First Chapter
A Time long since the break of devastation,
The world tilting on the brink of collapse.
Sabiya speaks…
I planned to escape from home in order to look in a mirror and smile at the girl I saw. This way everything I owned would be mine and not my father’s. It’s that kind of happiness I’ve waited for my entire life.
The outlaw grabbed my arm. He threw me over the saddle and put his filthy hand over my mouth. I can still taste it, the sweat and dirt, the gritty grains of sand. He hit me across the cheek then and told me to shut up. I was too scared to try to get off the horse.
He brought me here. He bound me and threw me in the corner. The outlaws called me names and spit on me.
I was supposed to escape from my captivity, not find a new one.
Sabiya
The outlaw bared his broken teeth at Sabiya, the gaps between them black and horrendous. She squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as the whip snapped close to her head, and shrank into the sand, the edge of the tent brushing against her naked arm. Death would come soon. Please, it should be fast, painless. Her captor’s hand closed over her chin, his thumb pressing into her jaw to force her mouth open. She caught a putrid wave of air that burned her nostrils: alcohol and sweat, mixed with urine; no incense like at home, no cinnamon or dried apples in a porcelain bowl sitting on the windowsill. Gone, all disappeared from her life.
Wind whipped between the tents.
“Open yer eyes,” he snarled, “or it’ll be yer turn next.” The filth of his fingers smudged her skin. She opened her eyes to his face, scarred and dark. Stubble crawled across his chin toward his ears and crept across his thick neck. Shadows from the firelight danced across his wrinkled brow.
She’d never see her family again, never go free. Thick ropes rubbed against her skin to reopen wounds and heat made her skin slippery. If she let herself dwell on hopelessness, she would sob. They didn’t deserve her tears.
“Fancy lil’ noble bitch,” her captor said. “It’s yer ’ead we’ll take, send it back to yer fancy lil’ noble pricks. How’s that sound, bitch?”
He laughed and in the crowd of onlookers, hoots ensued that made her ears burn. A boy, tied to a pole in the center of the tent, yelped as whips cracked against his skin. This game of torture the outlaws played with their captured victims…the outlaws enjoyed it too much. She pulled against her bonds, gasping. If the Daughter of Darkness had mercy, all would vanish and Sabiya would be back in her bed, in her room, safe.
“My brother’s going to come. He’s going to save us.” The boy’s words echoed through her mind to drown out the sadistic laughter. She lifted her gaze to the bloodied face of her captor, blood that belonged to the boy.
The Daughter of Darkness didn’t care about them.
Uthias
Uthias stood in his saddle while he stroked his horse’s neck. A desert wolf howled, echoed by another farther off, their cries mingling with the wailings of the dead. A shiver crept across his skin as though invisible fingernails stroked his tanned flesh. Would his soul be someday led to the sand dunes, left to mourn with the rest of them?
The outlaw camp lay a mile ahead, marked by flickering firelight. He leapt off the saddle and a cloud of sand billowed around his knee-high leather boots before the wind carried it off.
Today wouldn’t be the night he lost his life and had to decide if he moved on or stayed.
The sounds of drunken laughter and faint music drifted across the desert. Uthias took off at a run to leave his horse behind a dune; his feet hit the ground with a faint slap and puff of sand. He paused, his body frozen in an arch, as a cry sounded, mournful and throaty: a dead girl’s sobs carried on the wind. No time to worry about souls that couldn’t be saved. He had to focus on the main missions; too many issues would obscure his vision.
The full moon illuminated the outlaw camp where five men surrounded the nearest campfire, each criminal holding an iron mug. Uthias paused behind the first tent. A man vomited inside; Uthias ordered his stomach not to retch as well. Nausea wouldn’t help his sneak advance.
He continued between another row of tents to a different campfire where a young woman danced around burning logs, the light flickering off her pale skin. Sand slid over her toes as she kicked and spun.
“Git movin’, gal. Dance fastuh,” one of the outlaws bellowed, and another guffawed.
