Sebiya Shadid's Story

A loan figure was seated in the barren wastelands, having taken shelter beneath a canopy of cloth. Secured by sturdy pickets, the frequent gusts of wind that kicked up sand and grit did little to dislodge the rudimentary shelter. It was situated low to the ground, with only just enough space for Sebiya to sit and rest through the heat of the midday sun. It was smoldering out with the sun nearing its zenith, and even within the shelter of the tent the heat was suffocatingly stifling.

Nearby a pair of large camels were tethered to a post that had been driven into the sand, neither of the animals seeming too perturbed by the temperatures or the landscape. While one was saddled and bridled for riding, the second was rigged under saddlebags and bundles of cloth and supplies.

Within the tent, the woman was whittling away at a bit of bone while staring out across the barren wastelands. There was nothing but sand and rock for as far as the eye could see, and even that was a rippling haze as the sun scorched it. The empty waterskin at her side served as an unnerving reminder of the stakes at hand. It was too late to turn back now, and her only option was to press onward and hope for an end to this desolate landscape before her dwindling water supply ran dry.

Her expression was one of hardened resolve, though was that to say the woman was without fear? What man or beast was truly without fear when faced with the prospect of their death. Her mind briefly wandered to the spectacle she had bore witness too only hours prior. The rain of fire that had fallen across the desert wasn't like anything she had seen before, and she was left to wonder if it was an ill omen. The thought crossed her mind often, but always she pushed it to the back of her mind to focus on the here and the now. If death came for her, it would arrive in good time; dwelling upon it served little purpose.

The sky blazed with unbearable fire, and Aasha found herself caught in the exposed, merciless open. She had taken shelted by a tiny rock, and had stretched her canvas over her just barely in time. Now she waited, sweltering in the killing heat. She was thankful for the lightness of her salwar kalmeez, designed to let cool air in. Sometimes, she stripped naked in the wasteland, so hot did it get. But she always felt uncomfortable doing so, even though she knew the chances of anyone seeing her were slim.

She found it too painfully hot to sleep, and she tried to mediate, ignore the pain of the burning air, focusing on her inner self, preforming chakras and reciting segments of the Holy Texts to herself.

In the distance, shimmering, she could make out what appeared to be camels, but she would not be fooled by such mirages. She would sit here, and wait, for the sun to pass. She checked her own water supply, compulsively, for the twentieth time. Maybe a day's rations left, if she was careful. It was going to be hard, following this northern path. Briefly, she wondered if she had done the right thing, choosing to go north instead of west when she had. But having committed to a course of action, she could not hesitate or dillydally or change courses now. If she must die here, in this baking ground without mercy, it would be as someone who never compromised their true self, who died free and content.

She allowed herself a weak smile, though even that hurt through her chapped lips.

As the sun's rays began to slide eastwards through the sky, she ended her meditation, and saw to her irritation that still, on the distance, was the shimmering outline of camels. Surely not...? She felt her heart race. Was someone else out here? Did they have water? She blinked, feeling dizzy, wondering if it was heat-stroke or dehydration or something else.

The shapes resolved, and her world seemed to -shift- impercetibly. The possible became the definite. Yes, there were camels.

The sky seemed less intense, the sun's rage dimmer, somehow. Aasha levered herself up from her lotus position, using her musket to steady herself, like a walking aid. Maybe the sun had finally driven her mad, but she felt different. Breathing heavily, she staggered out from her crude shelter, across yards of burning sand, feeling the fire eating at her neck and skin. It was cooler, yes, but still agonisingly hot.

The camels were real. Someone else was out here. Whoever it was, had been placed in her path by God, placed there for a reason.

She was going to find out why. Perhaps they had water? or anwsers? She would find out, now.

Sebiya caught sight of Aasha's approach long before the stranger reached her location, but she remained unhurried in securing her supplies. As the stranger approached, Sebiya was tightening the straps around the roll of fabric that had served as her shelter through the midday heat.

