“The blade that has grown rusted and dull will have its edges sharpened and its metal shined once more.” Hearthmaster Loveri Mek’ena of the forge.

-“Oh lady Ifni my time away from you, has made me miss you ever so dearly. How I wish to pick you up and embrace you every time I see your beautiful face. The same way the desert winds cannot help but embrace the desert sands whenever they meet. Oh my hearts yearns for a moment more with you.” The count Magni said gripping her chest and ripping open her shirt. The black lace she wore beneath only made the blood in lady Ifni’s veins burn hotter. How she wanted to ravish, count Magni in those moments. Her golden locs danced in the wind, their coils twisting and turning. Beads of sweat glistened on her chest like a necklace of the finest diamonds. “Let me regale you with a poem I made thinking of your voluptuous bo-“-

Yaeno shut book with an satisfying clap. The tales of count Magni, the conquest of four queendoms made for a heated read. Ramali had bought him the series. She claimed she had looked for ‘the cheesiest most horrendous romance books’ she could find. Expecting him to be disgusted by them. Jokes on her he rather enjoyed the wacky adventures of count Magni. She was quite the rogue.

A slight itch tugged as his arm. Yaeno looked to it, scars long and irregular covered them. Horizontal lines of scar tissue, both big and small raced up and down his arm. Some simple punctures having healed over, other vertical cuts thin and wide. Also he was missing three quarters of ring finger. Everything passed the first bit was gone. Sultan Maveri’s alchemi and hearthstrokers could have healed everything but the finger completely. They could have washed the scars from his arms, as easy as the desert winds cleared dunes. But Yaeno had forbidden them to. Let it be a reminder of his folly.

Next to him was Kafini her chest rising and falling methodically. Only broken by fits of coughing; her lungs hadn’t healed completely. Not yet at least. The alchemi sharing the room with them, was taking notes beside him. She was tall with mahogany brown skin and tight dark curls. Her name was Androna.

“When will she wake?” Yaeno asked

The same question he and another dozen people had asked a hundreds different times over the past two weeks.

“It might be hours or days”.

“It already been a two weeks, be more precise”.

“My apologies Nesha but I cannot tell you an exact time and date. Her waking up depends on her body and how it is healing. She suffered serious wounds and being jostled as she was delivered to the city didn’t help. You should-”

“Are you finished” his voice took a dangerous edge silencing the Alchemi.

Her mouth shut with an audible snap of her teeth. Androna was ash white and bowed low enough that Yaeno was worried she’d tip over. She rushed out of the room. There was a commotion at the door as the alchemi bumped into someone who was making their way inside as she was stepping out. By the cursing that followed Yaeno knew who it was.

“You should rest” Ramali’s voice called out from the doorway.

Subiri was behind her, his eyes falling to his sibling taking on a twinge of regret and sadness. A pang of guilt shot through Yaeno, bringing with it an ache. Like Yaeno the man still blamed himself for Kafini being here.

“Another time”

“That wasn’t a request. You’ve been in this room since we arrived, as both patient and visitor. The only time I’ve seen you leave that bed was when father came. You’ve barely slept let alone eaten and if it wasn’t for the elixir your wounds would have been infected. It was a small grace. So please rest”

Rest… how could he rest when he was the one who failed them. If only Yaeno had been surer in his words, firmer even. Because he wasn’t Kafini had been unresponsive in a bed for wo weeks. If he had made better choices maybe she wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t be here.

“I can’t- “

“You can and you will, Subiri will be here when she wakes up”.

There was another reason why he stayed here with the company of an unconscious woman and that of healers who would leave after only arriving. From the moment he opened his eyes a change overcame him. A question had gone unanswered for the past week.

Who…who…who am-

Subiri was already moving, he chose the chair opposite Kafini’s bed. He gave Yaeno a nod before easing into the chair and making himself comfortable. Yaeno left without a goodbye, Ramali patted his shoulder as he did. The touch burned. He walked through the hallways, aimlessly wandering. Passing servants who whispered in his wake or openly looked to him with admiration sometimes fear.

The nesha’s endeavour had reached their ears, no doubt Ramali’s and Jana’s doing. Ramali wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to spin her tales into something that glorified her and made her into the main heroine. Who’s heroic acts had no doubt saved them from total annihilation. It didn’t help that Ramali was gifted telling stories, causing most who listened to her tales believe her. And Jana…well Jana was a shameless gossip. Even worse than some of spice sellers, who brought gossip from as far as the capital. At least she was honest with her gossip and there was no malice to it. Many of the servants eyed his arm, he caught whispers of scar-barer Well that definitely was Ramali’s doing. Maybe he can convince one of the guards to tell him tell him the tale she no doubt weaved for them. Yaeno wouldn’t give neither Ramali nor Jana the pleasure of asking either of them.

