Shifting Sands

by Fuad Baloch

Something was wrong. A cloud of blue surrounded it, a silver latticework of lines connecting the Shard to the figures she had seen before. The Yeth… and others beside them as well. She squinted. Had they always been there, these tiny figures draped in blue, marching beside the lumbering automatons? They looked familiar. Humans… shuffling forward, one behind the other, their hands spread up high as if… as if they were supplicating.

  “Priests!”

  Ruma willed herself into attention. The world shifted, the view growing closer for her. More than ever, the Shard called out to her, offering her promises and temptations she couldn't resist for long. A dozen of the small blue figures, wearing blue stoles, collapsed, the embers of their dying beings floating up towards the Shard. The cursed thing accepted them, growing a little brighter with the death of each priest. Entropy would claim it eventually, but each little sacrifice bought the Shard time.

  “The priests… serve you?”

  The First kept quiet.

  Disquiet grew within her, arresting all other thoughts. She moved in closer, the Shard as large as a castle now to her sight. A complex interwork was under play: the priests lending their strength, their life, to the Shard, which in turn kept some of it for its sustenance, whilst channelling the rest towards the Yeth.

  “You’re… talking with the Yeth?” Ruma demanded. Terror, the likes of which she had never known before, engulfed her. “Are you sending messages to them… in the future?”

  “Leave this world, human.”

  Ruma didn't answer straight away. This time, she took her time, allowing the dreadful scene ahead to truly claim her. The Pithrean hadn't only been keeping itself alive, but it was passing messages to the Yeth. A god corresponding with his created only meant one thing based on all the scriptures she’d ever read: a terrible fate for those who disbelieved.

  “No!”

  The Shard shuddered, the figures in blue turning their attention towards her.

  “My job isn’t finished yet!”

  Blackness rushed towards her, the Shard and the priest and the Yeth all disappearing into the nothingness.

  Consciousness faded, returned for the briefest of moments in spurts of horror, then receded once more.

  Voices rose. Not the terrible words of the First, booming within her, but from around her. Human voices!

  “Lady!” someone yelled.

  Ruma tried opening her eyes. An impossible task. She felt a hand fall on her shoulder, a part she thought she didn't have anymore. Another pushed back the hair from her forehead.

  Voices argued, the words indecipherable now even as the concern in their tones warmed her to the core. Dimly, she felt the rays of sun warming her skin.

  Over all of it, though, memory of what she’d seen reigned supreme.

  The war she had been fighting was far from finished, its end scripted to be played out centuries in the future.

  All this… had been a preamble for the real war awaiting her.

  The worst was still to come.

  Thirty-Two

  Commandments of God

  Warmth.

  Light.

  Consciousness returned with a bang.

  Ruma coughed, her eyes snapping open. She was on the ground, the vast blue sky spread overhead. A camel bleated somewhere to her right. She tried turning her neck. Lances of pain shot through her body. Whimpering, she stayed still, letting her senses feed on the world.

  “Alf be praised,” cried someone. Then, Brother Krishan was peering at her, his features twisted in consternation. He raised his chin, spreading both hands. “Blessed be thy name Lord of the Worlds for all your favours upon us!”

  Revulsion filled her. “Get off me!” she croaked.

  Boots marched towards her. “Lady!” Gareeb cried. He bent down, tears running down his cheeks. “We’d feared the worst when we found you last night.”

  Ruma blinked, her tongue rough as sandpaper when she tried to talk. She coughed, then raised her right index finger. “Water…”

  A wave of darkness rolled over her and she groaned. Hands raised her up gently, water sploshing in a skin when she opened her eyes again. She nodded and Gareeb raised the skin to her mouth. The water was warm, salty, and she coughed it right back on her first swig. Wiping her mouth, she tried again, gulping it down greedily. Gareeb sat down beside her, one hand at her back holding her up, helping her drink like a father might feed his daughter.

  When Ruma finally pushed the skin back, her eyes fell on Nodin. The mercenary general stood beside Brother Krishan, his face as inscrutable as before. The sun was to his right, his fresh scars healing poorly. Another day, Ruma might have worried what the general thought. Right now, she couldn’t care less as her gaze found the blue stole lying beside her.

