around his finger. “But I seriously doubt they’ll come to you to confess.”
“No need,” She smirked at him, obviously relishing in her superior knowledge. “The chief has a plan to flush them out, tonight at the fire dance.”
“Oh, well, then I guess you’re right once again.”
He smiled with a stony expression, trying to hide the blind panic that had erupted behind his façade of disinterest. If his father was going to try and flush out the culprit, which was Mufroen himself of course, at fire dance, then they both might not make it to their rendezvous, or out of the desert. Let alone what his father had in mind for those that were flushed out.
The tribes of the high desert have long since the beginning of their histories had a power over the desert and the sands that can only be described as eerie. Bothersome enemies are known to have perished in sight of water and whole armies have marched just over the edge of a dune to vanish completely the next moment. There is some discussion as to who actually holds this power, the tribes’ men insists that only the joined Elders can utilise it, where the women hold to the belief that it has always been the gatherings of wives that do the actual wielding.
For now, however, this discussion is moot, since in a rare moment of total agreement, they have simultaneously decided to invoke the desert to punish the desecration of long-held traditions.
“You cannot do this,” The chubby merchant was bent double before the chief’s feet, occasionally rising to wring his hands and shaking them at the starry skies above. “She is my best girl!”
Bound to a pole next to the chief’s seat, was Rheena. The moonlight and the fire seemed to conspire to make her look more palely golden and vulnerable than ever and Mufroen had to shake himself to keep from striding over to his father and demanding an explanation in anger. It would be foolish, for one, and also, he suspected that he knew all too well what was going on without his father’s, undoubtedly unctuous, explanations of why traditions were to be protected.
Not enough years had passed since his birth for him to be of an age that would traditionally be considered appropriate to claim his manhood. Nevertheless, it had been more than enough for him to realize that tradition was something that the ones in power used to keep those without in check, while they did exactly what they wanted under the guise of that same tradition. It made him sick to his stomach and, more importantly, angry.
There is nothing in the world that can burn as hot, or as deep, as the smouldering ashes of righteous anger, and Mufroen had been nourishing his for quite some time now. It had sparked when the chief, his father, had seen fit to banish his mother out into the desert on some futile charge. With every petty, selfish act, the flames burned higher. And there had been quite a number of those acts.
“Don’t worry about your girl, Malik,” said the chief with a slick voice. “She might still walk away unharmed,” He smiled his gapped teeth to those gathered around the fire. There was much shuffling of feet and only rarely did anyone dare to meet his gaze. The chief was unpredictable when he was angry, so it was better not to attract his attention at a time like this. “All she needs is a protector for the coming trial.”
Mufroen was sure his father’s gaze rested on him from across the fire. The tribesmen were a short people and Mufroen was of average height and for a moment he wondered how he would be able to recognize him over the blinding blaze of the fire between them. He gritted his teeth and waited, there was always a snake hidden under too smooth sands.
“If her protector is able to bring us the sword of sands before sunrise in two days, she will be cleared,” The collective silence of shock was a sound in itself.
Mufroen raised his eyebrows in surprise. The sword of the sands was a story that was told to unruly children when they had to go to bed at night. He’d never thought it could be real.
“That’s just a fairy tale, there’s no way anyone could get that sword, it doesn’t exist!” The words had left his lips before he knew it, and when he saw his father’s content expression he also knew that he’d acted exactly as the old man had planned. He stepped forward into the ring of light around the crackling fire.
“I challenge you.” He stared into his father’s desiccated face and jerked his chin up to underline his words. The old man cackled with pleasure, even going as far as to hit his legs with his hands in his joy. Mufroen didn’t know what was so amusing about his challenge, but he was pretty sure he’d find it the exact opposite.
“No my boy, I don’t think so.”
“You have to accept a challenge from anyone who thinks himself your better,” He showed his father his most expressionless face. “Or abdicate.”
The chief raised a wrinkled finger and shook it slowly through the air.
“Not quite,” He said with relish. “Can anyone tell me why not?” The silence around the fire eddied into frantic whisperings, but none spoke up.
“Ah.. Don’t tell me no one knows..”
Mufroen could have throttled his father with the greatest pleasure, just for the taunting expression that was now on his face.
“Treason!” A light voice rang out and people shuffled aside behind Mufroen to let the speaker through. “One accused of treason must be tried before he can challenge,” Lillin stepped out into the light some paces from him. “And you have been accused.”
“If he’s still alive after, that is!” His father laughed and the Elders and most of those around the fire laughed with him. It may not be heartfelt, but it made it very clear where they stood: safely behind their chief.
“You dumb..-” Mufroen bit of his remark and stared back at his father with all the patience he could gather. They might kill him, but he’d be damned if he scrambled in front of his tribesmen.
“But, I’m willing to be fair,” The chief said. He motioned for Lillin to join him and fondled her with gusto when she stepped up. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
Mufroen could see disgust flee across Lillin’s face and for a short moment he truly felt for her. She had no idea how badly she’d trapped herself, or him, but she was intelligent enough to realize her abominable future soon enough. His father had decades of experience over on her. If she even tried to ply him in the smallest of ways, he’d end her before she’d have time to blink. But it might still be better than what awaited him.
“As your trial, you’ll be this harlot’s protector and bring us the sword,” He leaned forward with a satisfied grin on his craggy features. “You have two sunrises, I suggest you make haste.”
“I doesn’t exist,” He kneeled next to the pole to which Rheena was bound, she’d sagged down in her bonds and was sitting in an uncomfortable crouch. “I’m so sorry.”
She smiled at him, squinting against the sand that blew in her face and shivering violently in the cold night air. He’d gotten the largest fur blanket out of her tent and tucked it in around her, but he could tell that she’d gotten too cold to warm herself up quickly.
Only a few stragglers were left around the fire. Now that the spectacle was over and the victim’s fates as good as sealed, most had retreated to the communal tents to prospect on what would happen in the morning. He slid the blanket open again and folded himself around the trembling woman. A small sigh of relief escaped her mouth as she pushed into the heat of his body.
They must both have fallen asleep somehow, because when Mufroen awoke some time later the fire was reduced to embers and nothing but silence could be heard from inside the tents. But something had woken him, so he disentangled himself from the sleeping Rheena as gently as he could and walked between the tents.
He looked around, everybody seemed to be in the deep slumber of middle night and apparently nobody’d considered setting out guards. With a sniff he headed toward the back of the camp. If he could get some supplies from the storage tents and a sled, they would have a chance when they made a run for it. Honour was all nice when everyone played by the rules, but he preferred to play alongside the rules and live to enj
oy another day. He was quite sure Rheena would have no compunctions in the area of tribal honour and he doubted his father saw her as enough of a person to have made her swear that she wouldn’t run. And even if he did, she didn’t have to run, he was taking her.
He found one of his father’s competition sleds in storage and unwrapped it with pleasure. They were made of the best woods and skins the dessert could provide, its sleek form would give them a chance to outrace the tribe. He’d packed it lightly, but brought extra water and furs, Rheena would not be used to the hardship and there was no point in saving her if he couldn’t keep her alive long enough to get her safe. Although, he probably would still try, even without supplies. Better to be taken by the desert than to die at the hands of a petty old man.
He stepped up towards the fire to free Rheena and run for it, when a hand closed on his arm in a grip that was not to be denied. He turned and twisted to sweep his assailants feet from under him, and silently slit his throat, when he recognized the shape behind him as Lillin.
“Strong grip,” He said with a measure of respect, then flicked her hand off his arm. “What do you want?”
“You have to take me with you,” She glared at him from under her shawl. “This is all your fault, so you’d better save me, if you know what’s good for