Amlavi

 Amlavi

Part 1

Day by day the scene is fixed but the sky changes, the dunes grow tall and then low yet it is all the same. It blends into each other like an ocean of sand washing over the horizon. It seems that we do not move very far but night and day pass over and over us. Sand blows hard against our skin. We thirst and our limbs grow tired. We are the Amlavi. We travel from place to place. Yet we have not always been like this, it is how we live now, carrying our belongings where we go. It’s meant we have learnt to live without too much of what is unnecessary. 

 

The desert saunters, as is its nature. All things have their nature and nature can be cruel and it can be dangerous. Even people are like this. Father has said you must learn to understand so you can protect yourself. We should be used to it by now but a dry thirst scrapes against the middle of my throat as if I have never tasted the coolness of water. Some things you never get used to. Some things you can’t control.

 

“The winds blow East,” my father, Lord Hilaram says turning his head to face us. He is the leader of our people and I watch how he conceals his sadness. He has tried to be strong so that those of us who are left can keep up our spirits. It’s been a struggle since we ran from home, the journey treacherous. The camels carry enough provisions for the few of us. It will not last forever. It is like good times or bad times, nothing lasts forever. The others are still there, we left them behind, or they left us behind. This has been difficult to accept. Father says nothing of it yet, but he must be disappointed that more people didn’t choose to flee with him. It’s the kind of realisation that breaks a man’s heart. My sister Amrain, she is not with us either.

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“Cover your face, a storm is brewing, “it will be with us in the next few hours,” he calls out, raising his hand to feel the direction of the wind, then he turns to look at Rainier, one of the 5 councilmen. “Send the navigator ahead to dig, we will camp near water, for now we rest,” he covers his face with the scarf around his neck.

 

Rainier turns his horse and at a speed gallops to the back of our party to find Fiban. He was one of the Berbers we brought with us to make our way through the desert. Without his knowledge of the sky we would be lost. A man must be trained in the ways of the stars to know how to lead with it.

Fiban gallops forward and stops to nod at my father, then like the wind he moves ahead of us leaving clouds of smoke and dust. He will find what we need.

A murmuring drifts through our party as people dismount.

“Rest!” my father calls out.

The camels fold their legs and sit. People drink water and chatter amongst each other. Though the heat is like fire, the sun is almost dipping and beginning to leave us on this 21^st day of the moon year 700. We have been travelling for 36 days.

 

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“A storm,” Mirab says, his voice strong, concealing fear. He is a councilman like Rainier, but much younger than him and without my father’s unequivocal trust. Like the other councilmen he wears a tunic in light beige with a rope fastened around his waist. That is how you know the elders. From this and their short beards. The councilman were not appointed by my father. They were voted for by the Order of knights, the nation’s noblest of warriors. While he has gotten on well with Rainier the same is not true of all 5 councilmen, but the country’s law is to demand they be consulted. My father has always sworn by the law of our land, to disregard it will cause him dishonour, but now that we are fleeing things may be different. We will need new rules out here. We will have to make new ways. We travel with a few soldiers, much of the army was slain and the others are home with the new ruler. They were stronger than us, their fighters tactical. Our kingdom has been usurped by a brute who steals by war.

 

“That is not a ruler they chose nor love,” the Councilmen whispered as we fled into the desert, but people are fickle my father says. It was not the people’s heads they wanted.

“You were greatly loved,” Rainier told him, but my father feared the people’s loyalties did not run that deep.

 

“If we camp under the shadow of the boulders, there,” he pointed, “the storm will blow over without burying us alive. Then we can journey on.”

Rainier and Mirab listen close. “We are so few now.”

My father looks grim.

“Sire, this traveling is treacherous,” Mirab said. “The Berber spoke of a city ahead. We should not chance our luck in a storm.”

“What do you suggest,” my father replied. “That we stay out in the open, ready to be buried in sand graves. The city is miles in the distance, the storm hours away, we will not reach there in time, that is to assume the people be gentle enough to take us in and not slaughter us for our belongings and our womenfolk. Which chance would you prefer to take my dear Councilman. You have lived through the war same as I, do you want to put your trust in a city of strangers that you might not even find.”

The councilmen fell silent, Pytr, Halaq, and Iury were alongside too now, listening to my father.

