chapter two rough
May. 18th, 2006 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI apologize for being either absent or wiggy, btw. Work is keeling me dedz0r. But the deadline is May and provided the fuckers don't sign another deal that requires I break my fucking back to keep up our end of the bargain, I should have more time and energy on my hands after May. X_X Provided I survive the month.
I feel bad posting roughs, but I hate not posting something more. If you prefer to just wait for the final versions, lemme know. But Sandstorm you probably will only see up 'til chapter five, and then I'm going to hoard the rest until I decide where to submit/print it.
I also haven't been responding to comments like I should. Never have I been this bad X_X Thank you, those I haven't run off, for not running off ^^;;;
God the end of this month cannot come soon enough for me.
Anyway.
This chapter was really fracking weird to write.
Two
It never failed. When you wanted to find something it was nowhere to be found. The very moment all you wanted was your bed and someone else in it to make everything better, you found that which had cost you six weeks of work.
Grumbling softly enough the words were absorbed by the cloth over his mouth, he slid from his horse and ordered her softly to stay. The job would go much faster if he could ride her all the way into the camp and the very last thing he wanted or needed was for the Snake to realize they had an intruder.
Such discoveries tended to be bad for the intruder’s health, and as he was the intruder he was hoping to keep his health intact.
And it would be all too like the Lady to confound his efforts after four hard years of work.
Continuing to grumble he slunk in the direction of the camp, heart beating rapidly in his chest .As many times as he did this, it never failed to make him nervous. He loved and hated it. He would not be sorry when his task was at last completed. But Lady only knew how many more Tribes there were to go…
Six weeks it had taken him to figure out where in the camp it was. Six weeks! Usually simply finding the camps was the hard part. After that it became relatively easy. The Lady laughed at him, he knew it.
He paused alongside a rough rock wall in a twisting, winding canyon that – he could not help it – snaked its way toward the primary camp of the Viper Tribe. He wondered idly, or maybe not so idly, how many people who were not Snake had traveled this way and lived to tell about it.
Probably not many. Viper was one of the most vicious tribes in the desert. Just like their namesake, they were fond of hiding in wait and springing upon their pray in surprise.
So he’d better watch himself. Of course he always did. But still.
His lips twisted in a smile beneath the fabric covering his mouth, and he laughed softly at himself. Too much sand on the brain, clearly.
He grew more serious as he finished wending his way through the mazelike canyon. Crouching in a dark corner, he waited. The patrol should pass by shortly, after which he would have exactly three minutes to reach the tent that was his destination.
Thank the Lady it wasn’t the Sheik’s tent this time. He hated when it was. Of course, that also usually meant he didn’t spend six weeks of frustrating searching. Lady will his job be nearly done. He loved the Sands, sensed his heart belonged to them as much as his father’s had not.
But he would like to enjoy them, be a part of them, not skulk about in the chilly night looking for the quickest way to be a scavenger’s next meal. He snorted Meal. Che. More like snack. All his weight came off with the clothes.
Stifling an urge to laugh at himself, reassured that even in the middle of the desert he was his own worst enemy, he tensed as the patrol passed by. They moved with near-perfect soundlessness, no doubt the result of years and years of training. Like their namesake, you didn’t hear a Viper until too late.
Unless you were good at not being seen.
Grinning behind his face cover, he waited until the patrol vanished around the corner and then bolted. His steps were soundless. One didn’t survive four years sneaking around the desert unless he had a talent for it.
In addition to his other talents.
He stilled as he reached the second largest tent in the camp, certain everyone could hear his heart as it tried to hammer out of his chest. Steady…steady…near-soundless steps reached his ears, and then men passed by on patrol in the inner ring. They passed out of his vision a moment later. He didn’t move. Two minute later another pair of men passed by. He snorted in disgust as he heard them nearly a minute ahead of time. Sloppy, this pair. He stilled as they passed by, not really worried.
