Shifting Sands Read online

  Ruma bent, her fingers brushing the blue stole. Again, the inquisitive part of her stirred at the touch. Shaking her head, she grabbed the stole and straightened.

  Then, without a second thought, she began walking away from her companions.

  Within minutes, she couldn't see the hill when she looked back.

  She kept trudging.

  Time passed. She looked over her shoulder once more. She was alone. A lost soul in the middle of the dry Ghal.

  Ruma chuckled, stretched her arms. “Sands, claim your fracking Lady!”

  Thirty

  The Dark

  A white smear of bright stars spread across the inky, velvety darkness overhead. The moons, both of them, were so enormous she could have raised her finger and touched them.

  Ruma scrambled through the sand, no hues of blues or orange tonight to orient her. Nothing but the unchanging, undulating dunes around her. Not that it mattered. All she cared for was to keep moving, putting distance between herself and this cursed world that continued to confound her.

  Wind howled. The crickets she had heard a while ago had fallen silent a long time ago. Ruma crested a hill and it crumbled. Sand running through her fingers, she forced herself up, resumed her trudge.

  The music of the desert was deep, infinite, overwhelming, the sand underneath her cool and slippery. She continued to drag herself. Her body ached, her eyelids refused to stay open, the cool breeze blowing up against her face did nothing to calm her nerves, but she kept moving.

  How much time had passed? How far was she from her companions? How much distance had she put between herself and the fools who had decided to follow her? Against her better judgement, she stopped, then looked over her shoulder. Dunes greeted her, their silhouettes soft under the moonlight. She could have been anywhere right about now.

  Gathering her strength, she moved forward again.

  One foot after the other.

  Repeat.

  Ghal held a special significance to the Alfi faith. Wasn’t the mythical cave where Gulatu had first spoken to God nestled here somewhere to the north? Another memory rose. When Hadyan, the fracking hypocrite, had left Yasmeen, he too had fled to the desert. It seemed Alf had a soft spot for the sands, dispensing his special favour to any who sought him out in the wilderness here.

  Ruma craned her neck up, glared at the blackness between the stars. “Well?” She clicked her tongue. “Don’t keep a girl waiting. If you are truly there, now’s the time to speak up.” She chuckled. “Or are you like these priests as well, only ever speaking to the males?”

  Without caring for a response, she continued forward. She had no warped ideas about herself. Not anymore. She had never heard from this Lord of the Worlds, the great originator, the master of space and time and all that dwelled within the vacuum of space before, and she doubted it would change tonight.

  She wanted the sands to claim her, but that, too, was a silly idea. Inanimate matter did nothing by itself.

  She was in the desert of Ghal, though. Convention demanded she reach out to… something… someone. The metaphysical import of the question overwhelmed her. Who the heck was she meant to appeal to? The laws of physics? The intricate mechanics of fusion engines? The mythical altar of science?

  The desert surrounded her, separated her from any other living being by an order of miles, yet, in the moment, she felt freer than she ever had before. There was irony there… and more confusion for her thoughts growing darker. She was free, and that threatened to drive her crazy.

  Then, came the regrets.

  Holy men could flee into the oblivion of the night desert and have their god soothe away their regrets, renew their faiths, put steel in their backs. She couldn't even count on that. All she had done, all her mistakes, were hers entirely, and no matter how much she regretted them, she couldn't wipe them away.

  The world she was running away from was one she had made herself.

  Not an idea that sat well with her.

  She exhaled, her fingers crushing the stole she had grabbed from the priest. She was a simple girl born and brought up in the future Doonya. What was she of all the other billions who had lived in her time doing here?

  “If this is just an accident, the fracking laws of improbability have a special hard-on for me!” she said, finding no mirth in the words.

  Would Gareeb and Nodin have realised by now she was missing? What would they do? Stay behind, hoping she would come back? Send scouts to try and pick up her trail? Or would they fear the worst, assume that while they had been asleep, their precious Lady of the Sands had been captured by their new foes?

  “Damn you, girl!” She slapped her thigh, suddenly repulsed by herself. What was she doing? Was she really walking away when the going got tough? Especially when there were others, even if they were largely deluded, counting on her and—

  Ruma stuttered to a stop, her stomach dropping. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. She really was proving her father’s daughter, abandoning ship just when she was needed the most. Hadn't Yaman made similar excuses? His wife was too difficult to get along with. His falling fortunes demanded exclusive attention. It was beyond him, just one man, to right all the wrongs that had conspired against him. The one thing Yaman Nuway had never done was admitted the truth.

  Her father had been a coward, one who kept running away from his problems, instead of facing them head on.

  And now his daughter, who had hated him all her life for this precise weakness, was following in his footsteps.

  “I’m not like my father!” she protested, the words sounding hollow to her ears. She was alone out here, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the winds themselves were laughing at her. “I’m not!” she repeated, this time not even pretending to sound sincere.

  For a while, she continued to drag her feet forward, wrestling with herself. She could turn around, prove she wasn’t made from the same mould as her father. She could return, offer whatever little advice she had for her few remaining followers, do the best she could to clean up the mess she had caused inadvertently.

