The Best Weapon

by David Pilling

  Eventually, he had succeeded in uniting the five tribes under a shaky but manageable truce. He had promised them glory, an ever-lasting legacy. And he had promised them that if they followed him to war, united as one, they would once again unite the people of the Southern Sands and bring a return of their triumphant past, which they only heard about in stories and songs.

  It was a feat which had not been accomplished since the empire of the Southern Sands had broken up during their wars with the Old Kingdom, a thousand years previously. Fiercely proud, and not interested in material wealth, the Caliphs could not be bought or bribed. They had to be sold an idea, a vision, an image of valour and righteousness. Being a sneaky, thieving, silver-tongued scoundrel, Husan al Din was the man for the job, and if all his promises were not eventually fulfilled, they would probably have his balls on a platter.

  Husan al Din had learned something in the last month. He had learned that making war is a lot easier, and a lot more fun, than making peace. And making peace gave you a bastard of a headache.

  So now he lay in cherished solitude and prayed that he would not be disturbed. It was late afternoon and he could hear the muffled sounds of a few of his men stirring. But he knew they would not be doing much other than eating, drinking and smoking. It was too hot for any drama.

  He yawned long and wide, stretching and groaning, feeling various joints clicking and creaking. Finally, with a satisfying burst of flatulence, he began to drift into a muggy slumber, easing his whistling sinuses into a deep, rumbling snore.

  "Husan al Din, what news do you have for me? Tell me everything. We must be on the move within a few days."

  He spasmed with fright and rolled sideways out of his hammock, thrashed around on the floor trying to untangle himself from his kaftan, his head-scarf and the wet cloth. Eventually he sat up, having ripped the cloth off his head, and stared at Kayla.

  "How did you get past Basim?"

  "I didn't get past Basim."

  "What? You frightened the shit out me. Again!"

  "I cannot be held responsible for your unorthodox sleeping habits."

  Just then Basim ran into the tent. He was a mountain of a man with a giant scimitar at his waist. "Husan al Din! What's happening?"

  "I have been disturbed, Basim, that's what's happening. I specifically told you not to allow any interruptions to my slumber. I am fucking exhausted!" Sweat shook from Husan al Din's round, unshaven face as he berated his guard.

  Basim wheeled around and drew his sword as he noticed Kayla, sitting at the opposite side of the tent, legs crossed.

  "Put your sword away Basim, she is a friend. I think." Husan al Din waved a trembling hand.

  "How did she get past me?"

  "I didn't get past you."

  "What?"

  "Just go back to your post and do not let anyone else in here." Husan al Din climbed back into his hammock.

  "Have you done as I asked?" Kayla was straight to the point. No small talk, and no apology for nearly stopping his heart, for a second time. "You look weak, are you ill?"

  "Ill? Weak?" He couldn't believe his ears. "I have barely slept in a month! I have managed to unite four of the biggest egos south of the Girdle Sea! Something which has not been achieved in a thousand years. And I did it in a month! I have amassed the biggest army that has ever been seen by any living man. Ill? I am fucked. Absolutely fucked!"

  "Excellent," replied Kayla, "you have done well."

  "Oh, thank you!" Husan al Din put his hands together and fluttered his eye lashes. "I live for your praise, oh merciful Kayla."

  Kayla frowned at him. "There are three Caliphs with their armies here, including you. That's twelve thousand men. When do the other two arrive?"

  He reached for his hookah, pulled a lump of brown weed from a pouch which hung around his neck beneath his kaftan, stuffed it in the bowl and then glanced around the tent distractedly, scratching his beard.

  "Basim! Basim!" He yelled at the doorway.

  Basim appeared. "Yes, Caliph?"

  "Fetch me a flame." Basim vanished again.

  "What is that?" Kayla asked, nodding at his long pipe.

  "Medicinal. Keeps me regular. Negotiating until all hours of the night with these stubborn Caliphs has made me wretchedly constipated." He leaned over to one side, grimaced and released a long, whining fart which sounded like a baby crying. "Aaah, get out, you bastard! I feel like I've swallowed a camel's hump."