Sneaking into camps had been hard at first. Then he’d realized how arrogant most of them had gotten. So used to being cloaked, to not being found, very few of them took security as seriously as they should.
Not once in four years had anyone noticed that been methodically sneaking into each and every Tribe camp in the desert. Into every last primary camp. Into their homes.
Well, each and every Tribe except the ones he hadn’t gotten to yet. And Ghost.
He’d long ago determined that his chances of ever finding Ghost were nonexistent. There was a reason the aggravating, frustrating, half-wild, vexing, arrogant stupid Tribe was nowhere to be found anywhere in the Desert.
Stupid Ghosts.
The men on patrol vanished and he bolted, sneaking into the tents on the far side of the wide canyon. This wasn’t actually Viper’s home; that was deeper into the canyon. Thankfully he didn’t have to trek that far – but it had taken him two weeks to figure that out. Then four weeks of figuring where amongst the myriad guard camps the object of his desire was hidden.
So protective, the Tribes, of their precious treasures.
Not protective enough.
Soundlessly he glided between tents, weaving his way until he reached the one he sought, at the farthest point from where he’d entered. There had been other way to get here, all of them shorter, none of them even remotely worth the risk. Even now he could be caught any second. The Tribes had grown comfortable with the arrangement of the dunes, but that didn’t mean they’d forgotten the winds could change them. Or that a sandstorm could rearrange the entire desert in a single night.
Some things changed the landscape more slowly. So slowly, he hoped, that no one would notice until too late.
Shaking off the worries that never left him for more than a handful of minutes or a rare night of complete rest, he slid into the tent he sought and stalked to the bed. From a pouch at his waist he drew a small vial and drew out the stopper, then held it under the nose of the man snoring softly in the bed. Seconds passed, and then snores faded as the man sank into a sleep from which he would not wake unless forcibly roused – hopefully the man didn’t have the next patrol shift.
Returning the vial to its pouch, he turned sharply around and stalked to the table in the corner. He knew it was here, now it was just a matter of where. Hopefully not somewhere in the near vicinity of the bed, because he hated moving all-but-dead men out of bed so he could rifle through it.
There were some things he just did not need to know about perfect strangers.
Shuddering, he set aside several books after examining them carefully for odd pages, especially thick covers. Next were the long, leather rubes that held rolls of paper – none of them what he sought. An hour passed as he carefully examined the contents of the table and the shelves arranged neatly on top of it. Finally he shifted his attention to the table itself, examining the legs, the underside, the top…still nothing.
Sighing softly, not quite yet frustrated, he spread his search to other sections of the tent. It was on the large side of small, perfect for a man who spent all his time either on duty or snatching what sleep he could before going back on duty. Vipers, it seemed, never relaxed.
Nor, as his presence indicated, did they pay enough attention.
A shelf near the bed gave him nothing, neither did the chest alongside it. Holding back a curse, he finally turned to the bed. If he had ever needed proof that the Lady despised him, here it was. Yet another bed search. Lady willing, this one would not be as lonely and disgusting as the last one had been.
The bed was nothing spectacular, little more than a thick mat with more pillows than a soldier was strictly allotted, with a blanket sufficient for keeping back the chilly desert night. Why did they always hide it underneath their beds? Certainly he didn’t want to resort to a bed search, but that didn’t mean he’d just give up.
He leaned in close to get a better look at what he would have to do. There was very little light, only what was provided by the fires set up methodically through the camp. It was just enough for his well-trained eyes to see by, and only see enough to hopefully avoid getting killed.
This one would be hard to move. He frowned in thought, considering the vial in his pouch. Another dose of valtyanar would ensure the man would not be waking for a very long, or possibly not at all.
But that would make it quite clear that he’d been here, or at least that someone had been here, and it would not take them long after that to figure out what in this minor soldier’s tent had been worth killing for.