One of the camels turned its head to bray obnoxiously at Aasha but Sebiya took hold of the bridle and patted it on the snout to calm it before she moved around the animal to inspect the straps and buckles to be sure everything was secure. The shift in position disguised her movements so that she could slip the ties loose on one of the saddlebags, and her hand furtively located the pistol within it. A quick check ascertained that it was loaded, though she did not pull it out into view.

With the camel partially shielding her from Aasha, she pat its neck gently.

"What brings you to the dying sands, stranger," she called out in greeting.

She spoke in her native tongue and her voice rang with light amiability, but Sebiya was not a naive soul. Out here in this barren wasteland, water was a commodity that meant the difference between life and death. Men and women had killed over far less - men and women who weren't armed with sword and musket.

Aasha panted, her chest heaving with the exertion, her skin buzzing with the heat radiating off of it. She looked up at the stranger. A woman, it seemed. Veiled, and in posession of camels. A desert-dweller, perhaps. Kaur frowned. From what she knew of the followers of the Desert God and his One Prophet, they were not particularly accustomed to letting their women roam alone, especially in a place like this, much less with expensive, valuable camels. Of course, such prejudice was hardly exclusive to that tribe of believers, as Aasha well knew.

The words seemed foreign, but vaguely familiar. Their intent, at least, was clear. A greeting, and a warning. She dropped her musket onto the hard earth, and held her hands open at her sides, a gesture of trust. Her sword still-dangled from her side, but she kept her hands away from the hilt.

"Salutations, traveller. I came in search of wisdom, and now I seek water, and a safe way north."

She pointed in the vague direction of the north, for emphasis.

"I have a little of my own water and food, which i will share. I am a sworn saint-soldier, and I give you my oath that I mean you no harm." She hoped that this foreigner knew the weight of what she had said. Aasha knew that simply stating her identity was rarely enough to convince the suspicious and hostile, especially those who did not share her Faith.

However, if she was to go North, she would need a companion, especially one with camels, which could carry her faster and with less exertion for further.

"In the Desert, all men are brothers. Perhaps also, we might be sisters?"

Sebiya watched Aasha intently for a time longer before she finally reached up and lowered the cloth from her face to better speak.

"I too travel north," she replied.

As she spoke she checked the safety on the pistol before discretely tucking it away within the folds of her clothes out of sight. One could not be too safe out here where a few drops of water could mean the difference between life or death.

"You are welcome to travel with me," she added as she stepped out from behind the camel.

She checked the tether briefly that kept the camels secured together before hoisting herself up onto the back of the riding camel. The pack camel was far too encumbered to seat a rider, leaving only the single camel to the pair.

"We can alternate riding," she offered before gesturing to the northeast. "The fires that fell from the sky landed not far beyond those dunes. I wish to take a closer look, then we can continue northward."

Sebiya trudged into Wing City with only a small bag slung over one shoulder. The woman had been on the road for weeks and she very much looked it with her unkempt hair and weather worn clothes. Just another drifter really, no one to stand out among the droves of bodies that come and go from Wing City. Even her foreign attire hardly marked her out in this city where all manner of man and creature seemed to walk the streets.

She noted it all with quiet contemplation. It was a good place she thought, a place where she could mingle largely unnoticed. With nothing but the clothes on her back and the empty bag over her shoulder, the first thing she needed to do was find food and supplies.

It was a cycle she was used to since she had staggered out of the barren wastelands far to the south. As she passed through towns she simply stole or found odd jobs to trade for what she needed to keep moving. This was the first city she had come across though, the first place that maybe she would linger upon for more than a day of a rest.

Alone sat a what looked like a human man. The only difference was that this man had elongated, pointed, ears and gold-gilded, curling, horns protruding out from his skull. Desmond was clothed in a fine billowing robe, crimson in color and silken in sheen. He wore no shoes and thin gold wire threaded around his elegant fingers like jewelry. A shock of brilliant blond hair spilled over the mask he wore over his eyes.

A presence passed by and Desmond, sitting on a decorative bench, tilted his head. "Help a blind man for a fleeting moment?" Desmond asked in his velveteen voice. A small smile curled the edges of his feminine mouth. The daemon began to stand from the bench, fumbling for purchase with his fingers as if he could not determine where the armrests were.

