“Stories picked me up from the dirt and inspired me to become a reputable merchant. My children love hearing them and I love telling them. Stories, Athia, are all that become of us. It’s easy to become a bad story, hard to become a good story…and it is up to the gods to decide if you become a great story.” - Sellah, Pillow Merchant
~*~
“-furious, Sultan Atlasi collected all his bravest soldiers and marched across the Eastern Sands, hunting the plague of bandits and the vultures they left behind in their barbaric wake,” Sellah’s voice rumbled over the small fire. His arm outstretched, hand clasping an imaginary hilt as if pointing a sword - signaling a charge.
Sellah wanted to capture the fierce nature of the Sultan and the sense of justice. That emotion was expertly conveyed and the children felt a flutter of respectful fear.
Kopir and Taks, his wide-eyed sons, stared up at their father as if he were the Sultan himself, atop a black stallion, leading his men into battle. Slowly, they ate dates, which they plucked from a cloth bag between them. It was a story told across the desert by every merchant, but nobody told it quite like their father.
The desert wind seemed to swell with the storyteller’s energy; a chorus to his tale. The dark blue of the shadowed sands, the wonder of the night sky, and the orange light of the fire and its flickering sparks dramatized the gestures and expressions that Sellah made. It was difficult for Athia to keep from watching him, so she kept her gaze firmly averted.
Athia sat just outside the welcoming circle of Sellah’s family, despite their invitations. Her eyes stared only at the moon rising from the desert horizon, but her ears hung on every word the merchant uttered. From the bloody battles to the heroic acts, she was enthralled by Sellah’s retelling of the great Sultan’s campaign.
“One by one, bandit encampments were destroyed, their ruins buried beneath the sand. The desert itself would not allow their stain to linger. When the time came, Sultan Atlasi led his men to fight the last of the barbarians and their foul king. A king said to be so vile and monstrous, that his very flesh was cursed, appearing like scales! His eyes were yellow, pupils pointed like those of a serpent, and his teeth sharp. These features coupled with his ferocity in battle gave him the name, the Blood Crocodile.”
Sellah lingered on the name, flashing as many teeth as he could when he said ‘Crocodile.’ The children’s bravery was faltering under the weight of their powerful imaginations. Kopir, for a brief moment, believed he saw the monstrous king in the flames.
The two sons clutched the bag of dates and shuffled closer to their mother, Seeoh, who gave Sellah a warning look when her children showed genuine fear. Sellah’s eyes widened for a second and he mentally toned down the tale, erasing as many grim details as he could. Although, he was quite disappointed in doing so; the greater the threat, the more inspiring the tale.
“The bandit king...was terrible, his cruelty known by all. Seeing the Sultan’s success, the king decided to strike at night, to improve his chances of winning. The Sultan was surprised and tried to rally his men, but many had fallen by then. The Sultan was forced to escape with the survivors. He, and what remained of his men, after being pursued for several days, took refuge in a mountain cave. Looking at how few of the soldiers remained, the Sultan wondered at that moment if the gods had abandoned him…if his fight had any meaning to a world with barbarians like the scaled king. Even at that moment the bandit king, who had followed him to the mountain, stood below and mocked him with insults and laughter. That is when Atlasi’s warrior spirit filled him, that is when the eyes of the gods watched, as he led the final charge, and triumphed in freeing the Everlasting Desert from the Blood Crocodile’s tyrannical reign.”
With the mood lifted once again, the boys forgot their fears and smiles played on the corners of their lips. Happy, but still half anticipating the worst. Seeoh interpreted the slight shiver of excitement for cold and pulled the blanket tighter around them. Soon, the blanketed trio looked like heads sprouting from a colorful rock.
Athia too felt the desert cold, but she did not shiver.
“The battle began on the Sultan’s forty-fifth birthday and ended before the sun fell beyond the sands. Sultan Atlasi delivered the killing strike, which defeated the Blood Crocodile. The Sultan’s remaining soldiers rejoiced!” Sellah smiled wide, but it quickly faded as the story was not finished yet. Athia sensed the change in Sellah’s mood and allowed herself a glance. “Although the battle was won, the Sultan and his men were wounded and dying of thirst. The warriors remained in the mountain, too weak to go anywhere. Atlasi turned to the gods, wondering still if they had abandoned him. The next morning, he walked out from the shade of the mountain, into the dawning sun, removed his shirt and hood, and then knelt. He prayed, suffering the sun’s wrath, without a stray cloth to spare his scarred skin, without water or food to slake or sate the thirst and hunger the battle had given him. By the time the sun reached the horizon, his flesh was badly burned, but the gods answered his prayers.”