Stifling another sigh, he gingerly began to move the man, grunting with the effort of moving a man who seemed to weight at least three times what he did. Grimacing once the deed was done, he stepped over the unconscious man and knelt on the bed mat, slowly feeling his way along it, examining every last bit of it, then the pillows.
Finally he rolled his eyes and crawled off the mat, then lifted it up. Sure enough.
He should just start checking here first. That was the fourth time someone had thought themselves so very clever in hiding it in the sand beneath their bed. Honestly, if Viper knew they thought exactly as Horse there would be yet another fight in the Desert. Taking the stiff leather-wrapped metal tube to the desk, he opened the tube and drew out a long, stiff sheet of paper. Spreading it out on the table, securing it with whatever heavy objects were closest to hand. Then he drew up his cape, using it to cover him and as much of the table as he could. Safe within the folds, he struck a match and lit the small lamp on the table.
As light flared, he began to memorize what it revealed. Setting to stone in his mind every line, ever curve, every last notation and careless blob of ink. Minutes passed slowly by as he worked to commit every bit of it to memory.
Finally he closed his eyes and summoned the image to his mind. When he opened his eyes a minute later, the image in his mind matched the image before him.
Which meant it was time to go.
Working swiftly but with all the caution he’d used to that point, he doused the light, restored his cape, and set about returning the tube and setting the room to rights. When everything was as it had been before he started, and the sleeping soldier was back in his bed – Lady’s mercy it had been a relatively clean one – he took one last look around and then left the tent, sneaking back the way he’d come.
Several tense minutes later, he was successfully away from the camp, out of the canyon, and nearly falling down the dune to where he had left his horse. He pet her nose as she came forward, as eager as he to leave. “Hello, my Angel,” he murmured softly. “I’ll spoil you rotten when we finally get home…well, home away from home, anyway. You know the way, my Angel. Take us where we’ll be safe for the night.” He mounted smoothly and spurred her to movement.
In minutes they were well away from the canyons at the far south-east edge of the Desert, Angel taking them across the sands and toward safety, though he would not truly be safe until his mission was finished and he was finally home.
Home.
If he were honest, which he always tried to be with himself as he had to lie to everyone else, all that he really missed were his parents. He loved the Desert. A little more each day. The only pang was in not quite belonging. His entire life here was a charade, a pretense behind which he could work. What would it be like to belong? To wear the badges of a Tribe? Have people greet him like he belonged and not merely like he was being tolerated?
So depressing to never quite fit anywhere.
He wondered if dad was awake. Probably. Idiot never slept when he was worried, and he’d railed and railed against his son being the one to go into the Desert. He snorted. Like anyone else was half as good as him?
Hardly. Still, he’d hated to put that look on his father’s face. And his mother’s. Was mom all right? Were the other women taking care of her? Of course they were, but she’d still have that look in her eyes, the one that made them look dim, like a candle behind a curtain. She’d start to fret the moment anyone left her alone – which he knew dad wouldn’t let happen, but for going on five years now…
Maybe they’d gotten tired of worrying and were all right. Oh, this was why he didn’t let himself think about it.
Ignoring the sharp bite of homesickness that hit him like a chill wind, he held tighter to his horse’s reigns and forcefully turned his mind back to business. Calling up the images he’d memorized less than an hour ago, he compared it with other remembered pictures, sliding them together, seeing how they looked overlaid.
He was the only one who could have done this. No one else had his memory, the ability to perfectly remember something after seeing it just once. That memory was crucial, because to put to paper what he was memorizing would endanger every last Tribe in the desert.
Frowning in thought as images moved and shifted in his head, concentrating hard on picking out inconsistencies, errors, he barely noticed when his horse began to slow down and the trees of an oasis came into view, black and gray and white beneath the moonlight. “That’s my Angel,” he murmured softly. Sliding from the saddle, he led her to the water and let her drink while he unfastened his bedroll and the saddles bags. When she’d had enough, he led her into a nearby copse of trees. One of the smaller oasis in the enormous Desert, and if the Viper Tribe was so close it was probably used with fair frequency.
