After the fight, Musa insisted on staying for the entire day, but Abu Kaseem merged their stalls for the time being and eventually convinced the old man to return home and rest for the day. When I tried to apologize for the trouble, Abu Kaseem waved it off, “Don’t worry, son, don’t worry.” He pushed a pear in my hand and wouldn’t take it back. I stood frozen with guilt and couldn’t make myself accept this. The fruit felt heavy in my hand.

“I’ll take that if you don’t want it,” Musa suggested.

“I gave it to him, you fool!” Abu Kaseem reprimanded his fellow vendor.

“You are too kind, aba,” I said, “I can’t accept this after what I put you through.”

“You get the Ra’is to pay for it and we’re even,” the fruit vendor huffed. “Take it!”

I bowed my thanks and took a bite. The fresh sweetness of it made my jaw ache, and I had taken several more bites before I realized the two old vendors chuckling together.

“You should be careful locking horns with the Emir’s boys,” Musa said as he gestured for me to walk with him. We turned into the alley heading into the cotton quarter.

“The Ra’is will give me more trouble, I fear,” I said, but felt nothing at that. I hadn’t introduced myself to the Emir yet. They would call for me, now. In days I had gone from a stranger, to a militiaman, and now to a street brawler. I took another bite of the pear and realized it was finished.

“Jalil Ali Al Muhtiz, the great Ra’is of Salamiyya, is a spineless turd,” Musa spat in the corner a dark ball of red. He was chewing hash. He wiped his mouth and gestured me onwards, “You can walk faster, I haven’t lost my legs yet.”

“He will take the Captaincy back after what happened,” I said.

“He looks like a camel, too, did you notice that?” Musa said, then chuckled nervously like a boy who’d just stolen some sweets. “His face jiggles like this,” Musa shook his face, making his lips flap about.

“You don’t like him?”

“I’ve known him since he was a child,” Musa said more seriously. “He’ll seek approval from betters at all costs, and collect trophies to act above his station.”

“Is that what I am?”

“What?”

“A trophy?”

Musa stopped short and looked at me with a bulging eye, “That’s big fucking sword for a soldier,” he nodded to the sword at my hip. I slid it out of the scabbard halfway. The old man’s face remained blank as he studied the blade’s surface.

“Damascene steel,” he said, “A fine trophy, yes. The wielder, though,” he gestured to the rest of me, “expendable.”

“I understand,” I said and stared down at my weapon. It wasn’t crusted with blood this time, and yet staring at it made my heart quicken. I’d felt strange things when confronting Hoshyar. I’d interrupted him before he could’ve attacked me. But something about that didn’t feel right.

We arrived at the entrance to an apartment in a compound tucked away against the southern wall. The ramparts ran along just above the second story, covered in laundry left out to dry. Someone was smoking hash on the roof too and the odor slipped down into the alley tickling my nose. The old man banged on the door, “Mina!”

No one answered. He knocked a few more times before rummaging in his robes for a key. With a couple of clicks and curses, Musa stepped inside and gestured me to follow.

“I can’t, aba, I’m sorry.”

“Pah! What important business have you?”

“I have to meet with the Ra’is, give my first day’s report—”

“That you bloodied that prancing pony boy?”

“And tell him I dismissed the boys, and only the gatekeepers are left. Myself and Muneer are the only ones on patrol.”

“Just for some coffee, Mina leaves everything prepared, it will just take a moment.”

I hesitated. It was bad custom to refuse a drink at someone’s home in the middle kingdom. And more than that, I was putting Musa in danger. Things were happening to me and I couldn’t be left alone with someone.

“I can’t leave my post, I’m afraid. I also have to check on Yaseen.”

“There he is,” Musa jabbed a finger behind me and I turned around just in time to see Yaseen poking his head around the corner. He gasped and hid away.

“I’ve seen you, Yaseen. Come here.”

The boy approached shyly, knowing he had been caught doing something wrong, and he had his excuses ready. “I already picked the vegetables, and Muneer said I could go with you!”