As he turned a corner Yaeno saw a servant who rushing to him. Her eyes wide, her footsteps hurried. Something had happened.

“What is it” Yaeno asked.

“She’s here!”

“Who is here?”

Yaeno knew the answer, every bone in his body knew it. Yet he’d asked the question either way.

“The Ghasan”

“When did she arrive?”

“Just now she calls for you. She requests that you meet her in the study”

Yaeno sighed the study was where most of his lessons had been. Most of his memories of there were fond, though every once in a while, some were bitter. This would be a bitter one no doubt. He dismissed the servant requesting for refreshments to be brought to the study. Nothing alcoholic for the ghasan never drank, she was of the old breed. It was sometime past dusk, as servants hurried around lighting lantern and setting sunstones.

His steps brought him to a large maroon with a thick wooden door. It was taller than Yaeno its frame stout. Yaeno knocked twice, waiting before a muffled voice bid him to enter. Pulling open the door, Yaeno found no resistance nor was there the squeak of metal hinges. They were greased regularly at the ghasan’s request.

The ghasan sat with a scroll in hand. Her eyes never leaving the notes. She was a tall and lean woman. All muscle and sinew. Her skin was a deep tan and wrinkled from years in the sun. Her hair orange and fiery. The Ghasan kept it short barely more than an inch. Yaeno waited in silence, he would not speak without her permission. They sat like this for a moment. Yaeno allowed his eyes to wander. The walls were lined with scrolls ands books of every size. They held knowledge on surviving djinn, on their territories the lands taken by ash among other things. Though the scrolls were not as numerous as the main study. This was the ghasans private study the only boon she asked of the sultan. The room was spartan apart from the scrolls and books nothing much adorned its walls. The were bare, with room for lanterns to be lit.

The desk she sat on was heavy, the wood polished. There were quills and ink on its surface. The table sat facing a lone window that showed the outer courtyards. Yaeno eyes returned to the ghasan. Finding crystal blue orbs on him. They seemed to capture his soul. Yaeno was now conscious of everything he did, were his cloths rumpled. Was his sword strapped poorly, was he slouching. All of these and more swirled through out his mind. Yaeno took a deep breath, meeting those blue eyes his heart stilled.

He was no child to fret over such small things. Yaeno would meet whatever was instore for him without flinching. Those blue eyes looked deep into his own., Within those crystal ponds Yaeno found an emotion. An emotion that would have burned him hotter than any flame times passed. In them he found…disappointment.

“Two years from my last visit. Only I return to news of djinn in the city, a gravely injured nesha, another with an arm made more of scars than flesh and a nesha’anan roaming my sultans halls. As well as having a whole wing of the palace dedicated to her madness. Explain how these events came to be.”

What she said was true, while unconscious Nimue had gained her audience with the sultan. Which surprisingly went well, not only was she accepted as one under his household. She had also revealed her talent not only as a strong nesha but also an alchemi. Already the sultan spent a fortune outfitting a wing of the castle to her specifications. As well as ordering ingredients that had the lady of crows pulling at her hairs finding. Nimue already had spent all of her time overseeing the construction rarely leaving the eastern wing. Yaeno hadn’t seen her since he woke. The woman practically lived there, her cot tucked away between support beams and stone. Her meals shared under the quiet vigilance of a half-finished room. How lonely that must be.

With a sigh Yaeno spoke seeing the ghasans meagre puddle of patience dry with each passing moment. Yaeno told her of everything. Of course he didn’t need to. She would’ve already received news of his short comings and failures in crisp detail from the lady of crows. But she asked him instead for she wanted to hear it from his lips alone. The words came easy, though the memories didn’t. They dripped with shame. Yaeno would have buckled under the shame, oddly he didn’t. Instead, Yaeno’s voice held firm, unfettered by the chains of his shame. He spoke giving her every detail of his failure without, embellishing or justifying.

By the third sibling I will do better.

Once finished she watched him, searching his face for something. She looked to him arm, scarred and missing bits. She frowned.

“I left you with the more raucous nesha, this was with reason. For I believed I was giving you an opportunity. To rise, to become the leader I expected of you. Even the Sultan believed in you. We could see so much potential. I am disappointed.”

Yaeno nodded for she spoke nothing but the truth.

“Your lack of control led you into failing deep within the hole that was dug for you. Not only that, you allowed for the nesha to do as she please. You yourself thinking you could defeat a lesser beast of Akums making. Did it not take the help of the Nesha’anan herself to great great Akum. Not only did you barley scrape by but you were pointing fingers like a child when instead you should have been a beacon for them to rally around. Let’s not forget the fact that you let your guard down when fleeing and almost lost our blade sister.”