Her skirt of faded blue silk twirled around her legs in a blur. She seemed no older than fourteen years, yet her body was little more than skin over bones.
She tripped over the long skirt and fell to her knees, crying out; the man nearest kicked her with his sandal to knock her onto her back. She clutched her ribs where she’d been struck and rolled toward the fire.
He had no time to save her from the camp. Uthias steeled his mind to banish the image of her parted lips and glazed eyes. She would have to survive on her own until he could return another night.
Uthias ran to the next tents, covered with blood-encrusted animal hides and material faded from the desert sun. He dropped to his chest and crawled to the first large tent, lifting the sidewall to peer underneath where colorful silk obscured his sight. “Cursed darkness.” Prisoners wouldn’t be kept in a tent lined with wealth.
From the next tent came slurred laughter and the clanking of iron mugs; a boy’s scream carried over the noise. That one. Uthias shoved inside with his fists clenched, his fingerless brown leather gloves stretching across his knuckles.
The hot air reeked of liquor and sweat. Bulky, perspiring bodies blocked his way. No time for that, either. Uthias shoved them aside and marched to a wooden pole stained with blood, erected in the center of the tent with a boy lashed to it. Skinny cuts streaked his legs and back, and a knife wound glistened on his cheek. Behind him lay the crumpled mass of another man. Lifeless. Uthias peeled back his lips. Life deserved to be cherished, not disregarded and despised.
The torturer let the metal tip slice across the young man’s back to form another cut in the boy’s leather vest. He yelped, writhing against the pole as if it would shelter him.
“ ’It ’im again,” a drunk slurred.
As the torturer pulled back the whip, chortling, Uthias slammed his fist into the imbecile’s jaw. The end of his palm smacked into the nose, snapping it; a flood of blood drenched the sand underfoot and the torturer hollered. Good, let him squeal like a slaughtered pig.
“Uthias!” The bound boy’s face twisted as he attempted to turn.
Uthias wiped his hand across his leggings. If the outlaws didn’t value life, then he wouldn’t value theirs. He crossed the space to his brother, drawing a boot dagger, and cut the splinter-ridden rope binding the boy’s wrists behind the pole.
The boy sagged against his brother’s chest. “Thank the queen you came!”
“ ’Ey,” one of the drunks yelled. “Wot ya t’inks ya doin’?”
The men charged Uthias as they drew nicked weapons. They should have kept them more polished to keep them deadlier. Uthias bit back a laugh. Poor fools had nothing of pride, nothing to live for; Uthias replaced his dagger for his sword. He had plenty to keep himself grounded. With a swing, he cut two men through the stomachs and charged the next.
Uthias called over his shoulder to his brother, “Harick, run.” Thank the queen his brother’s body could heal faster than if he were human.
Harick glanced towards the entrance when a deceased man tumbled into the sand; the dagger dropped from his lifeless hand and stuck in the ground, the handle facing the ceiling. Harick grabbed the weapon, wincing at the motion. He’d better not break down from the pain in his injuries. The first lesson a warrior learned was to keep going.
Uthias snatched the whip lying by the man with the broken nose and slashed it across the two nearest outlaws. They yelped and staggered, hands rising to their cut faces as blood sprayed into the air. Uthias took out three more sets of two before a space cleared. He threw the whip into the crowd and grabbed Harick by the arm, dashing for the exit.
“We can’t leave.” Harick dug his heels into the sand packed tight from spilled alcohol.
“For the sake of the Queen, we’re leaving now.” Leave it to his brother to botch a rescue.
“Uthias, we can’t. They took a girl from the desert city. She…she’s scared and—”
Uthias ducked behind a tent, shoving his brother down. As the outlaws ran yelling into the night away from them as if they were monkeys after a morsel, Uthias allowed Harick to lift his face from the sand.
Harick spat off his dry lips. “The girl!”
“Quiet,” Uthias snapped. “Do you want to call a band of outlaws down on both our heads?”