  “Brother Krishan,” she croaked. “Approach.”

  The priest went pale. But he did as she had asked. For long moments, Ruma sat quietly, her mind recalling the dread of what she had seen in the desert, her memory playing the scene over and over. Gareeb rose and stood beside General Nodin, the two men she trusted the most in this world looking at her in their own peculiar ways. To the right, out of earshot, the other soldiers she had fled with tended to the animals. The horses whinnied, the neck of one of them lathered as if it had been ridden hard recently.

  “Krishan,” she said, locking eyes with the priest. “I don’t have time for your dissembling, so when I ask you questions, I need a straight answer.”

  “As the Lady commands,” he replied, rocking on his toes. She glared at him. He rubbed at his forehead, the bells tinkling in his conical hat.

  “These visions that Hadyan saw…” She paused to cough, then took another swig from the skin. “Did you see all of them?”

  The priest gulped. Ruma felt her heartbeat quicken. Some sort of a mental war was playing out within his heart, his face unable to hide the inner anguish.

  “Krishan, I need an answer!” she snapped. From the corner of her eye, she saw General Nodin stand straighter, his hand hovering beside the hilt of his sword.

  Brother Krishan hung his head. “Aye, I did.”

  Ruma exhaled. “As did the other priests?”

  “Aye.”

  The silence stretched as Ruma considered him. Gareeb looked at her, then at the priest as if wondering what the fuss was about. Ruma narrowed her eyes. “Did you see visions that prohibited me attacking Yasmeen?”

  The priest nodded. General Nodin inched in closer, his face growing dark.

  “And did this God of yours command you to support Yenita’s cause over mine?”

  Gareeb gasped. General Nodin drew his sword, holding it out in front. The priest gave a stifled cry, and fell to a prostration. “Oh Alf, Lord of the Worlds, give me the wisdom to see the right path.”

  “I’m right here,” Ruma said simply. “Answer me, or you’ll see Him soon enough.”

  The priest broke into hysterical sobbing, his head buried in the sand, his hat slipping off.

  “Priest, I grow impatient,” hissed General Nodin. He kicked the priest on his rump. Krishan went sprawling forward. “Answer the Lady!”

  Ruma watched the priest for a long moment, then raised her hand to stop the mercenary general. She inclined her chin. High up, a cover of clouds was coming in from the western horizon. It was flimsy enough and wouldn't dim the sunlight appreciably, nor did it carry enough vapour to shower Alf’s blessings down on the thirsty sands. Come to think of it, had she ever seen it rain here? Ruma cracked her lips. How long had it been since she’d last let fresh rainwater trickle down her hair? Her heart ached. How long had it been when she had breathed the scent of soil after fresh rainfall?

  “Krishan, the Charlatan has been using you,” she said, turning her eyes back to the whimpering priest. “What you saw wasn’t from Alf. Instead it was the work of a most vile creature, who has devoted his entire life to our destruction for his own nefarious purposes.”

  “But I saw…” the priest sobbed. “As did my brothers. The Charlatan lack
s the power to deceive us all. The zulzulat says so.”

  “You deceived yourselves, Krishan,” Ruma said softly.

  The distant soldiers couldn’t quite hear them, but they were standing at attention, aware that something wasn’t quite right. Her stomach growled. Spotting a plate of dates set by her side, she reached for it, popped one in her mouth. Dry, like everything else in this world, but she’d never tasted anything finer.

  “I… Was that truly the Charlatan?” the priest asked, still curled up in the foetal position.

  “Yes,” she said. General Nodin threw her a startled stare, his eyebrows raised. “Sit up, Krishan.”

  He did, tears and sand sticking to his face. Wiping snot off his face with a sleeve, he trembled, his lips mumbling. Finally, the tall priest focused his eyes on her. “Aye, I saw the vision to support Yenita just as you describe.”

  Ruma nodded, feeling restlessness grow within her. “Yet, you didn’t support Yenita.” She waved weakly behind her. “Nor have you given away our positions.”