“That is correct”

“Now let me tell you what you’re collective actions have cost the sultan. There was reason the Sultan never commanded us to kill Akum. The great beast never strayed far from Jekirs scars meaning nothing else could make the scars their homes. No genza, no djinn, no bandits. Which meant the sultans caravans wouldn’t need a large group of kolos guarding them. Now do you understand what your actions have cost him. Less trade if even a single one of those caravans are to be attacked in the coming weeks. Guard rotations at the scars to ensure no bandits make it their home. And Let’s not forget the lives that will be lost in the coming years for that folly.”

Moraia sat still looking to her nesha. The silence stretched and none sought to fill it. Her eyes were hard, harder than before. Yet behind the steel, behind the disappointment there was something else. A fire cold as iron and harder than steel burned there. A fire he remembered all to well. The same fire that guided him in his first few years after returning from the forge. A fire that burned as they fought side by side. A fire that made him trust in her. A fire that seethed during their quite lessons. A fire…he had forgotten. There was a burning in his chest, a quiet smouldering. It wasn’t the same intensity as hers, but still it burned.

“Its seems my time away had weakened you. All of you. You have grown fat on the luxuries the sultan has granted you. Two years, two years was all it took for the finest blades of the forge to grow dull.” She said her voice cold enough that the heat of the second sibling couldn’t reach.

The last part she spoke would have hurt the most. Yaeno should have dripped with shame, his gut tight with distraught yet…it wasn’t. Slow and steady the change was happening. Like the crips mornings he loved. Where the dark of twilight bled into the light of dawn. It was incomplete though, still fresh from the moment he had woken up. It was yet to crystalize, but the change was on its way nonetheless.

“What will you have me do Ghasan.”

She looked at him, stark blue finding something in his deep brown. The quiet smouldering warmed once again.

“It seems there is hope for you yet Nesha. At the crack of dawn, we will be leaving for the menka”

He was dismissed. Yaeno left without a word. Though as he left he heard the words, ‘The blade that has grown rusted and dull will have its edges sharpened and its metal shined once more.’ Fervently spoken. A thought came to mind, one that hadn’t graced him since his first lesson. What was it the ghasan was truly preparing him for. The refreshments were brought in as he crossed the threshold.

Walking the hallways, Yaeno’s feet carried him forward long before he knew where he was going. Following pathways carved into the carpets. Pathways he’d walked over a thousand times before. He found himself in the gardens. Yaeno froze. The smell of date trees returning to him. He’d been here so often that his mind had glossed over its scent. Now though it all came back to him, the sweet caramel aroma carried by the cool night air. Bringing with them memories of sunny afternoons, sipping coconut water with Ramali or Eta. For hours they talked of nothing of importance. Maybe one of these afternoons he’d share another with the two of them.

Lanterns lined the walls and floor. Creating a pathway of flame leading to the sultan. The man Yaeno’s feet brought him to. Yaeno could’ve left, Maveri hadn’t seen him yet. The man was focused on a scroll he held in one hand, a sunstone on the table elongated the shadows around him. The stars burned bright today, a sprinkling of cold flames across a dark canvas. Tears of Nehwa they were called for the third sibling still wept to this day.

“Have a seat my son.”

The chair creaked as he sat. The sultan looked to him, his eyes shadowed by the lanternlight. Even if Yaeno could see the man’s eyes, they would hint at nothing that lay behind them. Yaeno was the first to look away. It appears he wasn’t completely free of shame. After his disgraceful return, Yaeno did not speak with the sultan as often as he used to. Only quick cordial conversations. It wasn’t that he was avoiding them man. Yaeno just couldn’t face his father, not after almost costing him a daughter. Yet through some divine irony his feet had brought him hear, a moth to a flame.

“Finally we have a moment with each other. Alas what can I say to you my son. What can I say that you haven’t already heard. There is nothing. So instead we will talk of what I could say. I could say that though I expected much of you, and even though you did not meet my expectations I am not dissatisfied with you. My son you may be a nesha, a warrior and djinn slayer. But first and foremost, you will always be the boy who returned my daughter to me and soon became one of my own. I cannot fault you for failing for you are still human. I could say that I see that something has changed within you, where pride was lost something else has taken its place. I could say a great and many things but for now I will ask instead. I will ask of you one thing. The same thing I have asked of all under my charge. I ask you to do your best, always. To try even in the face of failure. To rise after each fall. For though there had been loss, there is also opportunity my son. And you must grasp it.”

Yaeno looked to his father and found only the sultan. The glint in his eyes fanning the quiet smoulder within him. It seemed Yaeno had died, resigning himself in that cave. Now someone else was taking his place. The sultan had grasped this and with his words had begun moulding a greater man. The embers warming in his soul burst into life. Smouldering any shame and hesitation left behind by Yaeno of old.

For hours they talked, the smouldering flame and the sultan. Of trials and tribulations, of lives passed and the lessons learnt. Of the youth of a man who through guile and wile, blood and honour climbed to the top and made house Maveri the greatest in these parts. It was nearing late into the evening when his father bid him to rest his son listened.