“No, he didn’t. Lying is worse than disobeying me and leaving your post. You should not—”

“Leaving his post!” Musa chuckled, “he’s just a pup, Captain, leave him be. Did your father return or are you staying with us again?”

“He hasn’t returned from Hims.”

The easy smile on Musa’s face dropped. “What do you mean? He was to return yesterday,” he snapped.

“The Numayri got him, I think.”

“God forgive us! Don’t say that,” Musa cried.

I searched for words but Yaseen pointed at me, “he will avenge him, though, Captain Munqidh will hunt them down like he killed that Tuqtuq.”

The old man sighed, “I’ve been worrying about that. Seeing Hoshyar come back with small game instead of more Tuqtuq heads has me worried the Blighthunters aren’t doing their job.”

“The Bedouins will kill the ones they released, eventually,” I said, “they need the same grazing grounds. But I must go. Peace be with you, aba.”

“Yes, alright, go,” Musa said with a daze, fumbling with the lock again and realizing it was already open. “Wait, son! You will… still owe me a visit. I will get you coffee. Come to the coffee-house at Zuhr or to my house after maghrib. Alright?”

“If that is your command, aba.”

“Oh God, save us from the dullness of soldiers,” Musa grumbled. “You coming home, then?” he asked Yaseen.

Yaseen protested but I pushed him inside the house, “It’s getting late.”

“One more game at the yard,” he asked. I assumed he was talking about the children and women he was playing with at the laundry yard earlier.

“I want to see what happens with the cavaliers and others until I let you wander around,” I said forcefully and and the crestfallen boy retreated. Musa shut the door and I waited to hear the lock click.

***

The vegetable market had been closed down; Abu Kaseem had locked up all the stalls and I was thinking of naming him an administrator of the markets for his leadership. Umar had locked the Eastern gate and I went looking for him. I found him at the coffee-house when I arrived, talking to Amjad, the guard who’d left one of the torches unlit last night.

“Here he comes,” Abu Kaseem pointed and heads turned.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The few people that were left in the shop slapped me on the back and ridiculed Hoshyar.

“That boy you spanked today,” Umar said, throwing an arm around my shoulder and I lifted it away. “Grab Amjad,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Amjad,” I called to the chubby gatekeeper, “come here.”

Looking him up and down, it was a shame to behold. Unashamed. The man had a great frame and broad shoulders, but all was wasted away with poor diet and weak forearms. He smiled at me and congratulated me on the brawl with Hoshyar. He smelled like strong alcohol. Unclean. He’d failed everyone last night and now he was insulting me with his service. There was nothing more enraging to me than an incompetent soldier under my command and I felt my cheeks redden at his lazy appearance. Unpunished.

“Lay down,” I said shortly.

“What?” Amjad said.

“You,” I pointed to Umar, “hold him down.”

Umar scratched his chin, “What is this about?”

“You left a torch unlit last night,” I stepped up to the confused Blight guard. “I’m trying to protect these people and I can’t do that with people like you.”

“What?” Amjad repeatedly dumbly, but finally there was some fear in his eyes and he looked to Umar. The coffee-house had largely grown silent, the patrons choosing to watch our confrontation instead. I didn’t care who saw this.

I shoved Amjad and tripped him at the ankles. He landed on the stone with a yelp and I quickly wrapped my satchel straps around his feet, tying them up tight as he tried to crawl away.

“Grab him,” I yelled, and Umar finally came to my side. But instead of grabbing the insolent guard, he put an arm between us. “I’ll talk to him, Captain, I’ll talk to him. Don’t do this.”

“Grab this,” I said, handing him the tied feet of the helpless loser. I unsheathed my blade and with a whipping motion, slapped Amjad’s feet with the flat edge.

He shrieked, flailing to get away but couldn’t pull himself up. I dragged him back as Umar held the strap. I cracked large man across the soles of his feet again and he was crying. “Captain, captain, no. Please sayyid, no.”

I ignored his pleas and counted out the torches for him, one for every yard of the wall and two each for the gate. “That is all you have to do, lout. That is all you have to do to ensure everyone is safe.”