Hopefully no one would come this way before he could catch a few hours rest. In a few days time, he’d be back in his own tent, same amongst the Tribe he was staying with, and could enjoy a few days of real rest before he came back south to locate the next Tribe. Comparing what he’d gleaned from the Vipers with what he already knew, it would seem the Jackals were his next target.
He set out his bedroll and drew his robes and cloak tightly around his body, crooning softly when Angel dipped her head to nuzzle him goodnight. Closing his eyes, he pretended that the smell of trees and water and sand were incense and flowers, old books and rich, dark tea.
Soon, he told himself. Soon his mother would be fussing over him and his father lecturing up a storm about how stupid he’d been to do this. Then they’d settle down and listen to his stories and his father would constantly interrupt to ask about a dozen things that had or hadn’t changed since he’d left the Desert to live in Tavamara. His mother would shake her head at both of them and press him for the details he’d been trying to leave out so as not to worry her.
Then, after he’d settled down and they began to leave him in peace, he could begin to work on finding a way back to the Desert. He’d find a Tribe that would have a real place for him, maybe…
Snorting at the absurdity of his thoughts, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the stars, ticking them off in his head from sheer habit. Maiden Fetching Water. Night Sheik. First Horse. Dozens of others, spreading out across the sky, blending into one another.
They never looked this pretty back home.
Rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, sleep. If he was lucky he’d get four hours of sleep before he had to get moving again. More than likely he would only get three. Staying in one place for too long would get him killed almost as fast as sneaking into camps.
Even when he helped the idiots, they never liked him. He frowned, suddenly recalling what he had to tell Isra and his uncle.
The fake Falcon. So close that another tribe would not have known the difference. He wondered if the two he’d assisted a few days ago had. Any Falcon would have laughed in contempt and cut the imposters’ heads off. The Ghosts probably hadn’t bothered to notice, all too happy to kill any Falcon that crossed their path.
He wished he’d gotten a closer look at them, he was fairly certain the one who fought like a wild man had been the notorious Sandstorm he’d heard so much about. Him and half the Tribes in the Desert, even those who were so far away they had long thought the Ghost Tribe to be mere legend.
Just as Cobra didn’t think Viper existed. Just as Owl didn’t think Falcon still lived. Just as a dozen more Tribes considered another dozen to be entirely rumor or long dead.
Because the Desert Tribes had a great many strengths, but communication was not one of them. He wasn’t entirely certain they knew the meaning of the word. The Tribes all agreed every other Tribe was wrong about something; at best they were wrong but not so wrong that an alliance was out of the question.
Most alliances didn’t last long.
Those few who had tried to unite the Tribes had either been Tavamara Kings who had run scurrying back to their palace after mere months, or Sheiks within the Desert who either were killed in battle or realized how stupid they were being.
The Tribes were united only in that they were meant to be divided, and everyone outside the Desert needed to mind their own business.
Heaving a sigh, he sat up and dug into one of his saddlebags, pulling out a pouch of dried meat. Getting up, he moved to the edge of the water and knelt, scooping water up in one hand to drink. His hands made it taste like dirt and sweat, but beneath that it was cool and crisp.
Almost as refreshing as the sleep he wasn’t getting. Nights like this he missed being a child, when he could pester his mom into singing him to sleep, or his dad into telling him a story. Of course being an adult had its benefits – none of which he was enjoying. But if he dwelt on that he really would never get some sleep.
Chewing almost absently on the tough, faintly-sweet, smoky meat, he stared at the reflection of the moon in the rippling water and let his thoughts jump as they wanted, never lingering long on any of them, until his overactive mind finally wore itself down. Crawling back to his bedroll, he curled up and fell into light doze.
Ingrained habit forced him awake two hours later, the sky just beginning to take on a faint haze that would turn eventually into sunrise. “That time already?” Sighing, he gathered his things and fastened them in place on his saddle, then mounted and turned Angel west. “Take us back, Angel, to our home away from home.”