Our provisions are meagre but some say we will be happier now. When we were a great people we had so much to lose we could never be happy. Now that life is simple joy will come easy. Not everyone in the tribe agrees with this. There are those who want the old world back. They will not rest until it is so once again. I have overheard father and the councilmen talking. Our most important aim is to reunite with our people.

 

 “We will camp beneath the boulders on the other side of the dunes,” Pytr said agreeing.

“So it is then,” my father said as he looked out for Fiban, “so it is.”

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When Fiban returned an hour later the sun was low in the sky, but he bore good news, carrying a pitcher filled with clean water from where he had dug it out beneath the sand. The discovery was not too far from the shelter, only about half the distance between the boulder and where we stood now.

 

My father led the way and we made camp beneath the stone jutting out from a sea of dunes. It did not look that far but the journey was slow and arduous. The eye can trick you with distance. By the time we found it close by it was dusk and the light was fading and we were tired again. All you have in these conditions are the people around you and I felt I needed them, my mother and father, my siblings to make me feel safe. It had been so lonely. That was the hardest part of leaving home. An overwhelming sense that you did not belong anywhere anymore. Like there was no place on this earth that was yours. We had already lost my sister and I felt it bearing on me. I wondered where she was now, if she wondered if we were ok, or if she was too happy in her foreign world. Thinking of this broke my heart and I looked for my mother and young siblings.

 

If she had been here she’d be pestering me about my habits, my way of riding, the way I read too much from the books I brought with me from the old city, the way I could go quiet and she’d tap me against my spine, or rumple up my hair just to get my attention. She was two years older and she had been my first friend.

 

Under the boulder we made camp and I went over to help my mother with our shelter. I watched the twins whom she had been carrying with her throughout the journey. They were only 3 moon years but could talk so much. I could tell they missed Amrain too. She had helped my mother too to take care of them.

Inside the tent I tickled them until even Driar giggled. He was quieter than Muir who was a playful girlchild. Driar could be a sullen boy. People said he had my father’s temperament, that it was usual for boys to be still.

 

“Your father has made a fire, you can feed them shortly,” Mother said, “Let them play a bit with the other children. But do not leave them with anyone.” She was very protective since their birth had been a difficult one and she almost died bringing them into this world. The baby she had before them was born but not breathing. We buried him in the old city, near the grounds where the people went to worship the gods. Father said mother was as strong as any dragon for what she survived.

 

I fed the twins and amused them with noises and games. Other children gathered round us. We had had many mules back in the old city and so they laughed when I made neighing noises. We had horses too, but they are no good in the desert. In the old city my family had lived in a modest castle. Driar giggled and reached out to touch my face as if he was trying to tickle me back. I laughed with him, then Muir, until they squealed loudly. They turned 3 shortly before the war caused us to leave home. Soon they would not remember that life anymore. I worried they would never know the life we had most of my years alive.

 

Around the camp other people were making fires until it was a glowlight of tents and flames amid the desert sand. When the storm hit nobody was truly prepared.

 

It came fast and unexpected, the sharp wind that blew across, striking like a bolt of lightning. A gust of sand scathed against my face scraping my skin. I fell over so that Driar and Muir fell with me. The twins started to cry then and when I looked the fire had been wiped out. I threw my eyes across the camp and saw we were not the only ones who had felt it. The storm was creeping into the settlement and people were frantic because they were scared. There was no time to cry though, another gust of sand blew furiously over us, knocking me off my feet. Everyone scuffled for safety, the wind tossed sparks from the fire around the camp. One tent was aflame. People were screaming now.

 

“Fire!” they called out and a few men rushed to douse it with sand. People were running around throwing water where there were sparks.

 

“Kill the fires. Kill the fires! Go inside!” the Councilmen screamed. “Storm!” more sand came rushing in a violent burst of wind, knocking people off their feet and blowing possessions around like air. Visibility became near impossible between the gusts of blowing sand.

 

“Retreat! Retreat!”

 

I fumbled to pick up Driar and Muir. Driar ran away from me thinking we were playing a game and Muir cried out for mother. I tried to hold onto her while running after him and when I found him I beat him against his thigh. “This is not the time to play,” I screamed, frenzied as another gust of wind blew over and I grabbed them both and looked for our tent. Mother was rushing towards me, calling our names. I could barely see as I ran to her dragging Muir and Driar with me until she was near enough to grab them and put her arm around us, dragging us into the tent with her.