Walking into his room alone, and exhausted Yaeno finally asked the unanswered question.

Who am I becoming?

The answer to the question was made harder to find. For when he looked around, Yaeno found himself in a room full of a stranger’s belongings. The room that had once been his, was both a familiar place and now unknown to him. He knew where everything was, for it was he who placed them there. Yet some items felt like the belongings of another. A man who died sometime ago.

Only a few of them still felt like they truly belonged to him. Carefully, methodically he took down what felt like a deadman’s. He took down the tapestries feeling the death of their owner as he removed one after another. He put away his yearn and needles. For now and sometime after he was done with the pastime. It wasn’t that Yaeno had lost all interest in his simple pleasures. It was just that they had no place in his life right now. The blades he kept, the armours too. The pillows around his short table were next, removing the excess and leaving only those that would allow only four to sit. Albeit uncomfortably.

He looked to the stacks of books gifted to him over the years. His eye’s landed on the newest. A set of romance novels Ramali had left him. He picked one up, the covers were stiff, having seeing no use since its pressing. Yaeno looked to the growing pile of belongings of another man and back to the book. He hesitated, his grip tight on the book. The book felt heavy in his hands. Heavier than it had any right to be.

For a moment his grip slackened, and that was all Yaeno needed to come to a decision. Sheepishly he set the book back down with the rest of the series. He sighed a guilty smile on his lips. Leaving the book unfinished would scorch him more than keeping it, he’d rather lose another finger than leave the adventures of count Magni incomplete. What would happen to lady Ifni, would her conquests go unconquered, or sands forbid Magni’s rival Captain Nela gain the upper hand. No, he couldn’t drop the series not yet, one more book wouldn’t hurt…right? Yaeno would allow himself the one guilty pleasure.

Still it wouldn’t do to have the adventures of Count Magni sitting out in the open. Lest Ramali or sands forbid Jana finding them. Yaeno would see no end to the constant ribbing that would follow. Like any reasonable man trying to hide something explicit. Yaeno placed them under his bed. The spot was so obvious that neither would think to check. As a red herring Yaeno placed his treasured bottle of palm wine at the back of his closet. He’d rather they find that than the books. Yaeno knew for a fact the last bottle had been compromised. Replaced with a cheaper version. The problem was that it had been so well done that Yaeno hadn’t known until he poured himself a cup. The seal had been carefully removed and placed back that Yaeno hadn’t noticed it at first. Of course, this couldn’t be the work of either Ramali or Jana for both weren’t that careful. So it must’ve been Subiri. Which was interesting, how Ramali had weaseled such a favour out of Subiri was beyond him .

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The bathroom was next, Yaeno removed plant after plant. Leaving only one, a succulent of a fiery red colour. Its leaves were thick and curved looking like an actual flame. This too was a gift, from Eta this time. The last was his mirror. Yaeno kept his eye’s downcast avoiding looking to his cheek and the mark upon it. He removed the mirror, finding a perfect outline of it, against the orange stone. The mirror hadn’t been moved in years, leaving a scar of lighter stone upon the wall.

Everything that wasn’t his now rested against the corner of his room. The pile was large, he would request the servants to leave the pile untouched he would deal with it upon his return. Sleep came easy to him as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Though from a small quiet corner in his heart, one Yaeno was unfamiliar with. A nameless thing stirred.

***

Ramali groaned, an insistent knocking had pulled her from a wonderful dream. Which involved her being the ruler of the underground betting ring with Lomferi her enforcer and Yaeno constantly loosing fights to goats. To goats. It had been a good dream, a great dream in fact. Covering her ears with a soft pillow, Ramali tried to ignore it. It was dark still, sometime before dawn perhaps. And some sandless heathen was banging at her door. The knocking did not stop only growing louder as the seconds dragged on. The pillow doing little to muffle the cursed noise. Reaching beside her bed Ramali’s hand groped blindly until they came upon her boot. The leather was soft the soles heavy and hard. Its shape and weight perfect for throwing. With a flop of her hand the boot went sailing across her room and smacking into the door with a resounding thud. A grin split her lips as a startled yelp could be heard beyond the door. Closing her eyes, Ramali welcomed sleep once more. Maybe she’ll dream about the ring again.

There were three heartbeats of blissful silence before the knocking returned. At first hesitant then growing more confident with each extra strike. With a half-swallowed curse, she threw the sheets of an got up. Even then the knocking still continued.

“By the sands. If you touch that door one more time, I will rip it from its hinges and use it to crack open that thick skull of yours!”

There was silence. Good. As she got dressed Ramali could’ve sworn she heard a thump that almost sounded like a knock. It seemed defiant even. Ramali would have been impressed with the audacity. Had it not been some sand forsaken time before dawn, had some lout not chosen to wake her and again, had she not been woken before dawn. With a growl and half dressed, Ramali reached for the door pulling it open.