I feel bad posting roughs, but I hate not posting something more. If you prefer to just wait for the final versions, lemme know. But Sandstorm you probably will only see up 'til chapter five, and then I'm going to hoard the rest until I decide where to submit/print it.
I also haven't been responding to comments like I should. Never have I been this bad X_X Thank you, those I haven't run off, for not running off ^^;;;
God the end of this month cannot come soon enough for me.
Anyway.
This chapter was really fracking weird to write.
Two
It never failed. When you wanted to find something it was nowhere to be found. The very moment all you wanted was your bed and someone else in it to make everything better, you found that which had cost you six weeks of work.
Grumbling softly enough the words were absorbed by the cloth over his mouth, he slid from his horse and ordered her softly to stay. The job would go much faster if he could ride her all the way into the camp and the very last thing he wanted or needed was for the Snake to realize they had an intruder.
Such discoveries tended to be bad for the intruder’s health, and as he was the intruder he was hoping to keep his health intact.
And it would be all too like the Lady to confound his efforts after four hard years of work.
Continuing to grumble he slunk in the direction of the camp, heart beating rapidly in his chest .As many times as he did this, it never failed to make him nervous. He loved and hated it. He would not be sorry when his task was at last completed. But Lady only knew how many more Tribes there were to go…
Six weeks it had taken him to figure out where in the camp it was. Six weeks! Usually simply finding the camps was the hard part. After that it became relatively easy. The Lady laughed at him, he knew it.
He paused alongside a rough rock wall in a twisting, winding canyon that – he could not help it – snaked its way toward the primary camp of the Viper Tribe. He wondered idly, or maybe not so idly, how many people who were not Snake had traveled this way and lived to tell about it.
Probably not many. Viper was one of the most vicious tribes in the desert. Just like their namesake, they were fond of hiding in wait and springing upon their pray in surprise.
So he’d better watch himself. Of course he always did. But still.
His lips twisted in a smile beneath the fabric covering his mouth, and he laughed softly at himself. Too much sand on the brain, clearly.
He grew more serious as he finished wending his way through the mazelike canyon. Crouching in a dark corner, he waited. The patrol should pass by shortly, after which he would have exactly three minutes to reach the tent that was his destination.
Thank the Lady it wasn’t the Sheik’s tent this time. He hated when it was. Of course, that also usually meant he didn’t spend six weeks of frustrating searching. Lady will his job be nearly done. He loved the Sands, sensed his heart belonged to them as much as his father’s had not.
But he would like to enjoy them, be a part of them, not skulk about in the chilly night looking for the quickest way to be a scavenger’s next meal. He snorted Meal. Che. More like snack. All his weight came off with the clothes.
Stifling an urge to laugh at himself, reassured that even in the middle of the desert he was his own worst enemy, he tensed as the patrol passed by. They moved with near-perfect soundlessness, no doubt the result of years and years of training. Like their namesake, you didn’t hear a Viper until too late.
Unless you were good at not being seen.
Grinning behind his face cover, he waited until the patrol vanished around the corner and then bolted. His steps were soundless. One didn’t survive four years sneaking around the desert unless he had a talent for it.
In addition to his other talents.
He stilled as he reached the second largest tent in the camp, certain everyone could hear his heart as it tried to hammer out of his chest. Steady…steady…near-soundless steps reached his ears, and then men passed by on patrol in the inner ring. They passed out of his vision a moment later. He didn’t move. Two minute later another pair of men passed by. He snorted in disgust as he heard them nearly a minute ahead of time. Sloppy, this pair. He stilled as they passed by, not really worried.
Sneaking into camps had been hard at first. Then he’d realized how arrogant most of them had gotten. So used to being cloaked, to not being found, very few of them took security as seriously as they should.
Not once in four years had anyone noticed that been methodically sneaking into each and every Tribe camp in the desert. Into every last primary camp. Into their homes.