 

The gusts of sand came harder and faster as we sat as far underneath the boulder as we could, covering our faces and eyes with scarves, waiting for the storm.

 

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“If the sand gets in your nose and mouth you’ll suffocate. Here,” Agia’s father said wetting scarves and passing it to them. “Hold your heads down, and bend over so you don’t get lifted away, cover your nose, eyes, and mouths.”

 

Agia was squeezed over the twins fitting them tightly into her lap, and around her, her mother Bilari and father Lord Hilarim held a protective embrace. This was how they stayed for the duration of the storm.

 

“May the gods be with us,” Bilari said, gripping onto her family as wind and sand raged between and over them. You could hear it howling across the desert, menacing, and all around the tent shook, blowing their belongings from side to sad, pots and utensils rattled and clanged against each other.  

 

It became harder for Hilaram to hold onto the beam of the tent as the storm grew. His eyes began to feel scratchy from minute grains of sand filtering in through his scarf.

Outside there was screaming between the howls of the wind, he wanted to go see but it was difficult to move against the storm.

 

The pressure of sand and wind ripped a deep cut into the side of Hilaram’s tent, breaking it only a little, a gash, but as the wind beat against it it tore deeper until it split into a long opening.

“Hold onto the beam,” he screamed and they tried to hold it together but they were in the open now and the sand and wind ripped the beam in two bringing the tent collapsing down.

“Cover your faces,” Bilari screamed, “my children, the gods help us!” holding on tighter.

 “Keep huddling down,” Hilaram screamed holding onto his family and when he raised his face for a moment he saw through the sand a vague silhouette near their tent. There was a little boy, alone, holding onto a piece of cloth still tied to a wooden beam.

 

“Where was his family,” he worried they were hurt and looked to Bilari and his children and saw that they were safe.

“Stay here,” he commanded “and keep holding onto each other. “Whatever you do don’t let go.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Bilari panicked as he crawled away from them into the thick density of the sand and wind, “We need you, don’t go!”

“I have to,” he said, I am the Sire.

“No! Stay!”

“No,” came the swift reply. He could barely see anything ahead of his face and Bilari was frantic but he knew he had to go.

“Stay!” she called out again. “What about us?”

“You’re safe,” he said, “Stay together. I’ll be back.”

 

He crawled through the sand trying to see the boy he had spotted but it was difficult to see past his own hands. Instead he used his voice to call out so the boy could call back and he could follow the sound.

“Wait there,” he called out. “I’m coming for you.”

The boy cried out, “Mamma, Pappa.”

 

Desert brambles swept across Hilarim’s hands as he crawled toward the voice, scraping him against his cheeks until it burned. He wiped his face and when he looked his hands were covered with smudges of blood. He called out to the boy again to make sure where he was going.

 

“I’m here,” Hilaram called crawling closer.

 

The sun had sunk and the desert was cold now, the temperatures low enough for him to shiver.  

 

It was difficult to breathe and the air had given him a dry cough but he pushed ahead. As he moved a beam fell against him, hitting him hard against his left arm. It left a wound that bled. He screamed out in pain and stopped for a moment to check, but the boy called back, “Help, Mamma,” and so he kept moving, crawling on his other arm until he reached out and felt the boy within reach.

“I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he said pulling him close. They crawled back together to a place under the boulder huddling over each other to make them stronger against the wind.

 

So they stayed until the storm was over.

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Afterwards it was dark and cold in the thick desert air, but visibility was clear now that the storm died away.

Hilaram went to his family first, they were all there and for this he felt relieved and guilty.

He went with the Councilmen around the camp to see what damage there was. They found the boy’s parents, who were frantic without him. His mother was crying and grabbed him from Hilarim, who comforted her quietly. Hilarim did not have to do this. He could send the Councilmen and stay with his wife and children but he wanted to show the people he felt their pain.

The storm was short but the damage was far. Provisions had been blown away, they were even more short of water and meat and bread. People were hurt too. They had wounds and there was blood, but by the gods graces nobody had died. That was the victory. They would try to rebuild what they could with what was left behind, wooden beams and muslin enough to make a tent for everyone to sleep, they’d have some protection from the elements. They would keep each other warm until the morning came. They would make fire and tend to the wounded.  