“I’m your slave, Captain. Please! I’m your slave forever,” cried Amjad.

A man fell in between us, with fair hair and physician’s blue. I raised my hand to strike down at the fool and realized it was Samir Ali.

“Hit me, then, Munqidh. Go ahead. If that makes you feel better,” he said as he lay on top of Amjad.

“You don’t understand,” I replied, suddenly finding my throat dry and painfully aware of the watching crowd. Their silence only made Amjad’s pleas more embarrassing. But why was I embarrassed? I was disciplining my soldier. And yet I couldn’t look the young physician in the eyes. “You don’t understand these things, Samir Ali.”

The man stood up and bared his chest, “punish me, then. Make me understand.” I hadn’t seen Samir Ali this angry before. He wasn’t yelling but every word still made me wince. He continued, “We’ve had nothing but death and violence since you arrived. Show us how you will make it better. Discipline me.”

“How can I protect these people if…“ I had trouble putting away my sword and tried not to fumble so visibly.

“I curse the oppressor, dear one,” Samir Ali placed his hand on my cheeks and forced me to look into his eyes. I was unable to be seen like this by him and had to step away. “And blessings to the man in control,” he finished.

Umar untied Amjad and lifted him to his feet. I stood there, awkwardly, avoiding the onlookers and feeling greatly embarrassed. It didn’t make any sense. Why did I feel this way?

Amjad limped away with the help of Umar and Samir Ali. The large man was shimmering, a heat wave stretching from him to myself; hitting me with his pain and humiliation. I turned and ran, to the other edge of the town, past the Citadel and the Ra’is’ office, until my feet were worn and my breathing was quick. I leaned against the Western gate, a lonely corner of the town where there were only storehouses and rats. The iron-studded bar that locked the doors wasn’t too hard to lift. I threw it to the side and unlatched bolts, stepping into the road outside and closing the doors shut behind me. Amjad’s emotion disappeared, and I was left with the endless hole in my chest that Samir Ali’s anger had left.

The maydan was empty. The cavalry grounds stretched along the eastern road that disappeared into drylands and the desert beyond. There was a strange thicket of marshland that I could see towards the north. Salamiyya truly sat in the sharp corner where the land transformed from north to south, and east to west. This should have have been the perfect place to become someone else. To be forgotten and born anew. I didn’t even carry my name anymore, nor the memories. Then why did it feel like I was still falling into something terrible that had always existed?

Some farriers by the stables glanced my way curiously, but I picked my way in the other direction, towards an old thatched roof against the wall that I figured some hashi used to smoke out of view. There were broken pipes on the ground and some cushions that I could rest my head for a bit. The sheets were dusty but I was glade for the shade and the seclusion. The brick wall felt cool against my back.

“Your arms are healing well,” Samir Ali stepped through the ripped curtains behind me and I sat back up regretfully. I could barely think of what to say so I stared down at my lap instead. My hands had some dried blood on them, and I couldn’t remember from when.

“What about your chest?” Samir Ali asked. Instead of standing over me, he took one of the cushions across from me, carefully folding his robes so they wouldn’t scrape against the waste on the ground. I could feel his eyes on me.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said after a moment. “I think I expected your first day as militia to be like this, to be completely honest.”

A gerbil entered the tent, stopping short as it saw us, wringing its paws against something on the ground. Its sleek and short-haired fur shone against the sunlight filtering through the roof. It was a patchy brown with dark-lined eyes like thick mascara. It scrunched its nose and just as quickly as it had come, the rodent scampered away. Samir Ali was smiling.

“In the moment of it all, everything I do makes sense,” I said, thinking about the brawl with Hoshyar earlier. And then what I had to do with Amjad. “It feels necessary. I don’t think you understand why, Samu. But it is necessary.”

“I don’t think—“

“Let me finish,” I said, a little sharply then I’d intended.

Amjad’s humiliation was still fresh in my mind. “I can feel what they feel. It comes to me in waves of heat that wash over me and enters my body and makes me feel like I am someone else. Everything makes sense, by God it does, and then suddenly it doesn’t!”