Well, each and every Tribe except the ones he hadn’t gotten to yet. And Ghost.
He’d long ago determined that his chances of ever finding Ghost were nonexistent. There was a reason the aggravating, frustrating, half-wild, vexing, arrogant stupid Tribe was nowhere to be found anywhere in the Desert.
Stupid Ghosts.
The men on patrol vanished and he bolted, sneaking into the tents on the far side of the wide canyon. This wasn’t actually Viper’s home; that was deeper into the canyon. Thankfully he didn’t have to trek that far – but it had taken him two weeks to figure that out. Then four weeks of figuring where amongst the myriad guard camps the object of his desire was hidden.
So protective, the Tribes, of their precious treasures.
Not protective enough.
Soundlessly he glided between tents, weaving his way until he reached the one he sought, at the farthest point from where he’d entered. There had been other way to get here, all of them shorter, none of them even remotely worth the risk. Even now he could be caught any second. The Tribes had grown comfortable with the arrangement of the dunes, but that didn’t mean they’d forgotten the winds could change them. Or that a sandstorm could rearrange the entire desert in a single night.
Some things changed the landscape more slowly. So slowly, he hoped, that no one would notice until too late.
Shaking off the worries that never left him for more than a handful of minutes or a rare night of complete rest, he slid into the tent he sought and stalked to the bed. From a pouch at his waist he drew a small vial and drew out the stopper, then held it under the nose of the man snoring softly in the bed. Seconds passed, and then snores faded as the man sank into a sleep from which he would not wake unless forcibly roused – hopefully the man didn’t have the next patrol shift.
Returning the vial to its pouch, he turned sharply around and stalked to the table in the corner. He knew it was here, now it was just a matter of where. Hopefully not somewhere in the near vicinity of the bed, because he hated moving all-but-dead men out of bed so he could rifle through it.
There were some things he just did not need to know about perfect strangers.
Shuddering, he set aside several books after examining them carefully for odd pages, especially thick covers. Next were the long, leather rubes that held rolls of paper – none of them what he sought. An hour passed as he carefully examined the contents of the table and the shelves arranged neatly on top of it. Finally he shifted his attention to the table itself, examining the legs, the underside, the top…still nothing.
Sighing softly, not quite yet frustrated, he spread his search to other sections of the tent. It was on the large side of small, perfect for a man who spent all his time either on duty or snatching what sleep he could before going back on duty. Vipers, it seemed, never relaxed.
Nor, as his presence indicated, did they pay enough attention.
A shelf near the bed gave him nothing, neither did the chest alongside it. Holding back a curse, he finally turned to the bed. If he had ever needed proof that the Lady despised him, here it was. Yet another bed search. Lady willing, this one would not be as lonely and disgusting as the last one had been.
The bed was nothing spectacular, little more than a thick mat with more pillows than a soldier was strictly allotted, with a blanket sufficient for keeping back the chilly desert night. Why did they always hide it underneath their beds? Certainly he didn’t want to resort to a bed search, but that didn’t mean he’d just give up.
He leaned in close to get a better look at what he would have to do. There was very little light, only what was provided by the fires set up methodically through the camp. It was just enough for his well-trained eyes to see by, and only see enough to hopefully avoid getting killed.
This one would be hard to move. He frowned in thought, considering the vial in his pouch. Another dose of valtyanar would ensure the man would not be waking for a very long, or possibly not at all.
But that would make it quite clear that he’d been here, or at least that someone had been here, and it would not take them long after that to figure out what in this minor soldier’s tent had been worth killing for.
Stifling another sigh, he gingerly began to move the man, grunting with the effort of moving a man who seemed to weight at least three times what he did. Grimacing once the deed was done, he stepped over the unconscious man and knelt on the bed mat, slowly feeling his way along it, examining every last bit of it, then the pillows.
Finally he rolled his eyes and crawled off the mat, then lifted it up. Sure enough.