  He hung his head again. “I feared my faith was weak for ignoring the clear signs and still supporting you.”

  “Ah, I’ve finally found someone of true faith, owner of a belief that wavers, and turns of its own will.” Shaking her head, Ruma reached a hand out to Gareeb. Grabbing onto his, she hobbled up, and tried taking a step forward. She swayed, the world tilting all out of balance, but then Gareeb was there, her pillar, General Nodin right beside him.

  “Brother Hadyan was the first one to see the visions,” continued the priest. “At first, he declared that Alf commanded us to support Yasmeen over the Uniter. When she was dead, he switched his allegiance to you. Then was when we all started seeing the visions as well.”

  Ruma nodded. “That would be when I said no to the bastard.”

  “Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Blowing out her cheeks, Ruma trudged towards the horses.

  “Lady!” said Gareeb, stepping forward to block her way. “What’s on your mind?”

  Ruma swallowed, fighting the cold that was beginning to seep into her bones despite the sun. “Time’s almost out. I need to put this to an end.”

  General Nodin strode up to them, his sword still clutched in his right hand. “No matter what the priest claims he saw, the basic fundamentals haven’t changed. If anything, his admission means that we might find it harder to muster enough strength to face Yenita.”

  Ruma shook her head, sweeping her gaze from one man to the other. “You don’t know.” She chuckled drily. “You have no idea. She is the one. Regardless, Yasmeen has to survive.” She nodded. “Yes, it has to be that way.”

  Gareeb exchanged a worried glance with General Nodin. “Lady—”

  “Listen to me, both of you. A war is brewing, its outlines only now becoming clear to me.” She waved her hand about, a bittersweet feeling washing over her seeing the world that wasn’t hers, but in so many ways had defined her better than hers ever could. “Beyond all you can see are dark worlds and domains, hosts to beings far more frightful than any you can imagine. We must right our affairs to prepare for them.”

  General Nodin cleared his throat, his expression thoughtful. “What would you have us do, Lady of the Sands?”

  “Take me to Yenita. She must see what she needs to do.” Ruma exhaled. “And then… and then, this ends. For now. For the moment.”

  Thirty-Three

  Deaths and Births

  The priests chanted the evening prayers, their sonorous voices and bells beckoning the believers towards them. Her fingers clenched, the full-face veil stifling against her mouth, Ruma forced herself to look straight.

  “Keep moving,” she hissed as Brother Krishan turned his chin towards the congregation. The priest nodded. They passed two holy men of Alf, their robes soiled with the scent of musk and wood incense, their arms raised towards the dark sky. In the flickering torches, the priests looked more like cheap props one might see in holo movies’ backgrounds for lending authenticity, but they were real enough.

  “Alf is great!” shouted a soldier in front of the priests, throwing himself to his knees as Ruma walked past him.

  “May His prophet be pleased with us!” responded the soldiers beside him, bowing, and placing their foreheads to the sands.

  Ruma shuffled past them, keeping a half-step behind Brother Krishan. Hard to believe these used to be her men, the very force forged in her name to fight against Yasmeen. Now, though, these were men with very different loyalties, their souls corrupted by the priests who in turn had intoxicated themselves on the vain promises made by the Pithrean.

  “Out of the way, young men,” said Brother Krishan as two soldiers blocked their way. His voice quavered—a bad sign—but draped in his priestly garb, leading a masked woman, the soldiers thought it better not to challenge him. They stepped aside. Ruma exhaled as they walked past them.

  “We should have waited a few days,” Brother Krishan whined, turning his neck towards her. “They will be expecting us.”

  “I don’t have time, Priest!” she hissed back. “After what I’ve seen, I can’t let that monster show your fellow priests any more of these night visions. It has to be before nightfall.”

  Brother Krishan hung his head. He didn’t look convinced, but that wasn’t something Ruma much cared for. Her insides churned, her heart leaping to her mouth whenever someone glared at her. Maybe she had been too hasty. Maybe she should have thought her plan through a bit more instead of just rushing through with it. Accompanied by the priest or not, a masked woman moving between ravenous men was bound to attract wagging tongues and lustful gazes.