“You already did that,” Harick whispered.
Uthias swore under his breath. Harick had always been the most mischievous of their parents’ offspring, but this was the first time Uthias had to save him from an outlaw camp. Even though Harick’s body was beaten and bloody, he wanted to risk their necks for a girl he thought was pleasing to the eye.
“The dancer with the blue skirt?”
“No. They’re keeping her in that tent I was in. She was right there in the corner. They’re going to kill her in the morning and send her head back to the city on a spear. You have to save her. I promised her I would.” His voice rose to a shrill cry, so Uthias slapped his hand over his brother’s mouth.
“Actions have consequences; life isn’t a game played on a whim.”
Harick would fuss like a child if he didn’t try. Uthias bared his teeth. “If I cannot save her within a moment’s time, she’s not getting saved. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Harick mumbled against the gritty palm.
Uthias crept back, collapsed to his stomach, and lifted the tent’s hem. The campfire inside had gone out when a body had fallen on the dying embers and single log, making it too dark to see anything, but Uthias heard muffled weeping. He rose to his knees and sliced a tear down the side of the tent with the tip of his dagger, afraid to cut deeper in case he hit the prisoner.
In the far corner, tied to a pole supporting the tent, a person curled into a trembling ball. Uthias crouched beside the captive. A brown wrap covered most of the body, shadowing the face. Uthias shoved the prisoner forward and cut the ropes.
The girl gave a sharp intake of breath and fell onto her side, wincing. She pulled back the wrap to stare at Uthias.
“Please don’t hurt me!” Her cut lip made her words emerge with a lisp. Pity in the dark he couldn’t see those gorgeous looks that had won his brother over. He fought not to snort.
Uthias stood and yanked her to her feet. “Be silent if you want to live.” He dragged her toward the opening he’d cut in the tent wall. She lifted her free hand to clasp her head wrap. Charming. He had someone else to look after instead of just rescuing Harick. They didn’t need another weight to slow their progress.
Harick waited where Uthias had left him, still sprawled in the sand. “Praise the queen, you found her.” Leave it to Harick to forget to be quiet.
Uthias yanked the girl after him, trusting Harick would follow, and wove between the tents. The girl stumbled and Harick cringed whenever the wind bit at his wounds.
An outlaw leapt out from between two tents and lunged toward the girl. She screamed, throwing herself against Uthias, and her fingers latched onto his belt. The outlaw reached for her arm, but Uthias stabbed him through the heart. He slumped, a gurgle rising from his throat. Uthias twisted his wrist to flick blood off his blade. The deceased outlaw’s head lolled to the side, open eyes glazed with death.
“He’s dead,” she gasped. What had she wanted Uthias to do, let the villain slay them? Maybe Uthias should’ve invited him to discuss their differences over a bowl of spiced corn.
“So will ye be soon enough, m’ dear.” The voice exploded from the shadows, the darkness adopting the form of a man when moonlight struck him. Like all the men of the camp, he wore a loincloth and brass armbands. Wonderful, another intrusion.
Harick placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders, but she clung to Uthias, her chest heaving. The outlaw drew his curved sword from his belt and pointed the weapon at the group. Just what they needed, more time wasted. Uthias pushed the girl into Harick’s arms as he swung his sword. Uthias aimed for the outlaw’s throat, but the opponent dodged; the blow pierced his shoulder and knocked him backwards into the nearest tent, his sword spinning away. Uthias nodded at Harick to follow with the girl and darted through the tents.
“Attack him!” The criminal clasped the deep wound as blood spilled into the sand.
Harick and the girl lagged behind, forcing Uthias to slow his pace. He ran through a campfire and kicked a burning log into a tent before the outlaws staggered to their feet. The enflamed tent caught the nearest two with it and flames danced into the air, fueled by wind and liquor.