A startled servant cried out as he jumped backwards. Do her eyes deceive her or had this lout’s hand been raised to knock on her door once more. Ramali’s hand tightened against the doorframe. The wood creaking. Ramali plastered on a wide grin, showing one too many teeth. Like a desert mouse realising it was in the sights of a falcon, the servants eyes widened with alarm. He looked to his raised hands then back to her smile. The spark of defiance going up in smoke. Replaced with bone deep dread. He snatched his hands from the air and hid it behind his back. As though they could pretend, he hadn’t raised it in the first place. Ramali took a step forward and he took one back.

“Apologies lady Ramali, but the Ghasan has requested your presence at the stables.”

Ramali stifled a groan. Sands that’s right, the wicked old prune had returned. And if Jana was to be believed she gave our boy Eno a proper tongue lashing. Sands she was glad not to be a part of the particular session. Though it wouldn’t be a surprise for she had received her on lashing with the rest of the nesha. Still though Yaeno’s must’ve been so much worse. An inkling of guilt slithered its way into her heart. Yaeno had been taking a lot of blows for them lately. Ramali would make it up to him somehow. Maybe buying some yarn, he always love spinning a tapestry. Yeah, Yaeno would definitely like that.

She turned finding time had passed in her musings. The servant was still here looking at her. Ramali noted that the defiant gaze had returned.

Hmm could be trouble this one.

Grinning once more Ramali watched the fear in his eyes returned just as quickly. He looked cornered.

“Name, quickly”

“W-w-winsel”

“Weasel, nice”

“Lady Ramali its Wi-“

Slamming the door on his face, her a jaw cracked with a yawn. Best get there before the ghasan had a fit. Ramali dressed lightly like she always did. Loose fitting pants, her musty leather boots, a nice burgundy shirt with a rounded neckline. A nice light cloak to pull it all together. Twin short swords were strapped to her sides, their weight welcome and familiar. Ramali found her eyes drawn to her bedside table. She reached for the top drawer, grabbing a small wooden box.

Beneath a silk cloth was a leather cord, bits and pieces of brass and copper were wrapped around the leather at equal intervals. The necklace wasn’t hers it had belonged to her mother. Mama had rarely taken it off. Ramali’s slender fingers reached out touching each metal knot. There were eight in total, each around the same size.

Ramali had never gotten the chance to ask mama what the metal bits meant or even where she had gotten it. Baba had also been in the dark, claiming it had been gift she bought herself on one of her many travels before they were married. Baba had asked the lady of crows to find out about it but had failed. Surprising them both. They believed this to be an original works, one that wasn’t tied to any widely known religion or practice. Nor was it known to be the work of any jeweller. There were no symbols or signatures on it, making it was nearly impossible to track down the man who had made it.

There was something in the air this morning. Something she couldn’t place; it made Ramali tense. Reaching out she touched her shortwords once more, making sure they were in place. She was drawn to mama necklace once more. Ramali had only felt like this a few times since her mother’s death. Each time though her life had changed. Sometimes for the better other times for the worst. Each time she never wore it. Reaching out nimbly wrapping it around her neck. The leather was soft, the necklace was tight but in a comforting way.

Mama I know you are always here with me. But I fear I will need you closer to support me in the coming weeks.

Opening her door, Ramali was pleased to find the servant gone. She walked to the stables passing Lady Sufri, she gave the smallest bow which Ramali returned. She a small creasing of the eyes, as the lady bowed. Sufri had seen Mama’s necklace. A sore reminder to the one thing she could not unearth. Ramali was the last to arrive, the crisp morning air tugging at her clothes. The other nesha were with their drakes standing in a tight formation.

Ramali found her eyes drawn to the ghasans draken. For it stood out the most, it scales were pale as ivory. As though all the colour had been taken from them. Its eyes were pink and narrow. Her draken was also one of the biggest Ramali had ever seen. Its shoulders were bulky, its chest broad. Its arms and legs were thick and muscular. If anyone else had sat upon its back they would have looked small and frail. Especially with a build like the ghasans. All leather and callousness. But no, Moraia looked so stalwart, a study old tree atop a boulder.

Ramali saluted the ghasan, a fist against her heart. She made sure to avoid the woman’s eyes. Ramali still remembered the lecture they each got once she’d finished with Yaeno. Sands it was rough. She looked to Yekr, Ramali felt a twinge of irritation finding someone else had saddled and readied him. The ghasan orders no doubt.

Without a word she hopped onto Yekr’s saddle patting him affectionately as she did. Once Ramali had they set out. They passed the gates and rode northwards. They rode for hours taking no breaks or stops. The pace wasn’t hard to keep up with. It let the drakes least suited for speed keep up. Without completely draining them. They rode till, Ramali thighs ached and she felt the burn of the sun against her back. All the while silently cursing the ghasan.