He should just start checking here first. That was the fourth time someone had thought themselves so very clever in hiding it in the sand beneath their bed. Honestly, if Viper knew they thought exactly as Horse there would be yet another fight in the Desert. Taking the stiff leather-wrapped metal tube to the desk, he opened the tube and drew out a long, stiff sheet of paper. Spreading it out on the table, securing it with whatever heavy objects were closest to hand. Then he drew up his cape, using it to cover him and as much of the table as he could. Safe within the folds, he struck a match and lit the small lamp on the table.
As light flared, he began to memorize what it revealed. Setting to stone in his mind every line, ever curve, every last notation and careless blob of ink. Minutes passed slowly by as he worked to commit every bit of it to memory.
Finally he closed his eyes and summoned the image to his mind. When he opened his eyes a minute later, the image in his mind matched the image before him.
Which meant it was time to go.
Working swiftly but with all the caution he’d used to that point, he doused the light, restored his cape, and set about returning the tube and setting the room to rights. When everything was as it had been before he started, and the sleeping soldier was back in his bed – Lady’s mercy it had been a relatively clean one – he took one last look around and then left the tent, sneaking back the way he’d come.
Several tense minutes later, he was successfully away from the camp, out of the canyon, and nearly falling down the dune to where he had left his horse. He pet her nose as she came forward, as eager as he to leave. “Hello, my Angel,” he murmured softly. “I’ll spoil you rotten when we finally get home…well, home away from home, anyway. You know the way, my Angel. Take us where we’ll be safe for the night.” He mounted smoothly and spurred her to movement.
In minutes they were well away from the canyons at the far south-east edge of the Desert, Angel taking them across the sands and toward safety, though he would not truly be safe until his mission was finished and he was finally home.
Home.
If he were honest, which he always tried to be with himself as he had to lie to everyone else, all that he really missed were his parents. He loved the Desert. A little more each day. The only pang was in not quite belonging. His entire life here was a charade, a pretense behind which he could work. What would it be like to belong? To wear the badges of a Tribe? Have people greet him like he belonged and not merely like he was being tolerated?
So depressing to never quite fit anywhere.
He wondered if dad was awake. Probably. Idiot never slept when he was worried, and he’d railed and railed against his son being the one to go into the Desert. He snorted. Like anyone else was half as good as him?
Hardly. Still, he’d hated to put that look on his father’s face. And his mother’s. Was mom all right? Were the other women taking care of her? Of course they were, but she’d still have that look in her eyes, the one that made them look dim, like a candle behind a curtain. She’d start to fret the moment anyone left her alone – which he knew dad wouldn’t let happen, but for going on five years now…
Maybe they’d gotten tired of worrying and were all right. Oh, this was why he didn’t let himself think about it.
Ignoring the sharp bite of homesickness that hit him like a chill wind, he held tighter to his horse’s reigns and forcefully turned his mind back to business. Calling up the images he’d memorized less than an hour ago, he compared it with other remembered pictures, sliding them together, seeing how they looked overlaid.
He was the only one who could have done this. No one else had his memory, the ability to perfectly remember something after seeing it just once. That memory was crucial, because to put to paper what he was memorizing would endanger every last Tribe in the desert.
Frowning in thought as images moved and shifted in his head, concentrating hard on picking out inconsistencies, errors, he barely noticed when his horse began to slow down and the trees of an oasis came into view, black and gray and white beneath the moonlight. “That’s my Angel,” he murmured softly. Sliding from the saddle, he led her to the water and let her drink while he unfastened his bedroll and the saddles bags. When she’d had enough, he led her into a nearby copse of trees. One of the smaller oasis in the enormous Desert, and if the Viper Tribe was so close it was probably used with fair frequency.
Hopefully no one would come this way before he could catch a few hours rest. In a few days time, he’d be back in his own tent, same amongst the Tribe he was staying with, and could enjoy a few days of real rest before he came back south to locate the next Tribe. Comparing what he’d gleaned from the Vipers with what he already knew, it would seem the Jackals were his next target.