Uthias sheathed his sword to press his whistle to his lips. One blow. Come. His horse would recognize that. He leapt onto a wooden platform that supported two poles hung with ropes; the ropes swayed from the tops of the poles as the wind tugged them. Harick tossed the girl onto the platform where she rolled before standing, and Harick scrambled on, panting. The wound on his back had opened, fresh blood glistening on his vest. They would have to tend to that sooner rather than later.
“Harick,” Uthias barked. “The horses are kept there. Get one and ride. Now. I’ll take the girl.”
Harick glanced at her before staggering to the post tied with stolen horses and mounted a black stallion. A pale cloud of smoke approached from the desert, accompanied by the thundering of hooves. Uthias chuckled under his breath. “Good boy.”
He grabbed the girl around the waist and jumped off the platform onto the back of his mount. She landed with a thud. It would be pleasant to have a graceful, adept companion at least once in a brawl. As she coughed, Uthias grabbed the reins with one hand, clasping the girl with his other, and his horse charged after Harick.
As they passed the campsite where the girl danced, she cried out in a thick accent, “Help me, suh.”
Now that they were pursued, it would be harder to pause and his saddle wouldn’t support two extra riders. Curses on all the outlaws.
Images of the outlaw he’d stabbed filled Uthias’s mind. As his death drew near, the dead took hold of the criminal. Specter hands lifted from nothingness, clawing for another grip on life only to fall still once more, lost to time. The wind swirled sand into the image of a woman, long hair flapping over pointed ears, before stilling, and the image faded: the dead didn’t want Uthias to know more. So be it. They kept to themselves and he kept to his affairs.
He reined his horse after a mile.
“That was entertainment worth remembering,” Harick said.
“You wouldn’t think such if it were you saving me.” Uthias glared. Even cut up and under duress, Harick still acted like an imbecile.
The girl scratched the raw skin around her wrists. “T-thank you for saving my life. I-I owe it to you now.” She choked on her words, squeezed shut her eyes, and shuddered.
“You owe him your life?” Harick winced when he turned on his horse. “I told him about you. Owe it to me.”
“Harick,” Uthias snapped. “You sound like a baby.” Stop yelling at him, he was almost whipped to death. Uthias gritted his teeth.
“Thank you,” the girl interrupted. “You’re Harick?”
Harick grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Harick the Great.”
“Enough talk.” Uthias tightened his grip on his reins. The Great – what a great impromptu nickname. “We ride to the oasis and see to your wounds. Girl, are you hurt?”
She shook her head and he snorted, kicking his horse into a trot. Harick urged his mount to follow, and when Uthias saw Harick could ride without slipping, he let the horses gallop. His brother’s Jedaidi blood would heal him quickly; the salve in his saddlebags would speed that along and make the ride home more bearable.
Sabiya
What if they tried to rape her? She’d been petrified the outlaws would.
There’d be no one to stop the men here. They could kill her and an animal would consume her body before anyone found her. She should run, but desert stretched in a sandy death trap. Tremors raced across her spine. She might never return to her family.
The horse slowed as they drew near an oasis, the palm trees like dark skeletons reaching for the sky. The older brother leapt off his saddle and swung her down. She slid on the loose sand, falling to her knees.
He unfastened the clasp on his saddlebag and drew out a glass jar.
“Girl, go get a drink. Harick, come here and take off your vest.”
She shook her skirt to send grains of sand flying. She’d never been to an oasis before, only heard of them from eavesdropping. She’d never left the city before this night.
Harick would have to remove clothing. It wouldn’t be proper for her to stay.
She wove her way between the weeds to reach the pool of water. Something pricked her ankle and she yelped, stumbling sideways. A spirit watched from a thistle before the wind carried the gray mist away. Night, the worst time for being outdoors. It could’ve done more than nip her flesh.
Sabiya sucked in a deep breath, held up her skirt, and waded in the water up to her knees. The coolness calmed her skin, washing away the sweat and sand.
A boulder rested in the water beneath one of the palm trees. She waded along the pool’s edge until she could brush her fingers over the weathered surface where someone had painted images of warriors with arrows taking down lions.