They rode passed dunes so tall and sands unending. They passed a lone tree every so often. Its trunk twisted, its branches gnarled. They passed the occasional trader and caravan. Their warm greetings ignored by the ghasan. They rode till the sun set and the stars came out. They made camp in the ruins of a lone fort. The stones cracked and baked in the sun, its roof gone, only a few walls remained standing.

It was there, standing over their crackling bonfire. The logs falling with a pop and shower of embers. The ghasan eyes looked to them, the red flames reflected by her blue eyes. In her hands was a spear, her favoured weapon. It was simple the shaft made of a dark wood and the steel head arrow shaped and as wide as her palms.

“Tonight I sharpen my blades”

Crack

She tapped the but of her spear against the cobblestone. The sound crisp and echoing across the ruins. The Nesha stood straighter gripping their own weapons.

“Tomorrow, I release my blades”

CRACK!

Again, that loud snap of wood against stone.

“Where my hands guide, they will cut without mercy”

CRACK.

“Where my hands will, they bleed without worry”

CRACK.

Ramali’s heartbeat quicked, the leather creaking against her sword hilt as she gripped it tight.

“For what is blood to a blade, but the sweetest of nectars.

CRACK.

“What the ring of metal to a shield but the most harmonious of songs.”

CRACK.

“What is the dance of life and death to the nesha but the most familiar of steps.”

CRACK.

“Blades are beholden to forge first, all else is of the sands”

CRACK.

“We are nesha, blades of the forge. Our purpose is simple. A blade is to cut, a spear to pierce, a shield to defend.”

CRACK.

“We are NESHA! Wyrm doom, djinn slayer, and Elmante-binders. The deserts our homes, the sands our blankets the heat our saviours. We will not forget our purpose!”

CRACK!

The last crack was thunderous, echoing through the broken walls and ringing in her ears. Yaeno was the first to answer, the hilt of his blade ringing against the cobblestone. All others following close behind, their weapons ringing out as they smashed them against the cobblestone. None spoke for what were words, when the ringing of wood and metal so much purer. Their hearts were laid bare by the symphony of steel and wood. Their failures, their shames, their hopes, their desires all was carried forth and given to the night air. As they bashed weapon against stone in a steady rhythm.

CRACK…CRACK…CRACK

They went on, till all was said and all was bared. As the rhythm calmed there was no shame no worry only purpose returned. They had been robbed of this somewhere along the line but sands its was good to have it back. This was why Ramali had gone to the forge in the first place. For what she had seen in the eyes of nesha in her younger days she had wanted.

Yaeno watched the nesha, the same intense flames that burned in the ghasans eyes burned in his. In a moment of stark clarity, she saw that flame would consume them. Swallow them whole, Ramali saw them older with wounds yet branded. She them walk Yaeno and others back to the forge that made them. One day they would return. Whether this was a good or bad omen. It was to the sands of fate to deicde. For now it wasn’t important all that mattered was the flame given back to her. Ramali watched as the same flame burned in each of her siblings’ eyes. Subiri, and Jana. Ramali knew as sure as she drew breath, that in her eyes burned the same terrible flame.

This was what she wanted from the life of a nesha. The flame had followed her always. From moment she walked into the forge, sand ridden and thirsty. From the moment she killed her first djinn bloodied and cut. And from the moment she killed her last, content and burning. The flame that had dimmed over the years, returned. How she missed it. It had been too long.

They rode out in the morning. The ghasan made it clear that they would go back to their roots. They would travel to the menka, a land by the borders. Djinn infested and brutal. Where lesser wyrms stalked the deep sands, devourers of anything that moved. They reached the outskirts of the menka. Still weeks from the actual border. It was here where the sharpening would begin.

They hunted with only the blades they carried and nothing else. They slept with only the clothes on their backs for warmth and the fires to chase away the night chill. It was their penance for growing dull. They rode for seven days and hunted for seven nights. No asi to empower them only steel and might.

For seven nights and seven days, they lived as one with the desert. Feasting in her bounty but only after paying in blood. What they ate they had to fight for. For another seven days and seven nights they hunted lesser djinn in the dead cities of the menka. Scorpions with too many limbs, that breathed fire. Things with heads too big for their body, that exploded once close enough to anything that moved. Killing themselves instantly. They fought flying beasts that would snatch at them and dropping stones atop their heads. They even fought genza’s as long as merchant caravans. They would barrow in the sand before jumping out and spiting their venom. They would barley get a rest before the ghasan had them fighting some manner of beast. Though her body was tired, the flame in Ramali burned with a euphoria after each battle. She wasn’t the only Yaeno slept with his hand to his blade hilt. Jana herself would always take first watch in the hope she would be the first into the fray. For the first few battles, Jana was.