  That cheered him up, momentarily, and he grinned at Kayla.

  "The rest are on their way, they should all be here by sundown tomorrow."

  Suddenly there was a commotion outside. Men arguing, then being silenced by Basim's booming voice, then he burst through the doorway with two warriors. He carried each by the scruff of his neck, their feet dangling inches from the sand, and dumped them on their knees.

  "Basim! What now? What has got into you lately?"

  "I am sorry, my Caliph. There was a fight, these two have a disagreement and demand your judgement."

  Husan al Din looked down at the two men. "Rafiq. Usaim. What's the problem? And make it quick. I am very busy."

  "I have no idea, Most Merciful." Rafiq answered his Caliph, head down. "I was attacked by Usaim. He has gone crazy."

  Usaim was struggling to contain his rage in his leader's tent. "I did attack him! I attacked him because he groped my wife! Not for the first time. I'll kill him if he does it again!"

  "Usaim," Husan al Din sighed, "you know very well that the law demands that disputes are settled by the judgement of the Caliph."

  "Yes, Most Merciful, a thousand apologies. But I speak the truth!"

  "You are forgiven, Usaim, as always you are humble enough to accept a small rebuke." He waved a hand to dismiss the warrior.

  "Thank you, Your Most Merciful." Usaim stood and was ushered out by Basim.

  "As for you, Rafiq," Husan al Din stood and began to unfasten his belt, "how many warnings must I give you? Find your own damn woman, and stop trying it on with everyone else's!"

  "It is not true, Your Most Merciful! Please! I am innocent!"

  Husan al Din had his belt off now, and he threw his Khanjar onto his hammock.

  "You dirty little bastard, Rafiq!" He bellowed, lashing him with the long strip of leather, the buckled end making great welts on his bare back.

  "When will you learn?" He lashed him once for each word.

  Rafiq crawled towards the door, squealing like a pig, but Basim blocked his way. He writhed around in circles, screaming.

  "Mercy! Please! Mercy!"

  "I told you, Rafiq! Get your own woman!"

  Husan al Din eventually stopped. He wiped his brow, panting. Rafiq was curled up in a ball at Basim's feet, shaking and whimpering.

  "Basim, get rid of this wretch, and for the love of Fallah, bring me a flame!"

  His bodyguard dragged Rafiq out, leaving a bloody stripe in the sand.

  "Naiyar waits at the Tear Drop." Kayla continued as though she hadn't noticed a man being beaten half to death.

  "Isn't that a sacred rock? The solidified tear of a god or some such nonsense?" He replied, settling back down in his hammock and scratching his groin.

  "Yes. Worshipped by an ancient faith. People who lived in this desert even before the Sharib were here, and believed that their god, the creator of the world, shed a single tear when he saw the greed and cruelty of man. When the tear hit the earth it instantly solidified, and sits there forever as a reminder that every human will one day answer for their deeds. To those people it was sacred. There are few of them left now, scratching a living on the Morsel. They have been known to make pilgrimages to the Tear Drop, but no one has for a long time."

  Husan al Din grunted. "Is it?"

  "Is it what?"

  "The teardrop of a god?"

  Just then Basim walked in with a glowing twig and a jug of wine.

  "At last! Excellent! By the beard of the Most High, I am thirsty!"

  * * * *

 
; Husan al Din sat atop his camel, smoking his pipe. It was mid-afternoon. The other two Caliphs had arrived during the morning, bringing with them eight thousand men. The stink of sweat and camel shit made him grimace.

  His head had begun to ache again during the day as the Caliphs announced their pointlessly long, self-given titles. In previous times a Caliph would have had an announcer, but announcers had become scarce due to the increasingly harsh punishments given out for getting their masters' ridiculous names wrong. So now, Caliphs announced themselves, and they enjoyed it.

  First to announce himself was Aban, The Immense and Unending Generosity, Grand War-Chief of the Second Army of the Southern Sands.

  He was followed by Sumrah, The Entirely Veritable Oasis of Truth of the First Army.