  But what would that achieve?

  Had Yaman Nuway turned around, he would have found his family again. Mother would have been livid, but his daughter would have forgiven him eventually. Over the course of their lives, later memories would have paved over that one unpleasant moment of weakness. No such luxury for her, though. The fundamental dynamics of this entire fracking world had been altered. Bubraza was dead. Yasmeen had been defeated. Yenita commanded her men and was the mistress of the most dangerous weapons this world had ever seen.

  If she did go back to her followers, she had no good choices left. If she followed Nodin’s advice and called out for allies, there was no doubt she’d attract a mightier host than she had ever had. Then, just like she had defeated Yasmeen, she could beat Yenita as well, despite the cannons.

  Again, what would that achieve?

  At the end of the day, this wasn't her world, this timeline wasn't hers. She had a job to do, one she had failed at so far, but one that still needed doing, no matter the cost to her.

  She didn't know exactly how the future had panned out, but she could easily see its outlines. If Yenita went on with this sham trial of hers, intended to humiliate the prophet’s wife, this world would never see healing. Worse, the factions would increase: warriors pledged to the prophet’s wife, or to the various followers of the prophet, heck, one under her name, and they would continue to fight each other.

  The world Ruma had lived in had taken huge losses against the Zrivisi attacks, but how would a world inspired by this mess deal with threats like that? Would the bands loyal to Yasmeen welcome attacks on Irtiza and Salodia so long they took with them the leadership of the other factions? Would there even be an Arkos, a singular organisation to speak for all humans?

  Would there be a Doonya left by the time the aliens were done with their business?

  Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as her mind reeled with the co
nsequences.

  “What am I to do?” She blinked, raising the back of her left hand to wipe her tears. Her cheeks were dry. Maybe her body was finally too drained to do something as basic as shed tears.

  Onwards, she walked.

  The night was peaceful, quiet, a strange beauty about it she’d never really had much chance to appreciate before. The classical dialect of Alfi spoken here referred the night as a she, its literature replete with poems praising the night’s steadfastness in taking care of the sun after he had toiled all day long. The sun didn't seem to return the favour though, oblivious to the night doing her job over and over, without ever complaining.

  Every world needed her nights. Even if the nights found the arrangement quite lacking.

  “You’ve definitely gone mad!” she said, chuckling joylessly as she realised her mind didn't even mount a defence against the charge. The sands to her right seemed to shift. She stuttered to a stop. Something rattled behind her. She whirled about, her hand dropping to her waist only to realise she had brought no weapon with her. Blood pounding against her temples, she stood rigid, her body coiled at the first sign of danger. Long moments passed. Then, the lethargy pushed in, its oppressive cocoon pressing in.

  She began walking again, this time her feet moving with purpose, grim intent. She might be her father’s daughter, but she was better than Yaman.

  This was her mess, and she would do everything in her power to clean it up.

  Even if that meant this was the world she died in.

  Thirty-One

  The Impossible Dream

  “Gareeb!” she shouted, her voice ringing out loud in the dark. “Nodin!”

  Breath coming in ragged gasps, Ruma stopped, waiting to see if there was a response.

  Nothing.

  “Damn you all!” she howled. Curling her fingers into a tight fist, she punched the air. “Each and every fracking one of you!”

  The world swayed under her feet, her stomach grumbling at the same instant. Cursing herself, Ruma continued. When she had left her camp, hadn’t Tarani been to her right? Or was that to the left? She shook her head in annoyance. Truth was she wasn’t sure, and even if she had known that basic fact, she couldn’t quite shake off the feeling she’d been moving in circles for the past few hours. Maybe she had already circled around her camp without realising how close she’d been.

  That was so ironic it felt extremely likely.

  “Gareeb, Nodin, your fracking Lady calls for you!” she shouted into the night. The gusts picked up, sand particles blowing into her mouth. Coughing, she thumped her chest, not slowing down. “I’m screwed. Oh yes, most definitely, I am!”

  The stole clutched in her right hand, she continued forward. A wave of dizziness crashed into her and she swayed, righting herself just before she might have fallen. The moment passed, leaving her weaker than before. She wouldn't last long. Nothing survived in the harsh desert—another apt metaphor for space she had travelled through all her life before. Without suitable provisions and a cocoon of safety, neither environment showed any mercy to the lost.

  “Lost,” she muttered, finding it difficult to move her tongue. Only those who had once been on the right path got lost. Her life went past her in a series of flashes. A drifter, going from one terrible commission to another. A young girl vowing to find her father and punish him for his sins. A lover stewing as she watched her man first fawn over a woman dead eight hundred years, then over an alien. The unlucky loser, who found herself dumped in this world, right after she’d found the purpose of her life.

  “I don't care,” she mumbled. “What matters is what I do here. In the now. That is all I can do…”

  Her body was breaking down, her pace slowed down to a painful crawl. “I will… keep… going!” The defiant words came out as a whisper, impossible to hear had she not known what she’d been saying.