Athia turned to look at Sellah directly, and he noticed her movement out of the corner of his eye.
“From the sands, water sprang forth; water clean and cool. The Sultan, his men, and the Red Mountain were washed in the miracle, an oasis unlike any other. The Sultan’s men flocked to him, carrying him from the spring before he was drowned in its splendor. Although the Sultan and his men were saved, the mountain was forever stained red by the blood spilled in the battle. It is a mountain, my sons, that you will see at dawn. The oasis, the city, the Sultan’s palace, a palace carved into the mountain of Red Rock!”
~*~
Sellah sat beside Athia, both bathed in the moonlight. Sellah stared happily at the stars, full of life and puffing casually from the hookah to his right. Small, cherry-scented puffs filtered through his bushy mustache and beard. Athia’s eyes wandered from her feet to the shadows of the dune but occasionally glanced at him. Even the thickest clouds of smoke could not hide the twinkle in his eye.
“You must be cold, Athia,” Sellah began between puffs. “We may have only met a few days ago, but that does not mean you are unwelcome. Warm yourself by the fire, child.”
Athia narrowed her eyes as if the dune to her left had done something wrong, and she shook her head. Sellah followed her gaze and stared out across the desert.
“It’s been a long journey for my family,” the wide merchant continued. “But it will be worth it. The city of Red Rock holds many opportunities for every merchant. I can only hope that we won’t miss any of the festivities. It is the Sultan’s birthday the day after tomorrow, an ideal time to tell his story, but a better time to be a merchant. What do you seek there, Athia?”
Athia was struggling to ignore Sellah. His words weren’t insistent, but genuinely curious. The sincerity tugged at her heart and she finally broke her silence.
“Not sure yet...I just know I must go there,” Athia murmured slowly, considering her words. “Someone or something is there...or nothing is there.”
“You are unsure?”
Athia nodded, hoping he would not ask a question she didn’t want to answer. She could not weave words as well as he did, so she could only provide hollow words and circling riddles.
“Yet you are...told to go there?” Sellah continued.
Athia nodded again.
“Where are your parents?”
Athia seemed unresponsive as if frozen by the question, then her expression changed. Sellah saw such terrible sadness in Athia’s eyes. It was pain, a familiar pain. He figured Athia was orphaned when he came across her, but he was unprepared for his own emotions.
“Can I ask who told you to go to Red Rock?” Sellah persisted.
“A...stranger.”
“You choose your words so carefully,” Sellah pointed out. His tone was more amused now, partly because he didn’t want to sadden her further. “At your age, most people speak their mind without a second thought. Yet, you seem so afraid of speaking openly. You are not in danger, I hope. At least know that you are safe here.”
“It’s rude to speak your mind.”
“Oh no, I much prefer it when people speak their minds, even if they are rude. People like that tell me their stories...stories of pain, stories of bravery...I’ve always found that it did them more good to talk than to not. Of course, I appreciated them for trusting me to listen…”
Sellah looked at Athia, waiting for a response.
“...listen and provide a few stories of my own in return.”
Athia’s curiosity grew, but her hesitation could be seen in every movement. She wanted to tell him her story, but she also knew it better not to. Sellah was clever in the way he spoke. His tone was kind, his words sincere, and he was easy to trust. Yet, Athia was smarter than any at her age and recognized this part of his personality.
Instead, she told him what she could, something she felt more comfortable talking about.
“I don’t have parents,” Athia began. “Never had. I grew up in White Tree Oasis...a place for bad people, led by a bad prince. I left...I left because it was dangerous for me to stay.”
Sellah nodded, knowing that such places littered the desert. Refuge for the desperate and dangerous. A bad prince, a leader who no doubt punished the people - who stole but never gave. Sellah tried not to imagine the worst.
“I see. Too many thieves?”
“Yes...I was one of them,” Athia replied simply, looking now directly at Sellah.
One does not openly admit they are a thief, but Athia wanted to test Sellah. She expected anger or disappointment. Something that would break this image of a kindly merchant who sat next to her, and make it easier to distance herself from the family.
“A bad thief?” Sellah asked. Athia’s jaw dropped, but no words came out. She let the surprise roll off her and finally spoke.
“What…what do you mean?”
“I have known many thieves, good and bad. I want to know what kind of thief you are.”
“I don’t know,” Athia told him in all honesty. “How do I know?”