 

Bilari cleaned Hilaram’s arm with an alcohol soaked bandage. He took the twins and held them close. Agia attended to her father by making him a strong drink. “We are lucky,” he said, “we have each other.”

 

But around the camp people were despondent and cold and hungry.  

 

“The morale is low,” Rainier gave word as the Councilmen discussed among themselves. “People are feeling the blow. We’ve lost provisions, how much longer will our food last?”

 

And as they canvassed the matter with each other’s counsel, the heavens opened up wide and amid the cold desert air, a deep thrashing rain began to fall. The people stood, as the rain beat down hard against the sand.

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It had been four days since the storm and the rains. At least they had been able to collect water. But that was not enough. They were tired and weather-beaten, and weak.

 

Bilari held Muir close to her chest as they continued on their way through the desert.

A murmuring of coughs spread amongst the people. Some had taken ill and were suffering from the inclement weather. Muir was one of them. She had shivering followed by a fever.

 

Jari, the father of Metin and father-in-law to Sarah had been the first to succumb. He began by coughing and took so ill they had to stop for a while to tend to him, but he was too old and sickly to feel so ill. He was one of the oldest to flee with the tribe, refusing to live under a new ruler. His loyalty had been marked by Hilarim and he felt a special tenderness for him.

Brave to the end he refused to hold everyone back and insisted they keep going that he was strong enough.  But as the camels rode he started to get the cold shivers again, his face became pallid, and when they stopped once again to make a fire so he could warm himself it was already too late. Sarih held him in her arms dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. So it continued for two days and when he still did not get better he told them to leave him behind. Jari and Sarah could not bear to hear him say this and demanded that he let them help him. That they would stay there with him alone and be prey to the sandwolves if they must.

 

It was then that Muir started coughing as well. Her mother kept her cool with a wet scarf but she was not getting better either. She was too little to fight off the pneumonia without the help of a healer. Myrcella had made a potion for her to drink made of water that she had whispered sage blessings on, bidden to the gods, but it had not helped. She slipped between fever and cold shivers like the Jari old man did and all Bilari could do was keep her comfortable. For two days she had stopped speaking and her lips were pale and cracked.

They tried to feed her but she did not want to take food and when they made her drink she could not keep even water down.

 

On the third day Jari the old man was lying by the fire in the night camp to keep warm when he let out a soft gasp. Moments later his son called out, “Father! My father!”

 

Hilarim thought perhaps the man was recovering and finding his speech, but this was not the case. He had let out his last breath and there was no life in him anymore. His son closed his eyes and made a prayer, a blessing for his soul.

 

The Councilmen and Hilarim joined his son in burying his body. That night they kept him with them in the tent to protect him from sandwolves, and the next day they rode out on camels to find a place where he could rest in peace. As they dug two eagles hovered above, watching, and they made sure they dug deep into the sand to hide him from the scourge of predators.

 

“He has died in the name of freedom,” Hilarim said, “the cowards who stayed behind in the old city had not half the heart your father had. It is an honourable death.” Metin could not think how little that mattered to him now when he would never have the comfort of his father’s embrace or wisdom, when his children born and unborn would not know their grandfather or hear his tales. Maybe they should have stayed back with the others. Maybe if they had not been so proud he would not have lost his life. But what dignity was there in living under a new king who had his own ways. They could not have lived that life.

 

Rainier and the councilmen patted Metin on the back and had few words that could comfort. “More people are coughing,” Rainier said, “your own daughter is one of them.”

 

Hilarim listened. He did not want to lose another daughter. Not after he had lost Amrain the way he had. “The city,” he replied. “The city that lies ahead of us.”

 

And so it was decided, with sickness spreading they would have to go to the city and without knowing what they would find there they would do the near unthinkable, they would ask another tribe for help.

 

When they turned to go they felt sombre, leaving a modest plank impaled into the sand to mark the grave with an X, although it was the middle of no man’s land it seemed only right, and as they left and made their way back to the camp more eagles descended from the sky, and hovered over the final resting place.

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TO BE CONTINUED…