"I have lost my companion."

Sebiya turned to the man who had addressed her.

"I am a stranger here," Sebiya replied. "I don't know what help I can be to you."

She pulled the cloth down from the lower half of her face so she could better speak to the man. Though sharing in a vibrancy of wardrobe, that was about as far as the similarities went between the pair. His darkened skin was contrasted by her lightly tanned complexion, and his blond hair by her black.

Her eyes reflexively sought out his own, but she was met only with the mask he wore.

A musical laugh followed her answer. It was heartfelt. "My companion was a temporary one. I believe the canine trotted off to go find more engaging company with its own species," Desmond admitted. He opened his arms in a helpless gesture.

"There has been no one past this way to help me see my way home," the blind daemon said. "I cannot offer much in payment for you time. I have food and another bed if you are in need," Desmond offered. He held up a finger, asking her silently to wait. Reaching into his robe, the daemon pulled out a golden apple and presented it in front of him in offering.

"Please. I need your help and fear I will be stuck here for many more hours, if not all evening." Desmond smiled gently.

A quick look up and down the street reaffirmed the pointed absence of the canine the man spoke of.

"Alright," Sebiya replied. She pocketed the offered apple. "You had me won over at food anyways."

"Is it far?" she asked. "I don't know my way around this city."

"It is near the Gardens," Desmond answered. "I know the way. I can navigate well enough on my own but I cannot see things that can do harm to me. That is why I need your help; to direct me away from things that I may run into or off of."

An odor of sulfur caught in the wind.

"Take my arm," Desmond asked, offering his left arm toward the female. "And I would like to know your name."

Not seeing much harm in it, Sebiya took the offered arm.

"Sebiya. Just Sebiya," she replied.

"Does your dog usually make a point of out of running off?" she asked.

Her happening upon the man seemed fortunate enough. Helping a blind man through the city for some food and a bed for the night. If she was fortunate she could wrangle a hot bath and some clean clothes out of the deal. Finding work around here would be a fair bit easier if she wasn't walking about looking like a hobo.

The aroma of cinnamon cut through the odor of sulfur as Desmond turned his head toward Sebiya's voice. "A name I have never heard before. If it is not too much, I would like to know its origins. First I will introduce myself. My name is Desmond Bornholdt and, yes, my hound Siglis does tend to run off at unexpected moments." It was the first time even a hint of a frown touched what could be seen of his face.

"Now, do tell me your origins. If I like the story that I hear, it can be rewarded with hot water and a few sweets from the City of Gears."

Sebiya's body rocked with the motion of her camel as wind whipped up the sand all around her. Her lips where cracked and blistered and her throat as dry as the shimmering dunes that made up the landscape for as far as the eye could see. The sun was beginning to reach its noonday height, but she didn't stop today to erect a shelter from the sweltering heat. No... it was far too late for such efforts.

Dehydration had taken its toll and she hadn't the energy to sit up any longer. Her mount continued of its own accord as she lingered on the brink of delirium.

She couldn't recall how many days she had been out here, or how long now since she had been out of water... or how long until she reached the other side of the dying sands...

There was a sinking sensation of motion that was followed by the impact of her body hitting the sand.

The jarring sensation roused her from her delirium to see her camel plodding on ahead, leaving her where she had fallen. She reached outstretched fingers towards it, but she couldn't find the strength to pull herself to her feet to go after it. Her hand shook before she let it fall and she simply lay there in the hot sand, feeling the grit of it against the side of her face as she waited to die.

Many would believe that it was only through sheer coincidence that the ensuing events began to unfold. Only a select few would be able to understand that chance played no parts in this; that these events were clandestinely orchestrated ages ago by forces unknown and obscure to mortal minds, and brought forth to fruition by the whims of darkness most vile and the pawns who heedlessly serve it to no end. Yes, here in these dying sands the beginning of the end begins again...