  Ruma inclined her chin. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon now, both moons out in force. Her heart twisted at the sight. Soon, this would all be over. All of this.

  “Halt!” shouted someone outside the largest tent in Mukkur.

  They did.

  A soldier sauntered over to them. “State your business, Priest!”

  “I’m Brother Krishan,” said the priest, turning his chin upwards. If the intention was to show his defiance, his shaking arms spoiled the effect somewhat. “I request an audience with the Lady.”

  Ruma gritted her teeth. She’d never taken to herself being called the Lady, and so it shouldn’t have mattered if the very people who had called her that chose to pass that on to someone else, yet there was no denying the barb she felt in her heart.

  “Who’s this woman?” asked the soldier, cocking his head to the side, smirking widely.

  “Sister Eilana, the most high ambassador of Popoan, leader of the followers of Wise Dadua Contee.”

  “Is she really?” challenged the soldier, his voice losing none of its mocking. “Before the month is over, the Lady will come for you lot, too. Either you misguided bunch will submit to the Lord of the Worlds or be annihilated. And then—”

  “Shut up,” growled Ruma, unable to keep herself quiet anymore. “I’ve come with an offer of alliance for the… Lady. Take me to her right now, or I turn away right this moment!”

  “If believers die because of you,” said Brother Krishan, raising his index finger at the obstinate man, “may the fires of hell feast upon your soul for eternity.”

  The soldier glared at them for a long breath. Ruma rubbed her hands. Would he demand her to remove her face veil? What would they do to her once they found out who she was? She swept her gaze to the left. There, surrounded by fifty soldiers, was the other large tent. Yasmeen’s. It appeared Yenita did intend to keep the prophet’s wife alive, to make a spectacle just as she had vowed. As Ruma was beginning to find out, her erstwhile companion had always been good with her promises.

  Again, her eyes crossed over to the dark sky, focussing on the empty blackness between the heavenly bodies.

  “Wait here.” The soldier strutted towards the tent, knocked gently, then went in.

  “Oh, Alf!” muttered Brother Krishan. “Have mercy on us all!”

  Ruma kept silent. An eerie silence
had fallen on the camp now that the priests had stopped chanting. The ritual prayer finished, the congregations would be staring at the heavens like she had been, their arms outstretched to receive Alf’s blessings. Ruma wanted to both chuckle and lash out at them in equal measure. Instead, she rocked on her feet to curb her restlessness. Brother Krishan glared at her and she realised she had been humming softly. The Rains of Egania, a tune her mother used to sing to her when she was a child.

  Before more sentimentality would seep into her, Ruma chewed on her lower lip so hard she drew blood. Nodding, she stared at the tent. Time passed on painfully. Voices broke out around them. The prayers were done for the day. Now, the men would gather around cook pots, regale each other with boastful tales of glories and of accolades won and lost at battles, compare the women they had fucked, and berate the conquests of others. None of that was her concern. Ruma curled her fingers, the veil choking her breath. If she lost this chance, this leap of faith she had taken, the First would get another opportunity to talk to his minions when they fell asleep.

  Once that happened, her chance was gone for good.

  The soldier emerged from the tent. “You may enter.”

  Ruma blinked. As they shuffled past the soldier who stood to his side, she marvelled at the fact they hadn’t even searched her. Then, as she entered the tent, she saw the four soldiers standing within, their postures rigid, their wrathful glares pointed at them.

  Unlike Yasmeen, Yenita lay sprawled on the divan at the opposite end. A torch burned beside her, lending a golden light to her features. Though she wore loose-fitting robes, as she sat up straight, the game of light and shadows bringing out her curves, Ruma gasped. She’d seen the image before, she was certain, though she couldn't quite remember where.

  Yenita squinted. “What do the followers of the wise merchant Dadua Contee propose?”

  Ruma couldn’t stop a wry smile from spreading underneath the mask. “You sound more like a merchant girl than a leader of believers!”