Sellah pulled a thoughtful, yet goofy expression. The muscles that kept Athia from smiling loosened slightly as the pillow merchant twirled his mustache around a meaty finger.
“Do you hurt anyone?”
“No. I avoid fights for that reason.”
“Do you steal from the poor?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What do you do with what you steal?”
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“If it’s money, I buy food.”
“And if it’s not money?”
“Well, then it’s food. I’ve only stolen one thing that wasn’t money...I regret it still.”
Sellah narrowed his eyes and looked at Athia as if judging her worth. Athia could not help feeling anxious.
“You are not a bad thief,” Sellah concluded. “You are not even a bad person.”
Athia could only stare in reply. Sellah was unlike anyone Athia had known. Perhaps White Tree Oasis was cursed, or she simply had the misfortune of only encountering poor characters. Yet, it felt like a hidden burden was lifted off her shoulders; she sighed as it did.
“I wish I could tell you more,” Athia said. “But it’s better if I keep the rest of my story to myself.”
If Sellah persisted, he would get the story out of Athia, but that wasn’t his goal. He wanted to give her hope, a positivity that all children should wear, even teenagers like Athia. With that done, he steered the conversation away from searching questions.
“You’re a real mystery, Athia, that much is clear, but I know something about you nevertheless,” Sellah said.
Athia immediately began to worry that she had said too much.
“Your hair. It’s rare to see white hair on someone so young,” Sellah continued. “Some say it is a sign of a curse, some say a blessing.”
“What do you think?” Athia asked quietly, avoiding Sellah’s eyes again.
“Well, you are alive,” he said simply.
“A curse then.”
It was a dark thing to hear, but Sellah knew how to counter it. Sellah laughed so suddenly that he quickly silenced himself before he awoke his family. Athia smiled, struggling to suppress it.
“Stop that! You are allowed to smile, girl!” Sellah encouraged with a soft wheezing laugh. “If you have to fight to be miserable, your life isn’t a bad one.”
Athia’s smile broke free and she smiled so sweetly. He gestured for her to join him by the fire and she did. Immediately, the warmth of the fire put her body at ease. Closer now, Athia could smell the hookah’s fruity scent.
The two stared into the fire as the night grew darker. Sellah told Athia more stories of the Sultan, as she was interested to hear more of his exploits, and perhaps learn more about his mad father and his unwarranted battles. Sellah was all too happy to tell them, although he had to tell them with much less energy and enthusiasm as his family slept. Athia listened keenly, her age showing as Sellah kept her enchanted with his retellings.
Once the last story for the night was told, Sellah saw Athia staring out across the desert once again. Her mind was elsewhere. It was late in the night, which meant they both needed to rest before the next day’s journey.
“It seems to me you have a burden, one might even say a heavy one,” Sellah said suddenly. “I know you will not tell me, so I won’t ask, but I have something that will help make the burden a little lighter all the same.”
Athia focused on Sellah, tentative, but listening.
“Don’t carry it alone.”
~*~
As dawn broke, Athia climbed into the back of Sellah’s cart and watched the sunrise. Slowly the cart trundled forward, the mountain of carpets, blankets, and cushions barely contained by the tarp that hung over it all.
Athia found comfort among the cushions, staring at the gaps in the tarp, waiting, imagining the worst, and planning for it. She was one of the many who believed if they imagined the worst, they would be mentally prepared for it when it happened. Although, it didn’t always help.
It wasn’t until midday that Sellah pushed her thoughts aside.
“Athia, look!” Sellah called through the colorful pillows.
Athia couldn’t make her way through the heap of fabrics, so she swung herself out the back of the cart to cling to its side. Breathing deep, Athia took it all in.
Between the wondrous Everlasting Desert and the cloudless sky were the distant shapes of a city, the silhouette of a mountain and glimmering lights reflected off a massive oasis. The mountain of Red Rock didn’t seem ominous, despite the bloody tale. True, it was a violent orange and it stood tall, but she did not think of battle when she saw at it. The palace carved into it could be seen clearly above the many pale buildings, some turrets emerging from the rocks with rounded tips that gleamed when they caught the light.
A city bigger than any Athia had seen, with a lake-sized oasis, to match. She could feel the luxury, the sense of opportunity that Sellah sought. Yes, for a merchant, this was paradise - the center of progress. Yet, Athia was not a merchant and her heart did not lift with excitement in the way Sellah’s did.