  Then Ghassan, The Notably Tremendous and Undying Well of Sunshine, Caliph of the Fourth Army. Followed by Omar, Undeniably Glorious Thirst Quencher, Caliph of the Third.

  Of course, Husan al Din had to have his own ridiculous title, and he had to announce himself too. Not because he wanted to; he hated it. But because he too was a Caliph, and if he didn't have a long, convoluted title, someone might get the idea he wasn't as important. And that's when wars start. Besides, it was a custom, and customs couldn't be ignored.

  So, Husan al Din, Most Merciful and Splendid Indulger of the Brave, Caliph of the Fifth Army of the Southern Sands, filled the bowl of his pipe once more and tried to sooth his aching head.

  "Husan al Din." He knew that voice, not so much a terrifying goddess any more as a nagging wife, and he had enough of them already.

  "Kayla, how delightfully you glow in the sunlight." He squinted at his tormentor as she drew alongside him on her camel. Her wretchedly yellow head pierced his eyeballs with its burning glow. He knew then why the Sharib were dark skinned and black haired; because yellow-haired, white people wouldn't be able to look at each other in the desert sun without getting a headache. No, white people belonged in dull, rainy, depressing places where you freeze your ass off, eat tasteless gruel and hump fat, sour-faced cows.

  "We ride in an hour."

  "Lizard shit, woman! Are you mad? I can't mobilize twenty thousand men in an hour! We ride at dawn."

  "The Djanki army are already moving. We must reach the Tear Drop first or Naiyar will be killed. I have already given the word to the other Caliphs and they are preparing to march."

  "Just who is in charge here?"

  "I am, but they think it was you who gave the orders."

  "I should be giving the orders, damn it! I'll be ridiculed if they think a woman gives my orders for me." This conversation was doing nothing to ease his headache.

  "I don't think you understand. I appeared to them as you, they think you gave the orders directly."

  Husan al Din grunted. He had to grudgingly admit that he was glad he had someone to deal with the Caliphs for him. "Well, see that you consult me first in future."

  "Very well," she replied, "the Fifth Army will also be ready in an hour, Most Merciful, so make sure you are too."

  He looked at her, any argument he could think of already rendered utterly impotent, and rode away swearing to himself.

  8.

  Naiyar drifted in the void. Colours and flashes of light wandered in and out of view. Faces appeared faintly with garbled voices and distant sounds, then disappeared to be replaced by strange scenes involving people he had never seen, and some he vaguely recognised.

  Occasionally some obscure vision or small piece of information would briefly make sense to him, then be whisked away in the general ebb and flow.

  Then he heard a voice. A young girl's voice, unlike all the other sounds he had heard.

  "Naiyar."

  He felt his heart jump as he recognised the voice calling his name. Evva.

  "Naiyar." He could hear her clearly but he couldn't see her face.

  It felt as if he had woken from a deep sleep. He felt refreshed, full of energy. In fact he had never felt better. He gazed around him. He was back on the rock, in the desert. He was sat cross-legged and facing the empty landscape. A cool breeze caressed his skin.

  "Naiyar." Evva was right behind him.

  He spun around. "Evva! I missed you!" Tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

  Evva sat opposite him in the same position, smiling at him. "But I have been with you Naiyar. I will always be with you."

  "But I saw Grizzal, I saw you—"

  "Hush, Naiyar. I am free now. That doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you are strong. You have something very important to do."

  "I know. But I can't do it without you." Naiyar's tears continued to flow, clouding his vision and frustrating him.

  "But I am with you. We are with you. And you must never forget that. We are all with you."

  "Who is?"

  "You know who, Naiyar—all of us."

  "I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry Evva. I shouldn't have let you die."

  "You had no choice. Poor Naiyar." She reached up and touched his face. "It is not your fault who you are."

  He reached out to her. He wanted to hold her, but as he reached out she faded away and the meaningless jumble of colours and noises returned and filled his view. He called her name but his voice was lost, as though he shouted into to the wind.

  Gradually the visions began to form more solid shapes. The darkness faded and his world grew lighter. He began to feel the sensations of the physical plane; heat on his skin, a dry throat, a burning thirst.

