—your—men are getting desperate even if they don’t show it. They seek answers. Might not be a terrible idea to let the other councillors join us as well to keep rumours from running away.” She raised a hand as if to placate Ruma. “I dislike these men more than even you, but they are well known in these lands, and if they know these delegates, it would only help our cause.”
Ruma fumed. They stood halfway between her councillors and the delegation’s tent. Yenita knew none of her real reasons, Ruma’s fault really for not trusting anyone, but there was no denying the girl had a point. Yes, there was the chance of her discussion leaking, but at the end of the day, there might be advantage to be gained despite the risks. “Very well, let’s roll the die.”
“Huh?”
Ruma shook her head, then waved at Restam and others. “Join me.”
Together, she and the leadership of her army marched towards the palm trees. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Brother Hadyan give Yenita a smile. Two guards stood outside the large tent beside the tallest palm tree. Not her men, she could tell, by the manner their eyes grew wide when they drew closer. Exchanging a glance, they bowed their heads, then stepped aside.
Taking in a deep lungful of air, Ruma lifted the flaps and entered the tent, Yenita a step behind her, the others following suit.
Voices within grew quiet. Heads turned towards them. Keeping her head high, Ruma stomped over the rich carpet until she stood in the centre of the vast tent. Six men and three women rose from their cushions, their features made hazy by the fog of burning incense. The men wore black conical hats, their robes dusty but clean. The women were dressed in black as well, although their ears glittered with silver and gold earrings under crimson veils.
“Behold, the Lady of the Sands stands in your midst!” announced Brother Hadyan behind her. Ruma rolled her eyes, feeling no more comfortable for having the lot with her. Maybe her initial instinct had been right.
No one spoke for long breaths, members of the delegation staring at her, smoke rising from teapots set to the side.
Ruma felt the prickle of unease. She could tell she was being judged, her measure being taken. Time slipped. She was a little girl again, wanting to win her father’s approval, butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she waited for his pronouncement. Ruma squirmed. The little girl gave way to the young Arkos lieutenant hoping she could keep her past with the Misguided from ever coming out, praying she wouldn't be kicked out of the best job she had ever held.
Yenita cleared her throat and when Ruma turned to look at her, the merchant girl smiled. Ruma smiled too, feeling warmth spread in her belly. Then, she forced her gaze towards the occupants, her smile growing hard. “I hope you didn't find the travelling too taxing.”
“Alf kept us from harm,” said the wizened man directly ahead. He dabbed at his deeply lined forehead with his left hand, his beady eyes blinking, squinting at her. She didn't miss the fact he used no title to address her.
“We have need of you,” said General Restam, his whiny voice grating on Ruma’s ears, “and you seek the same of us. Let us work together to return peace to the peninsula.”
The old man offered a solemn nod and the general fell silent. General Nodin took a discreet step back, his right hand lowering, hanging inches from his sword. The delegation might have been made up of older men and women, but that seemed to matter little to him. Qaisan stood at the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, his hands hidden under the wide sleeves where no doubt he kept daggers. Only Gareeb seemed truly overwhelmed by the occasion. He stood beside Yenita, the corner of his mouth twitching, his shoulders slumped.
The old man, who must have been their leader, took a shaky step towards her. “What were her last words?”
Ruma blinked. “What?”
“Her last words, girl,” he repeated loudly this time.
“You mean… Bubraza’s?”
A whimper escaped his chest and he swayed on his feet. He would have collapsed had one of the women not rushed ahead to steady him by the elbow. “I’m Popoan,” he said, smiling through the few teeth he still had. “Old enough to remember her as a wee little thing playing in my lap. Alf’s great test, this is indeed, to allow me to live, but take away a light as bright as her.”
Ruma exhaled, feeling some of her tension give way to a cocktail of heavy emotions.
“Will you tell me what she said?” croaked Popoan. “For the love of Alf?”
Ruma squeezed her eyes shut for a second, fighting to keep her thoughts ordered. “I was telling her the extent of her injuries,” she said slowly, “and she… called me a liar for hiding how bad they truly were.”
Popoan leaned over, hands on his knees. “Oh, Alf.” The woman beside him had gone pale, the others staring at her. Ruma rubbed her hands together. This audience wasn’t going the way she had planned.
“You witnessed the Uniter’s final moments?” asked the woman, her eyes moist under the flickering torchlight. “You actually did?”
“Aye.”
“The Uniter lives on,” droned Brother Hadyan behind her. “She’s here in the flesh, in our Lady of the Sands.”
The woman beside Popoan shook her head, her eyes growing hard. “The Uniter has returned to Alf.” She raised a quivering finger towards Ruma. “Whoever she is, she is not the Uniter.”
“Enough!” snapped Ruma. Popoan jerked his head up. Brother Hadyan took a step forward to stand beside her. “What does it matter who’s called what? At the end of the day, one half of this peninsula is being torn to shreds by the Vanico soldiers, and what’s left, Yasmeen and her Traditionalists are busy looting. This cannot continue!”
“Wise words,” said General Restam. “Now, as I was saying—”
“The Uniter is truly dead!” wailed the woman. Popoan reached out but he was too late. She crumpled to the ground and began wailing. “Oh, we’ll really never see her again!” The other delegates were crying as well, making no attempt to wipe their faces.
Ruma heard someone sob behind her. Behind her. Gareeb. The only other witness beside her who had seen the passing of one everyone had hoped would heal the divides between various factions.
“Do you know where they buried her?” asked Popoan, his voice breaking as he struggled to pull the woman up.
Ruma clen
ched her fingers. “I…” she trailed away. Truth was, she hadn’t really given much thought to what had happened to Bubraza’s body when they had fled. All she remembered of the time was her helplessness at trying to save the dying woman and the rage she’d felt towards the Pithrean for tricking her.
“The Blessed Mother had her buried,” said Popoan. “Do you know where?”
Ruma shook her head, looking at her councillors. Yenita stood rigid, her jaw clenched tight. Gareeb dabbed at his eyes. General Restam continued to shuffle his weight, his jaw opening and shutting without saying anything.
“An unmarked grave,” murmured Yenita, her words low enough so only Ruma heard them. “A fitting end for her!”
“Alf has blessed the life of Bubraza,” intoned Brother Hadyan. He pointed at Ruma. “And He’s blessed this woman as well. The promised one, foretold by the prophets.”
One of the delegates shook his head. “False, fabricated zulzulat.”
“We are not far from Irtiza,” said General Restam. He raised a pleading hand. “You command thousands of believers. Join your forces with ours, support our noble goal to free the peninsula and Alf will be most pleased.”
Popoan’s weak chest heaved. Still crying, the woman clambered back to her feet. An older woman pulled her into a tight embrace. “We must have revenge,” said Popoan. “You have captured a hundred Traditionalists. Give them to us.”
“Why?” Ruma demanded.
“We must have our revenge,” repeated Popoan. “And you must promise that any Traditionalist you capture in the future will not be pressed into slavery or made to fight under your banner. Each and every one of them will be passed to us.”