I quit staring at my hands and glanced up to find Samir Ali frowning and biting his lip.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that,” Samir Ali said with a sigh. “You sound a lot like someone else.”

“Rabia.”

The physician nodded slowly. “But she speaks of memories and what people have done. Sometimes she goes in circles and circles and doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“You think we’re going mad.”

“Stop telling me what I’m thinking,” Samir Ali snapped. He ruffled his brown hair frustratingly and leaned back, gathering another cushion under his arm.

“I remember visiting a Blight doctor’s lecture once,” he continued. “In Hims. I was too young to pick up on most of what he said but my uncle forced me to listen regardless. He kept calling a Blighted creature a ‘soul shedder’. He used it like a verb. Something they were doing, not what they were.”

The description made my skin crawl with a new found chill. Soul shedder, I mouthed.

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot these days,” Samir Ali said, “and the things Rabia keeps repeating.”

“You know what’s wrong us?” I said. I could hear the pleading in my voice but I didn’t care.

“I think souls are like words,” Samir Ali said. “A word’s meaning to be exact.” The aide sat forward, eyes intensely on the ground as he wrote the word ‘water’ into the dirt. “You know what this word means, but if I take out a letter—“ Samir Ali wiped the first letter away, “the word loses its meaning, even though most of it is still there.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, a little embarrassed that I had to admit it, but I couldn’t figure how that had anything to do with my strange abilities.

“Don’t you see,” he replied, “Your memories are like the letters of a word. Together they give meaning to you. But without them…” Samir Ali drifted into thought and his eyes stared off past me.

“Without them?”

“What matters,” Samir Ali continued, “is that… maybe it’s good that you are losing parts of yourself you don’t want. You get to choose new memories and moments that give you meaning. The person that you want to be. Isn’t this true?”

“You made me stop.”

“What were you thinking when you approached Amjad?” asked Samir Ali.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Please, tell me.”

I could only think of the moment when Samir Ali had jumped in between us, and then the shame that came flooding into me. Most of Amjad’s and then some of mine. But the aide was now trying to help. He wasn’t angry with me anymore. He cared for me.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I said. I’d just come back from Musa’s. And I was being congratulated—“

“Congratulated?”

“For fighting Hoshyar, they were thanking me for attacking him.”

“I see,” Samir Ali said, “and then?”

“And then nothing,” I replied honestly. “I saw Amjad and I confronted him. About leaving the Blight torch unlit last night.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“How did what? That I attacked him?” I asked.

“That Amjad left the torch unlit,” the aide said slowly.

“I think I was angry.”

“You think?”

I didn’t know what Samir Ali was getting at. “I was angry,” I insisted.

“What is your name?” the aide said suddenly.

I spluttered, “My name…I’m Munqidh.”

“You had a name before this one, didn’t you?”

“I can’t talk about this again, Samu,” I made to get up but the aide was quick. He grabbed my hand and pulled me down closer. I could smell a light rosy perfume on him.

“You’re a different person now, with a different name,” Samir Ali said softly. “And there is nothing stopping you from asking yourself, ‘what would Munqidh do?’”

“Balak,” I said.

“What?”

“That was my name, Balak Al Shayzari.”

Samir Ali let go. “I…Are you?”

“I see my old self sometimes,” I explained. “And I see Yaruq when people talk of the war.”

Samir Ali blinked and it seemed the color had drained from his face. He took away his hand.

“It’s best I leave town, now,” I said. “Before they start cutting hands for attacking Hoshyar.”

The aide stood up first. I couldn’t bear to follow his eyes. He brushed off his robe, gathered his satchel and took a few steps towards the waving curtains.

“Maybe this one of those times,” Samir Ali said. His voice didn’t carry the fear I thought I’d seen. “One of the moments where you ask yourself what Munqidh would do.”

I was shaking but I held myself still, fighting the tears that I could feel burning behind my eyes. When the aide left, and I was finally alone, I picked up a cushion and screamed and yelled until my throat could rip.

***

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