He set out his bedroll and drew his robes and cloak tightly around his body, crooning softly when Angel dipped her head to nuzzle him goodnight. Closing his eyes, he pretended that the smell of trees and water and sand were incense and flowers, old books and rich, dark tea.
Soon, he told himself. Soon his mother would be fussing over him and his father lecturing up a storm about how stupid he’d been to do this. Then they’d settle down and listen to his stories and his father would constantly interrupt to ask about a dozen things that had or hadn’t changed since he’d left the Desert to live in Tavamara. His mother would shake her head at both of them and press him for the details he’d been trying to leave out so as not to worry her.
Then, after he’d settled down and they began to leave him in peace, he could begin to work on finding a way back to the Desert. He’d find a Tribe that would have a real place for him, maybe…
Snorting at the absurdity of his thoughts, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the stars, ticking them off in his head from sheer habit. Maiden Fetching Water. Night Sheik. First Horse. Dozens of others, spreading out across the sky, blending into one another.
They never looked this pretty back home.
Rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, sleep. If he was lucky he’d get four hours of sleep before he had to get moving again. More than likely he would only get three. Staying in one place for too long would get him killed almost as fast as sneaking into camps.
Even when he helped the idiots, they never liked him. He frowned, suddenly recalling what he had to tell Isra and his uncle.
The fake Falcon. So close that another tribe would not have known the difference. He wondered if the two he’d assisted a few days ago had. Any Falcon would have laughed in contempt and cut the imposters’ heads off. The Ghosts probably hadn’t bothered to notice, all too happy to kill any Falcon that crossed their path.
He wished he’d gotten a closer look at them, he was fairly certain the one who fought like a wild man had been the notorious Sandstorm he’d heard so much about. Him and half the Tribes in the Desert, even those who were so far away they had long thought the Ghost Tribe to be mere legend.
Just as Cobra didn’t think Viper existed. Just as Owl didn’t think Falcon still lived. Just as a dozen more Tribes considered another dozen to be entirely rumor or long dead.
Because the Desert Tribes had a great many strengths, but communication was not one of them. He wasn’t entirely certain they knew the meaning of the word. The Tribes all agreed every other Tribe was wrong about something; at best they were wrong but not so wrong that an alliance was out of the question.
Most alliances didn’t last long.
Those few who had tried to unite the Tribes had either been Tavamara Kings who had run scurrying back to their palace after mere months, or Sheiks within the Desert who either were killed in battle or realized how stupid they were being.
The Tribes were united only in that they were meant to be divided, and everyone outside the Desert needed to mind their own business.
Heaving a sigh, he sat up and dug into one of his saddlebags, pulling out a pouch of dried meat. Getting up, he moved to the edge of the water and knelt, scooping water up in one hand to drink. His hands made it taste like dirt and sweat, but beneath that it was cool and crisp.
Almost as refreshing as the sleep he wasn’t getting. Nights like this he missed being a child, when he could pester his mom into singing him to sleep, or his dad into telling him a story. Of course being an adult had its benefits – none of which he was enjoying. But if he dwelt on that he really would never get some sleep.
Chewing almost absently on the tough, faintly-sweet, smoky meat, he stared at the reflection of the moon in the rippling water and let his thoughts jump as they wanted, never lingering long on any of them, until his overactive mind finally wore itself down. Crawling back to his bedroll, he curled up and fell into light doze.
Ingrained habit forced him awake two hours later, the sky just beginning to take on a faint haze that would turn eventually into sunrise. “That time already?” Sighing, he gathered his things and fastened them in place on his saddle, then mounted and turned Angel west. “Take us back, Angel, to our home away from home.”
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Date: 2006-05-19 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-19 11:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-19 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 04:39 am (UTC)I hope he gets adult benefits eventually... preferably with the Sandstrom.^^ Heh.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-04 02:11 am (UTC)