Countless grains made like the coals in the infinite inferno were cast about by the fiery winds which constantly ravaged the landscape, transforming mountainous dunes into deep valleys and vice versa. One would be hard pressed in navigating this type of terrain, more so if ill-prepared for such a trip. Perhaps this was the case for our desert flower now wilting beneath the gruesome assault of the sun, left to the mercy of what may lurk beyond the distant mirages and ones' own delirium.

"Death, it would seem, craves the taste of your flesh... And yet is kept at bay, watching, savoring your suffering. Do you wish to die here?" A voice both distant and near inquisitively offered to the collapsed form cradled by the sands. Produced by a cloaked figure seemingly birth from the air itself, it was left to linger without much hope for a reply. Amber eyes shown like cursed gold in the depths of shade offered by the hood which sheltered the figure's head and keenly watched for something in the fallen woman to convince him that purpose still coursed through her body.

The voice dragged Sebiya's eyes towards the cloaked figure, and for a moment her heart lurched in her chest, and the dying ember of hope flickered in protest to the dying sands that south to claim her life.

"Water..." she managed to drag out of her dry and abused throat.

The rational part of her mind that struggled to swim through her delirium knew this for what it clearly was. An illusion brought on by her delirium, but still that cracked plea whispered past her lips.

"Wa-water..."

Her hand closed into a fist as it sought something to grab onto, to pull herself towards the man... towards the mirage that sought to torment her in her final hours... but there was nothing but grains of sand to slip between her finger tips.

"There is a glint of life in you yet... And a hint of purpose." The faint plea was met with a crooked smile, one that may not have been perceived through that abysmal shade which loomed upon the figure's face. There was some sifting beneath the layers of rags before a sack protruded through it, gripped tight by tanned fingers.

"Before you drink, before your pain is relinquished, know it. Feel it. The relief that is about to consume you is the kiss of mercy from the one who truly loves you. To understand the extent of His love, you must first embrace the gift of woe..." As the man spoke he took a knee beside the woman and used the back of his hand to turn her head toward the heavens. The cork on the sac was easily disposed of with the assistance of his teeth and the container itself left to linger over the woman's sun baked lips, the sloshing of it's contents allowing a few free drips to be cast downward.

"-And we thank him who is truly worthy of thanks, and ask that our appreciation be met with a service in his name, to show that we are the grateful, the ones who will see his return and relish in that great and awesome day. الحمد الشر" And as the last utterance escaped his lips, a simple tip of his hand allowed a waterfall of cool and fresh spring water to free fall down onto her lips and past them. It was a decent flow of water. Enough be enjoyed by the gulp but not so much as to induce drowning.

The first drops of water that fell formed something like mud as it mingled with the dry dust that clung to her cracked lips, but it didn't stop her from trying to take it in, to reach the source of the water.

The cool water that splashed across her lips couldn't have been more refreshing even as she coughed and sputtered from trying to drink while lying down. Her hands grabbed for his, to draw the source of water closer to her lips to guzzle it as it ran in rivulets down her face to mingle with her hair and the sand behind her neck.

The heat left it evaporating almost as soon as it touched the sand, and part of her cringed at the waste of the precious liquid and she let go to rest her head back on the sand.

"Who are you..." she asked.

Her lips almost hurt worse than they had before the stranger had sought to quench her thirst as the noon-day sun burned the moisture from her blistered lips.

"Who I am is of no consequence to you... Yet. However, you may call me Abdul. Abdul Al-Azrad." The man followed his cryptic verbiage with name as he resealed the water sac and replaced it within the blankets of torn cloth with adorned his body. The desert winds swept against them as he returned to his feet and for a moment a faint glimpse of his face could be made out beneath the wayward sands which meant to further mask his countenance in obscurity.

"They claim I am the Mad Priest. The funny thing is, I can't figure out what I'm so angry about!" And with that a hand were extended downward toward his new companion, hopeful that she would return her own in efforts to aid her to her feet. That smile again possessed his shaded visage, toothy and manic, eager to divulge untold secrets and damned blasphemies or to devour truth and order... or so it seemed. Perhaps he was just happy.

"And you are?"