Yet through out this, the ghasan made sure they fought as one. In some cases, Yaeno was the one to lead the charge. Or he would coordinate the fight. His calls were sometimes sloppy and clumsy but there were times when Yaeno shone. When he showed a frightfully keen intellect and quick wit. It was in those moments where they flowed as one. As though the desert rejoiced in their acts, guiding their blades. There was a harmony in them. Where everything just felt right, were each swing of a blade and piercing of a spear fed the flames in them. In those moments nothing stood in their way, djinn, genza and bandit fell easy. Claimed by the sands and their blades long before they knew they were dead. Subiri never strayed from Yaeno’s side, following his orders without hesitation even when he shouldn’t Was this how the man atoned. No matter Ramali lost herself in the flames of battle.

They passed towns, belonging to the dead. Their streets empty their walls and homes in ruin. This were the towns found in the outskirts of the sultans influence. Unnamed villages without a nesha to protect them and too far out to send any before it was too late. These towns were quick to fall, to the bandits and djinn and anything else with the strength to prey on man.

Ramali passed skeletons half buried in the sand. Some were skulls, femurs and ribs. Bleached and dried by the second sibling. They fought and slept in those towns. Bleeding both beast, djinn and bandit. They slept for only hours, before returning to the dance of death. And for each night the ghasan reminded them who they were. Every night she sharpened her blades and everyday she let them loose. Ramali grew familiar with the crack of wood on stone.

Only when their spears broke in two, their blades shattered into a dozen small pieces, their daggers dulled to the point of uselessness did the ghasan let them use their asi. How sweet it felt to call on the asi and have it answer readily. As though begging to be let loose. Ramali watched as the flaming digits burned brighter than before, their flames crackling and sizzling the air around them. Even Yaeno’s constructs seemed more alive and viscous snapping hungrily at the air. The sands were scorched as Subiri’s serpents passed over them. Devouring with them every last djinn they could find. Throughout this the ghasan never interfered watching from her mounts back. Never moving, never flinching. The same terrible flame burning in her eyes. Any djinn fool enough to near her was met with a grisly fate as the nesha tore into them with a fervour. They fought till they were bleeding through their fingernails and became ever so familiar with the coppery tang of blood in their mouths.

It was only a month of that blissful heil did they return. Their clothes torn tatters, reeking of blood and death, their weapons nowhere to be seen. It was there did they return to the sultan. With trouble on the wind.

The sultan came to meet them at the gates to his palace. The lady crows to his side and a hearthstroker Ramali was unfamiliar with. She could tell the man was a hearthstroker for he had a brand on his forehead. The scarred tissue healed in the shape of a small flame. His bow was shallow as the nesha drew near. The sultan was the first to greet them as by his right.

“May your paths lead you to shade”

His voice was warm and welcoming though the setting formal. Ramali knew baba meant every last word. It had been a long time since she’d heard him say those words. This hearthstroker must be important. The ghasan was the one to answer, as by her right.

“And may yours lead you away from ash”

The ghasan saluted the sultan, placing her sheathed dagger over her heart. Baba nodded, his eyes soon turning to Ramali. She would’ve hugged him then and there, but she was filth incarnate. Though he wouldn’t mind, he never seemed to.

They all smelt ripe, she could tell. The lady of crows wasn’t subtle with her displeasure. Nose turned to the side. The hearthstroker was the least subtle out of the two. Using the long sleeves of his brown robes to cover his nose. His features were twisted in revulsion, and he looked away from the nesha. As though looking at them was an afront to his person.

“My nesha let me introduce shaman Leconi of the Basili, he will be our guest for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes yes quite, Now if your highness would be kind enough to save a proper introduction for when they are more presentable.”

Ramali’s brow rose in surprise, she could see she wasn’t the only one. The other nesha almost taking offence. Baba took in stride, smiling and ushering the man away. Seeing their sultan taking no offence the nesha relaxed.

“We will convene after supper, rest well my nesha” Baba called back.

The lady of crows inclined a head before following suite.

“Dismissed, however be alert my nesha. For there is trouble on the winds” The ghasan ordered.

They split off into groups. Allowing the stable hands who came to lead their drakes away. Subiri in his lonesome, walked through the gates. No doubt going to look for his sister. Yaeno left with the ghasan following her like a like the loyal hound he is. The traitorous prick. Leaving her with Jana, who looked to her. Signing the word she’d been dreaming off from the moment they left.

[Baths]

It wasn’t a question. Ramali called to one of the servants requesting for a bath to be drawn. They stopped by the kitchen grabbing a loaf to devour on the way. Jana had disappeared claiming she had a few things to do. And would meet Ramali at the baths. Ramali barely answered, devouring one more loaf for good measure. The baths Ramali used weren’t the outside baths that Yaeno went to religiously. No, hers were more private. They were large, big enough to hold at least half a dozen people comfortably. The tiles were white with a red lining. A large sky light opened from above allowing for sunlight to stream through. Four stained windows, sat at equal intervals on the walls around. Their stained images showing great hunts.