  He blinked. The sky was painfully bright. Thankfully the sun was obscured by someone looking down at him. He tried to speak, but all he could manage was a croak.

  "Naiyar?" Colken knelt beside him.

  Naiyar tried again to speak but his throat wouldn't allow it. Colken picked up a water skin and held it to his lips. Naiyar drank copiously, almost choking in his desperation to moisten his parched throat.

  "Colken."

  "Don't speak. Drink."

  Naiyar gratefully drank more water.

  "Nine days and nights I have watched you," Colken said, "lying there, muttering. I could not make any sense of the things you said, some of them were not even in a language I understood. You have done nothing but weep all day and night. There were so many tears I thought you were going to create your very own oasis, which would have made our current situation a lot easier. Still, your fever has finally lifted. I was beginning to think it would take you."

  "Where is Kayla?"

  "Your friend left when you fell into the fever. She said she had a task to perform. She said I should watch over you. I have not seen her, or anyone else, since then. We will have to leave soon or we will starve. I have been back to the river twice to fill up our skins. Sooner or later we will have to get something decent to eat."

  "No. We must wait here. Kayla will be back soon."

  "I hope you are right."

  Colken turned and looked west. He lifted one hand to shield his eyes from the sun and squinted towards the horizon. Something held his gaze. He watched.

  Gradually his suspicions were confirmed. In the distance, just visible to the naked eye, dust rose into the sky. He scanned the horizon. The dust cloud spanned the width of his vision, and yet the cause of it was still out of sight.

  "An army." Colken muttered incredulously. "A vast army. It will be well into the night before they reach us."

  He turned back to Naiyar, who had drifted into a deep sleep, an oddly content smile on his lips.

  * * * *

  Naiyar wandered a land utterly alien to him.

  A windswept tundra beneath a clear blue sky. The weak rays of the low-hanging sun glanced from the firmament, barely melting the patchy ice and snow. Rolling hills spread out before him. The land was silent except for the sound of his cloak flapping in the chill wind.

  The stunted grass crunched under his bare feet as he trudged purposefully on, leaning on his staff as he went.

  A trio of geese passed over head, honking to one an
other. They came from behind him and headed in the direction he was travelling. He stopped and watched them disappear into the distance.

  "Wait for me!" He called to them. But they were gone as quickly as they had appeared. He felt impatient, he wanted to take flight and follow them. Not to be where they were going, but to be with them. To be one of them.

  "Why envy a goose?" The voice came from the raised ground to Naiyar's right. He turned to see a huge, white wolf.

  "I know I will end up in the same place as the geese," said Naiyar, "yet they will fly there. They will soar together, high above the frozen wastes, safe from harm. But I am just a man, I must walk, alone."

  Naiyar turned and continued walking. The wolf trotted along beside him.

  "But you are not a man, Naiyar, you never were."

  "What am I? I want to know what I am. That is all I ask."

  The wolf laughed and began to run faster. Naiyar tried to run alongside it but he could not match the animal's speed and stamina.

  "Wait. Please. Don't leave me alone! I must know the answer to my question! Please!"

  Naiyar was stumbling, tripping over his own feet, his ankles burning with the effort. As he stumbled, reaching out to the wolf in desperation, he leaned forward and began to run on all fours. Then he looked down and realised that his hands were no longer hands but paws. His cloak had become a thick coat of fur. He was suddenly aware of a thousand different scents blowing on the breeze. A hare. An elk. A fox. Fresh water. The frozen grass. Gradually the sensation of running on all fours felt more natural and he bounded ahead to catch up with the wolf.

  "You are a man, Naiyar," the wolf cried, "and you are not!"

  "You are everything, and you are nothing. Your path is a long one, because it circles The World Apparent, and encompasses the realms of the afterlife! The more arduous the journey, the greater the destination!"

  As Naiyar bounded on alongside the white wolf, he was filled with a feeling of total power and ecstasy. All his feelings of helplessness and loneliness were gone. He realised he was experiencing something he had never felt before.