  The world was quiet, ever-changing as the sands continued to shift and move, creating new dunes as they wiped out the previous ones. Ruma smiled. Maybe when delirium would finally kick in, she’d forget the world outside the desert. Would she wail then, or be content in knowing there was nothing beyond her surroundings?

  “First, you there?” she said, grinding her teeth against the pain that had started throbbing in the back of her mind. “May the Charlatan and the Schemer and Alf and all His creations damn you!” She shook her head. No matter her condition, she couldn't appear weak to the Pithrean. She couldn't forget what she had to do. “I’m ready. Where is your Shard?”

  Lost to the passage of time, only aware of the many ways her body was beginning to fail, Ruma lumbered on for a little while. Thoughts, silly, stupid things, continued to assault her, demanding her attention. She tried to reach out and grab on to them out of desperation, knowing her act to be the drowning person’s vain attempts at hanging onto flotsam. No matter how hard she tried, they continued to slip through her grasp.

  Finally, eventually, her knees buckled for the thousandth time. Like the umpteenth times before, she tried righting herself. This time, she failed. Ruma collapsed on her knees with a soft thud, her body going over, unable to keep its balance. Her forehead struck the soft sands, her arms splaying to the sides. Ruma whimpered. Grunting with effort, she forced herself in a seating position. Maybe she needed some rest. A bit of respite. Time to catch her breath, allow her mind to regroup, and then she would continue on. Maybe if the fates were kind, Nodin and Gareeb might actually find her. She’d have to come up with a good excuse for why she’d walked out on them, but then again, she could just keep her mouth shut and they would have no choice but to accept that the holy fracking Lady of the Sands simply did divinely inspired things.

  “Isn’t it convenient being the Lady!” she chuckled, raising her hand to clap her thigh. Her fingers found sand instead. Exhaling, she forced her attention inwards. Breathe slowly… Calm your heart… Count back from ten and—

  She blinked. Despite what she had feared, her heartbeat was not elevated. Instead, it was if her body was succumbing to the cold of the vacuum, slowing down so much it was barely perceptible. She pressed her hand on her chest. Instead of the bellows, she found the fading bells of some distant Alfi temple, growing weaker with each passing moment. She stayed sitting for a while. Another wave of blackness crashed into her and she toppled back. The night sky spread out above, its glossy darkness pierced by bright stars. “So beautiful…” she mumbled. This time she did feel the tears trickle out of her. An epic accomplishment considering how dehydrated she must be. Whimpering, gritting her teeth, gathering all her strength, she tried to get up.

  She failed, her arms failing uselessly, the sand slipping through her fingers.

  “This is it, then?” she mumbled. “All this… for nothing?”

  Darkness encroached. Bleaker than anything she had ever seen. Afraid, she turned her head to the other side, then closed her eyes. The gloom pressed in, unperturbed by her attempts at ignoring it. Her insides churned, gave a violent heave, then relaxed, all sensation of the sand leaving her fingers, her body letting go of the gravity’s tether.

  She cried out, or thought someone did.

  The world blacked out.

  Darkness.

  Nothingness.

  An eternity passed.

  Then, like the thunderclap rolling through the bowels of a deep valley, instead of hearing them, she felt the words.

  “Human!”

  Consciousness broke in bit by bit, lending an ephemeral sensation to her experience of being. If she still had a corporeal body, she couldn't feel it. But she still had her memories, still had her thoughts.

  “Am I dead?”

  “The Shard awaits!”

  Silence fell, the booming voice echoing in the corridors of her mind over and over. She tried shaking her head, gave up on the idea when she felt her body fail to respond.

  “Call me from the mount of Ginai and we’ll leave this world behind.” A long pause. “Your time has come to an end.”

 
Infinitesimally small rays of light bloomed into existence all around her. Stars emerged, clustered in dense galaxies spinning around ancient, calcified hulks of a dead species.

  “I…”

  “Rise, human!”

  Ruma chuckled, the act helping push back the fog in her mind a bit. “I’m dying… Besides, I failed…” Pangs of sadness coursed through her being. “Nothing left for me in either world…”

  Time passed. The First ignored her.

  Ruma tried warding off her consciousness. She was ready. By Alf, she’d had enough. When one had tried all they were capable of, and had failed, it was sensible to be pragmatic and move on. If there was indeed the lonely path ahead of her—terror roiled through her at the thought—then maybe, this Lord of the Worlds would show her compassion for the weak traits He had cursed her with. And if there was nothing but nothingness ahead, well, that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing either.

  The stars began to fade, their movements slowing down, growing haggard. Ironic that in her final moments, her mind chose to depict the entire damned world dying along with her. What more sign of madness was there that someone as unimportant as her could be made to think that along with her, all else died as well? Maybe it did. With no perceiver, the phenomenon vanished, did it not?

  One of the hexagonal shapes pulsed with energy. Feeble, but distinct from the others whom life had long ago deserted. She felt the urge to cross over, to touch it, to lend her strength to it.