There were six stone slabs and steaming buckets of water next to two of them. There were servants here and Ramali let them undress her. Jana had returned preferring to get ready by herself. Ramali couldn’t care less she’d missed this. The servants not attending to her poured aromatic oils into the water and lit incense. Ramali lay herself on the slab and let the servant, return some humanity to her.

The bath was glorious, the servants scrapped the blood, sweat and dirt from her skin. Removing the dead skin, reviling soft sun kiss skin beneath. A months’ worth of filth was washed away by hot waters and soap. They massaged her sore muscles, cleaned and combed her tangled hair. The incense in the air purged the smell of death from her. She sipped sweet Aragh sagi, letting out a stifled moan as the knots were massaged from her back. By the sands it was euphoric to feel like a person again.

It was maybe an hour later when they left the baths wearing, straight white pants and a white shirt that cut off from her midriff. Showing her toned muscles beneath. Ramali’s hair was split into two thick braids, Jana’s was still short having barely grown in the past month. They reached only her ears.

They talked as they passed the halls. Jana already knowing the latest gossip they had missed, caught her up. Kafini had awoken and after healing was sent of to the Ginsali the city of pleasure. The reasons were being kept hush-hush. Coincidently she had been sent off a few days after the heartstrokers arrival. Ramali was lowkey jealous of Kafini, the trip was wasted on her. The city of pleasure had some of the finest bars and dancers. Kafini was the less fun of the two siblings. It would be all work and no play with her.

The first bit of information’s was boring-ish. Though the next had a beaming. Jana had been able to track down the elusive fighting ring. This had Ramali grinning like a fool. Best yet was that there was a fight to night, and the servant Jana talked with would be able to get them in. As long they were discreet. They had a few more hours before dinner. Ramali’s smile turned insidious, Jana herself was smiling too. They both knew how they were spending their evening.

“Lets find us some cloaks yeah?”

[“Veils as well?”]

“Veils as well.” She grinned even wider.

Hours later.

They returned to the palace, smelling of sweat and cheap beer. Ramali tried to keep her composure as she stumbled into the sultans’ halls with Jana in tow. Her cheeks were rosy but otherwise she was sobber. Ramali on the other hand was…well she was properly sloshed. A warm buzz filled her head and belly. She was hunkering for something greasy. They had found a stall, selling meat roasting over an open flame, the fat from the meat would drip onto the hot coals with a satisfying hiss. The seller would slice some of the juicy meat off, adding some roasted peppers and vegetables before wrapping it in a soft bread and drowning it in sauce. Ramali was practically drooling as she watched the man prep her soon to be meal.

Sadly the sands of fate were being positively cruel, for the men and women from the fighting ring had caught up with them. They bolted ducking between stalls, as objects ranging from rotten fruit to stones and even the odd shoe was thrown at them. Luckily the crowd hadn’t seen their faces. So, losing them was easy. Well as easy as it could be while drunk.

Ramali winced reaching up and touched the left side of her face. No doubt there would be a hoof shaped bruise forming. It went over her right eye. Maybe they could stop by the kitchen and grab some leftovers. A servant rushed to them and any hopes of getting a snack before the meeting was squashed. The meeting had already started. And by the sounds of it had been going on for much longer.

So it was with a solemn sigh they walked to the sultans hall. Guards stood outside the door. One of them balked at the bruise forming and Ramali threw her a wink. She hastily opened the door for them. Ramali was met with an open frown from the lady of crows who would no doubt be getting news of their adventures. A small turn of the lips from baba, a quiet stare from the ghasan – no most likely thinking of new ways to torture her. Eta was there, he threw her quick quirk of the lips. Yaeno looked to her amazement on his face, which he quickly schooled when he found the ghasan looking to him. Subiri was there his expression only slightly curious.

The hearthstroker sitting opposite him looked perplexed, The hearthstorker was a man with a face that, for lack of a better word. Was born to frown. Ramali couldn’t see herself getting along with the man. He seemed all business, with no room for fun. A total bore of a person in Ramali’s eyes. He had been in the middle of a sentence when she entered. Jana sat next the hearthstroker earning a scowl from Ramali. While Ramali sat next to Eta who was a seat away from the hearthstroker.

“As I was saying. You will assist us in the securing of a person, who may or may not come to appreciate that. This is vital and must be carried out with utmost caution and secrecy.”

Huh in other words, ‘You lot are going to kidnap someone for me’. Well it seems Ramali would have to reevaluate her earlier impression of the man. It seems there was hope for him yet.

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