“That’s a sacrificial stone.” The older brother’s voice teased her ear and she jumped. “After a hunt, your city’s men rest here and sacrifice a cub on that stone. The paintings are done in blood.”
“That’s horrible!” No wonder spirits clung to the site of death. She scurried backwards, splashing in the pool.
Harick knelt at the water’s edge to cup his hands for a drink.
She lifted her hand to clasp her brown head wrap with a shiver. “If you return me to my home, my father will reward you with wealth aplenty.”
“I desire no reward. I’ll return you.” The wind made the older brother’s hair flutter.
She sucked breath through her teeth. “I thought…you’re not going to force me to be your wife?”
Harick laughed. “Uthias doesn’t want a wife.”
“I have no intention of forcing a woman to wed me,” the older brother said.
Sabiya stared at where the water lapped the sand in a rippling blur. “This is not a proper topic to be discussed.” If they were being kind, she could return it. “You’re named Uthias?”
“My father says it is the name the wind calls when it blows over the dunes."
“You never told me that,” Harick whispered.
“I’m Sabiya,” she said. “I haven’t an idea why. My father named me, of course.” They couldn’t be nobles like her, or she would’ve met them before. They had to live on the outskirts. “In the city, it’s always the father who names the child. If the woman has a child without a husband, then she must name the child after herself. It shows disgrace. This doesn't seem like a proper topic to be discussing again.”
“There’s nothing wrong about it,” Uthias said.
“You’re very pretty,” Harick interrupted.
Sabiya picked at a loose thread on her skirt. “Thank you.” She removed the wrap from her head to fasten around her naked shoulders. They’d stolen her shirt so she had only a silk vest. “How long before I’ll be home?” They were alone at an oasis, yet neither had tried to touch her, other than to remove her from the horse. Honorable peasants.
Silence stretched before Uthias answered. “An hour at most. Take a drink, for we leave here now.”
Sabiya cupped her hands to drink as Harick had done.
“I beg your pardon for any untoward behavior, Lady Sabiya,” Uthias added.
She slid her hands into the water. When she lifted them, the liquid ran out between her fingers. “Ladies are the upper class in the city and I could be but a peasant or a slave.”
Harick chuckled with a cringe. “You’re amusing.”
“It’s a stupid question, not amusing.” Uthias glared at Harick. “Lady Sabiya, I can tell by the way you dress and act. A slave wouldn’t act so outright. You wear a head wrap of brown cotton-cloth. Cotton-cloth doesn’t come from the desert and so costs a great amount. Your skirt is yellow satin, another rare material. What more, you told me that your father would pay me handsomely for your return. Tell me, do most slave fathers have such wealth?”
“I could’ve been lying.” She tried to cup her hands again, but the water ran out before she could sip.
“I don’t believe you’re able to lie.”
They were men who didn’t act like women were thoughtless. A smile pulled on her lips. Sabiya stood, wiping her hands on her skirt and smacking her lips as if she’d managed a satisfying drink. They didn’t have to know how incapable she was.
Uthias
On the outskirts of Juniper City, Uthias and Harick reined in the horses. Uthias jumped down and reached for Sabiya.
She fell into his arms. “Thank you both, again, for saving me. Remember always that I owe you my life. If ever you are in need, I will do what I can to help you.”
“We’ll remember.” Uthias nodded.
“Why were you taken with a bag of clothes?” Harick asked. “I remember from when they brought you in.”
Sabiya gazed at him. “Goodbye, Uthias and Harick the Great.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Harick called. She waved and ran.
“Let’s go home.” Uthias turned his horse toward the correct direction.
“But she didn’t answer me.”
“She isn’t going to answer you, Harick.”
“Will we ever see her again?”
“Not likely. Come, Harick.” A vision flashed into his mind again. On the balcony of the tallest tower, a figure observed the three part ways. Wind blew a dark robe. Long black hair danced in the gritty wind. The figure tipped her head towards the moon and whispered a chant.