Since when did the sheikh hire dedicated guards? Her thoughts began to race through her head as all of the worst possible outcomes came to the forefront of her mind. No. I have done this time and time before, I shall not fail this time.
Soon the heavy-set man in a tightly-fitted aba1 began to yawn and lean heavily on his upright spear, his weight digging the shaft deeper and deeper into the soil. A chance would reveal itself any moment, and she would have to act fast if she were to hide her own tracks – for her father’s sake. If not for the darkness of the night desert’s sky, none of this would even be possible.
The man’s breathing became slow and heavy as his shoulders slouched upon the now-planted spear, his head limply looking down toward his feet. He was asleep, which meant it was show time.
She crept out from beneath the crates, her own aba slipped backward to have its once richly coloured cloth look as black as the shadows she leapt from. Only one guard had been posted, which meant the sheikh had not been as concerned as she once thought. Slinking past the sleeping giant, the woman withdrew an oddly-shaped purple bag from within her clothes, entering through the flaps of the small, green tent.
Food… She looked upon the barrels of salted meat, the sacks of grain, the buckets of rice – the insides of her mouth salivating. Every fourth day, overwhelming feelings of happiness, sorrow, starvation and salvation wreak havoc upon her mind upon seeing such a bountiful sight. Focus, Layali. Be quick, be silent, be vigilant. The job must be done right. And with that, she began to perform her purpose.
However long she had been doing this, the woman was not entirely sure. It became a rather monotonous job, once the few first, second and third-time jitters finally escaped her body. Open the bag, place it by the food, and then let the bag do its job in ‘consuming’ the food. Afterward, move on to the next batch and do the same. She never questioned how the bag worked or how her father invented it, she merely did as she was told. Once the bag seemed to fill its would-be stomach with a hearty meal, it would be on to the next phase of the plan.
The Bedine, her people, are a superstitious tribal culture. The stories of how the Great Desert became what it is today vary, depending on whose tribe was passing down the tale, but it ultimately came down to the same key factors – three tribes once ruled, but each sheikh wished to have ultimate power. Using the power of their sorcerers, they summoned the N’asr’s djinn2 to war upon one another until one reigned supreme; however, these awoken gods merely destroyed all they fought upon, eventually banishing the three tribes each to their own corner of the desert, forbidding them from ever using sorcery again. This belief and the fact that the gods - those djinn - still roam the wastelands in search of appeasement or mischief, allowed for the scapegoat to be created.
One, two… this tent is rather small, so three should be enough. The final act of a successful mission involved these creations, also made by her father, to cause the disbelief to become fact to her people. Small in shape and size, these hardened spheres – which her father called “Wrath Contained” – stored an odd power that would react several moments after she would utter the key phrase, which always caused her stomach to tie itself into many, many knots. She had to act quickly, she had to remain unseen, and most importantly, she had to make it home. A deep breath to calm her nerves, a small count to ten, allowing her heart’s rhythm to become normal once more.
“Ibqu mish tesduqu.” She incants quietly, as if hushing a child to sleep. “Ma teshrab min el-moya da.”3
For a moment, the night and all that surrounded her stood still. As if she were an animal inspecting her prey, her eyes flickered upon the Wrath that sat silently. Did I not speak it loud enough? No, I have done this many times before. Hesitation led to confusion, which then led to investigation. Dropping to all four, Layali lowered her head toward the ground to listen closely, wondering what may have gone wrong.
She heard a familiar sound – a sound of air hissing out of a spherical object that would rend the tent asunder with a blazing inferno. Her eyes grew wide as she tried to turn her body, reacting as a hare would to a rushing fox, propelling herself forward with both arms and legs. She panicked, at the tent flap and began to slip.
After a flash, everything went white. She did not recall hearing any sound. There was heat and shortly after a warm, damp feeling at the back of her head. Her body felt like it was nearly split in half, her legs refused to work. The white eventually faded as everything succumbed to the darkness.
She awoke surrounded by her people. They looked upon her as if she were no longer their own. A woman cried out, lamenting a charred husk by some still-burning green fabric – half of a wooden shaft plunged into the ground beside the warm lump of ash. Layali’s body would not listen to her, no matter how she willed it – she could only look on in horror as she watched the face of an angry man, lit not by torchlight, but by the burning pyres surrounding her. He placed a thick, many-ringed hand upon his keffiyeh4, looking upon the horror with rage.
Haushi, sheikh of their tribe, had roused the beast within him. When his eyes met with hers, there was nothing left but bitterness and vengeance.
----------------------------------------------------------
Layali awoke, wrists locked together with manacles, chained to a wooden post. The sun shone in a blinding fashion, illuminating the crowd around her to look as if they were merely a mirage – until a rock struck her head, bringing her mind back to the reality that was before her. Haushi stood in front of the crowd, waving his ringed hands as if master to slaves, calming those who went rabid at the sight of her.
“We will not have another murder on our hands.” He stated loudly, his voice throaty and thick with phlegm, doing his best to reach the back of the crowd. “Yes, she is clearly the witch who has been plaguing our food stores for far too long. Whatever made her believe falsifying it as if the Djinn were angry with us has led this poor soul to be delusional. Perhaps it is because she has no husband, or perhaps her mind is merely twisted at birth. It is unknown to us.”
The crowd, in turn, chanted aloud; “It is unknown to us.”
He would continue, “But hear me – this ends now. She will be banished, stripped of any belongings, left only with her veil and aba to keep her company in the harsh lands beyond.” He turned to her at this point, his fingers drumming lightly on his own unsightly stomach. “She will be judged, and she will most likely perish; but, it will not be by our hands.”
Two men from the crowd approached her, both adorned in jewelled scimitars to denote their status as guards to the sheikh. They removed the chain from her, but left her hands locked in place by the manacle. One of them, whom she could only imagine was friends with the man who had passed on in life because of her mistake, swiftly kicked her legs out from under her. The crowd roared with laughter.
The laughter stopped when the world went dark.
A thick, black smoke swallowed the sun and began to engulf those around the encampment. Men swore and screamed of witchcraft while women and their children fled the scene, ridden with hysteria. A booming voice speaking in an unknown language echoed as if the walls had suddenly been erected, piercing the ear drums of any who heard, causing madness and violence amongst tribesmen and guard. She shut her eyes, believing this would be her last moments.
“My poor blossom, punished for the sins of your family, when you were merely trying to keep them alive.” The voice was kind, gentle, and right beside her. When a firm hand gripped her shoulder, she did not cry out, nor did she show fear, for she understood who stood there – protecting her. “I am sorry, my little princess. Let your father lead you to safety.”
A smile creased across her lips as an arm wrap around her. “Your mother,” he said softly, as if he were only a whisper on the breeze, “will be with us shortly. Hold on tight, and close your eyes.” She listened and heard the smallest of words being uttered beneath his breath, feeling his arm shift slightly along her, as if he was motioning in some manner.
She opened her eyes after feeling the wind freely swatting at her face, blinking several times before rubbing them in disbelief. They were no longer in the encampment and, in fact, the tribe itself was not visible in any direction. Her father smiled warmly, kissing her forehead where the rock had struck her.
“Papa…” She was barely able to utter the word before she began to cry.
Footnotes
Spoiler: