A Crook In The Sand

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE MOUNTAIN MEN WERE FINALLY here after two weeks of riding assiduously across a land that were foreign to them. Standing among the desert men, they were tall in size. But their scorched skin showed that they weren't accustomed to the greedy sun.

Now, the moon rose proudly in its wake.

Nonetheless, their height frightened Toha. Suspicion etched Sokath's mind as he eyed them like a king cobra, such tall and powerful besides him could not be trusted. Rain was not affected by their presence, in fact, he embraced it.

Jada wondered who the mountain man her husband wanted to keep for her daughter. She eyed each one and found none of them suit for Mazeeda. None will ever meet her flame.

Yusuf wiped his clammy hands before coming to greet his fellow guests. “Warriors from the mountain,” he boomed out so everyone could hear. “Please, please come inside.”

All great warriors gathered in the caravan leader's home, sitting on the matted fur. “We hear that you are ready to start a revolution,” Fos, the leader said.

“Yes,” the storyteller's father answered in a confident tone. “I have met your people ten moons ago and heard a great deal of your warriors.”

“We are not warriors,” Fos stated in disbelief, “we simply survive.”

A pause.

“But with our poor alliance and history with the Caliph, we will fight with you.” His loyal people nodded behind him, all of them observing.

Sokath spoke in a sharp tone, so sharp that it could pierce through the tent. “Has the king brought grief to you as well?”

Fos's wife --Corita-- looked the young man in the eyes; steady and unnerving. “No, not once since he started his massacre of young women.”

Jada knew she was holding back, as a mother, she knew something was wrong. It was instinct.

“At least,” she continued on, “not since my daughter was killed.”

“Your daughter?” It was Yusuf, fixing his position to his knees. “I had assumed you only had boys.”

Corita smiled sadly. “Aye, indeed. But I have been blessed by my smallgods and given a beautiful, strong girl. We named her Elce.”

“What happened?” Rain asked, somehow drawn to this story as if it was Mazeeda telling it.

“She’d fallen in love.” Fos's tone seemed fateful with the slightest disappointment. He never liked talking about the past, especially if it tied into his daughter. “She was a magnificent dancer and she worked her way up to be able to dance for Caliph Ahmed. Elce was our income when we were struck with a horrible snow storm.

But after a few months working there, we had noticed how light and joyful she was. We were worried because she was already engaged to Alik.” He gestured to the stoic and passive man to his right.

Yusuf froze in place. That very man, the one sitting as still as a statue was the same exact man he wanted Mazeeda to marry --a strongly built man to protect his beloved daughter. To be engaged to a woman before was alarming to him. He did not know what to think.

“Who was this man she fell in love with?” Toha asked.

“He is the fallen Caliph's brother,” Corita began, she would never forget his name. It was seared permanently onto her skin. “Amon Al-Fadhli.”

Fos's face fell into a disgusting frown. “That is, before he killed Elce. And left us nothing, not even her sacred body.”

ALL THE AIR IN THE Malika's body left her and left her breathless. Her eyes could not tear away from this predator in front of her.

“I have been looking for you,” the monster hissed out.

Mazeed closed her eyes and told herself to breathe. To push away all the terror holding her prison. Especially when she felt that cold blade on her warm neck.

“Calipha!”

Her eyes snapped open and found Zaabit running towards her; no, towards Khai. And watched in horror as he tackled him down.

The curved dagger clattered to the ground, spinning afterwards.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Until the tip pointed towards Mazeeda herself.

Holding his king down with all the girth he had, Zaabit turned his head to his queen. “Run!” His voice wavered in struggle. “Run and get far away if you wish to live.”

The Caliph's right hand man turned back to Khai, roughly whispering scorching words to him. To snap him out. To calm him down. To not kill the queen that gave him hope.

“Khai,” he hissed out, “Khai you must calm down.”

The king tried to get up, to push this man away from him. It was no use. Everytime he tried, he got pushed down. “I need her,” he growled out, “I need her blood on my hands. On my lips. In my body. It has been too long since I've tasted that crimson red liquid in my mouth.”

Mazeeda watched in trepidation. She could not understand how her husband, just a day ago, could now be a monster. Wanting to kill her.

She could not understand how just a day ago he allowed her to touch his cheek. To have the nerve to sleep with her.

Just a day.

How strange it was for a person to change that fast.

The storyteller picked up the crooked dagger and fled just as Zaabit told her to do. She did not know where she was going or why the weapon in her hand was so light.

She just needed to save her life. It was time to be selfish and leave this qasr entirely. Time for her to be an unforgiving sand storm and take everything and grieve absolutely nothing.

And then, before she knew it, Mazeeda was out in the garden and squeezing herself through that crack. That crack that whispered freedom to her.

The queen could breathe out here. No walls could restrain her in anymore. No boy king could kill her out here.

Evilla was calling for her now. The feeling was humming inside her, growing louder and louder.

She looked down at the dagger in her hand before stuffing into her dishdasha. Now that she was out of the qasr she called home for the past two months, she wanted to see what Yaheisea could offer her.

And so she set forth to discover all the secrets of this place with each step she took.