To distract herself, Athia let her eyes follow the horizon, looking over the surrounding desert. The golden sands and their crests cut into the blue sky. The sight calmed her. In the emptiness between the sand and sky, Athia saw peace...then she caught sight of a dark speck. A distant figure, peaking above a dune, looking on towards Red Rock.
It was a scene Athia understood, reading it with ease. It appeared to be a man of caution, a lone wanderer. Like her, the figure was hesitant about entering the city. Remembering Sellah’s words, she made an impulsive, but important decision. One that she felt was right in that moment and nothing could stop her from making it.
“Sellah!” Athia called forward. “Thank you for taking me this far!”
“We are not there yet!” he called back, but Athia could barely hear him as she rolled on the sand.
Climbing to her feet, Athia watched the cart trundle onwards.
“Take care, story-teller,” Athia whispered, deciding they would not speak to each other again; it was better that way.
Athia turned to face the figure in the distance.
~*~
The dark speck was a nomad, standing in front of a bored, brown camel. The camel was far more interested in letting its eyes roll across the horizon until the waves of the desert soothed it into a lazy slumber. The nomad ignored the camel’s snoring as best he could, even when they were at their most guttural and infuriating.
He watched the city's edge with a spyglass, his hand hovering over the end of it as a precaution. He wanted to find a weak point in their defense and if the guards saw a glint of light off the glass lens, they might grow suspicious.
Seeing movement at the front of the city, he turned his focus to a cart carrying pillows. A merchant approached the entrance. The guards stopped the cart, talked with a large man at the reins, and searched amongst the pillows. The wall of guards parted for the cart, but it did not pass through before the merchant made a sale. One guard walked away with three pillows.
The nomad watched and waited.
The guards were many and he was one. A stranger in black carrying a sword was hardly a character they would trust. If possible, he would like to enter the city without his name or description on their register.
The nomad waited and watched.
“An opening...a mistake...give me something,” the nomad murmured in barely a whisper, his impatience growing with each passing minute.
His frustration wasn’t so loud that he could not hear the movement behind him. Delicate, each step barely made a sound, one might even confuse it with a slight breeze. However, it was the repetition of this sound that let the nomad know that he had company. It certainly wasn’t his camel, which swayed unsteadily.
The nomad sighed, turning suddenly to look at Athia. Athia’s eyes widened and her smooth movements faltered. For a moment, she stood on one foot, the other suspended in the air. The sands shifted beneath her weight and she caught herself before she tumbled backwards.
Athia looked the stranger up and down. Tall, broad-shouldered, an imposing figure. His intense eyes were coal-beads set into his rich-brown skin, his expression cold and deadly. His wild hair and beard were only a few shades darker than his black clothes.
“Perfect robes for staying hidden at night,” Athia thought.
“A thief,” he said simply, guessing she was looking to loot his unconscious camel. “One so young...so foolish…”
The man drew his sword and started walking towards her. Athia watched him but did not back away. Her eyes locked with his. Gathering herself, she stood smiling and waiting. Now it was his turn to falter. Her lack of fear surprised him.
“A nomad...maybe,” Athia greeted with a forced gravelly tone in an attempt to match him. “But wearing black...hesitating before he enters the city...hmm, perhaps a bandit.”
The man’s jaw tightened and rage flashed in his eyes. As quickly as she gathered her confidence, she let it slip away when she sensed a real threat behind those eyes.
“M-My mistake, not a bandit, but a dangerous man nonetheless,” Athia continued, now with false confidence. “But you won’t kill me.”
“What makes you say that, child?”
Athia’s lips tightened when he said ‘child.’
“If you were trying to kill me, you would get a lot closer before drawing steel,” Athia observed. “After seeing it enough times, you get to know the difference. If you want to scare me away, you need to be more convincing than that.”
The nomad continued forward until Athia was within range of the blade, and stopped; studying her. Athia’s white robes were made more astonishing by her white hair. It was an unusual sight for someone so young. Unlike his eyes, hers were wide and youthful. Her confidence, false or not, told him all he needed to know.
“This girl is no fool,” the nomad thought.
Staring down at the bold thief, the stranger’s stony expression cracked with amusement, and he sheathed his sword. It wasn’t a particularly warm smile, but there was no malice behind it either.
“You are brave, I will give you that,” the man observed, raising a hand to pat her curiously bright head, ignoring her annoyance once again. He messed up her hair and turned his back on her. “I won’t force you to leave, but I’m the last person in Red Rock you want to be near.”
“That goes for the both of us then,” Athia thought.
He returned to the edge of the dune, laid down, and resumed his reconnaissance of the city. However, he was still fully aware of Athia and her actions. He could sense her walk closer, then lay down next to him.
“Why is it dangerous to be around you?” she asked. “What are you planning?”
“I’m not planning anything,” he said, her annoying curiosity nothing more than a mosquito’s noise he could brush away. At least, he thought so.
“How well do you know the Sultan?” Athia buzzed.
He looked at her, not with suspicion, but surprise. Athia’s face was now unreadable.
“Too well,” he answered honestly. “I knew his father better.”
“Is he why you are here? Are you an enemy?”
Now the nomad was suspicious. While Athia was alone and only a child, he felt that her questions were traps. A feeling that soon vanished with her next remark.
“I need to get into the palace too,” Athia told him. Her words weren’t traps, but tests. Wild stabs in the dark, feeling for his heart. His face betrayed him with every stab and upon realizing this, he took back control and his face became stone. Athia continued. “Also like you, I would prefer if no guards recorded my visit. I would like to enter and leave Red Rock without anyone knowing I was there.”
He didn't believe what he was hearing, but then he saw the seriousness in her eyes. As unusual as it was for a girl to say such things, he could not ignore the truth in her voice.
“And how would you get into the palace?” he asked, avoiding the word ‘we.’
“We’ll talk more about that once we slip into the city,” Athia murmured. Talking to the nomad was strangely easier than talking to the merchant. Perhaps it was an easy topic to discuss with the likes of him. “It wouldn’t do well to be spotted, at least, it wouldn’t do well for you to be spotted. Dressed in black, carrying a scary sword-”
“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point. What do you propose, chi-,” the nomad stopped himself and cleared his throat. “What do you propose?”
At this, Athia smiled. She looked away from him and to their left, towards the horizon. She pointed at darkness hanging just above the dune in the distance, a wind whipping at the sands. The nomad knew what it was, and a plan was formed.
“We need only wait.”
“Clever,” the nomad thought.
Athia’s warm brown eyes met the nomad’s, her decision made.
“My name is Athia, and you’re right, I’m a thief,” she introduced herself, resting her right elbow on the sand, holding her hand out.
The nomad twisted, placing his right elbow in the sand and clasping her hand.
“Bayek.”
~*~
As the sands began to rise with the wind, the Red Guard at the entrance to the city looked out towards the coming sandstorm. The wall of sand was approaching, tall and ominous. Many of the city inhabitants braced themselves for it as best they could, fitting straw sacks between the gaps of their doors and securing the wooden hatches that covered their windows.
Like the Red Guard that surrounded the large city, Sultan Atlasi watched the approaching storm from the highest balcony of his palace. His loyal right-hand, Captain Mirza, watched it with him.
“A bad omen, Mirza,” Atlasi said softly. “Especially the day before my birthday.”
“Indeed, I hate sand in my food,” Mirza replied.
The Sultan smiled, but his heart did not support it.
“My children are too young, too naive…”
Mirza sensed the worry in Atlasi’s words and his expression became grim. Atlasi frowned - he always disliked Mirza when he was that way.
“Ah, let us not discuss it. Come, I can think of worse places for sand to be than in our food.”
The Sultan gave Mirza a mischievous look, made only more amusing by his white, bushy eyebrows which wobbled up and down. Mirza could not help but snort as he followed after his Sultan.
Yet, Mirza was no fool. He would double the guard when he had a moment.
~*~
The sandstorm would soon reach the crest where Athia and Bayek waited. It was close enough for the sand to sweep up and scratch their skin. Bayek’s skin was tough, he tolerated the pain, and the only problem he had was the sand getting in his eyes. It was strange to Athia how little he prepared himself for the storm.
Athia was not so brave when facing the sandstorm, as she knew what it was like to be caught in a torrent of sand. Athia had tightened the straps of her boots around the legs of her robe and her wrists, pulled the hood of her robes over her head and eyes, and finally, wrapped a second white sash around the lower half of her face.
“The sandstorm is moving fast!” Athia yelled over the wind. “If we move with the storm, we stay hidden, but make sure you don’t let the storm take us! The winds could make the camel fall, or guide us away from the city!”
“Have you ridden a camel before?” Bayek snapped.
“No!”
“Then trust me to ride it!”
“I can’t even trust you to scare a little girl away!”
The sandstorm began to hit their backs hard, signaling their time to move. Bayek urged the camel to run, the mount's usually drifting mind now focused. Athia was surprised by the sudden burst of speed as they sped over the crest of the dune and down with the storm toward the city.