Desert warriors

He is one of us now

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here or navigate from the Table of Contents.

By the time they arrived at Tarsa’s camp, Hal’s whole body was sore from riding. He had offered more than once to switch places with Vishkiva– Kiva, as Tarsa called his brother. But Kiva had refused and, to Hal’s amazement, had continued to jog smoothly behind the trotting horses mile after mile, catching up when Tarsa rested the mounts, appearing only moderately fatigued. In this way they approached a low rocky outcrop when the sun was low and red on the horizon, silhouetting men and horses ahead.

Hal wasn’t sure what he had expected from Tarsa’s camp, but he had thought there would be… more. There were no tents or even bedrolls to be seen–only a dozen or more men, some gathered near a campfire, and as many horses milling about.

“We travel light through the Ruined Plains,” said Tarsa, seeming to guess what Hal was thinking. He had guided his horse alongside Hal’s. “The horses can survive for a time eating only ropebrush–there is some water in the leaves.”

“What about your own food and water?” asked Hal.

“We travel from water to water,” said Tarsa. “Survival out here depends on the knowledge of where to find it. There is a dripspring at this camp. As for food, there is some to be found, even out here– though desert fare can be an acquired taste,” he smiled. “But we do not tarry longer than we must in the wilderness. These men and horses have been in this place too long. Tomorrow we will travel to Alba to resupply.”

“Tarsa!” a man called out, running toward him. Tarsa dismounted easily and greeted the man with an embrace. Tarsa’s sister–Heyeh, they called her–had dismounted as well; she and Kiva were greeting the others.

Hal hesitated. He had watched the others dismount and thought he knew how to replicate the movement–he just wasn’t sure he could move his sore muscles at all right now. But he couldn’t sit atop this horse all night, so he took a breath and attempted to swing his leg over the side of the mount. He did succeed in getting off the horse, but he landed in a heap on the ground.

Hal looked up to see Heyeh glaring at him scornfully. Near her, several other pairs of green eyes regarded him with similar disdain and distrust. Fortunately Kiva took the horse’s reins before the animal could tread on Hal, and Tarsa extended a hand to pull Hal to his feet.

“Men, I would like you to meet Haleth, son of Eryod,” said Tarsa.

“You know I trust you with my life, duneh,” said the man who had come out to greet Tarsa first, “but why have you brought us a brown-eyed farmer who does not know how to control his body?” Some of the other men laughed.

“You are right to wonder, Kamar. I met Haleth in battle, fighting alongside him against the ones we hunt. Only a few times in my life have I seen such valiance.”

The other men were silent at that, but Kamar pressed further, speaking quietly. “But why bring him here–why reveal a water-secret to an outsider?”

“Haleth is not an outsider,” said Tarsa, “he is one of us now.” There were protests at that, but Tarsa looked at them with icy firmness, and the grumbles subsided.

“If you say so, duneh,” said Kamar, softly.

“I do,” said Tarsa. Kamar met Tarsa’s gaze for a moment, then nodded curtly, looking away.

Hal’s stomach rumbled, but Tarsa, Heyeh, and Kiva moved unhurriedly to water, feed, and groom their horses. So Hal sat down on a rock, away from the other Veyta, and looked out across the darkening plains. The verdance where Hal’s farm was had disappeared from sight, and all he could see was dry wilderness. He thought suddenly of his father’s garden, lush and green, with the soft tinkle of water filling the space within the walls. His reasons for leaving home, so strong in his mind only this morning, suddenly seemed hard to remember.

A strong hand grasped his shoulder. “Come, Haleth,” said Tarsa, “you are not accustomed to the dry lands. We will drink first, then eat.”

The dripspring was a tiny trickle of water emerging from a crack in the outcrop. A jug had been placed beneath it to capture the flow. As Tarsa approached the rock, his green eyes flared with faint luminescence. The tiny stream bent unnaturally in the air, flowing directly into Tarsa’s mouth. After a mouthful of fresh water, Tarsa filled his empty waterskin from the jug and stood aside for the others to do the same. Hal stood gaping–he knew that Veyta could use their powers to their advantage in battle, but he had never heard of the Sight being used in this way. But when Kiva and Heyeh had finished, Hal followed suit without comment–no magic in the world was as marvelous as the taste of fresh water.

Hal could smell something roasting, and his stomach gave another grumble. But he did not see any pots as he sat down near a campfires where Tarsa sat across from a short, burly man. Most of the others had finished their meal and were attending to their horses or other tasks.

“Better luck today,” the man was saying as he uncovered something that had been buried in the ashes. “Yesterday was mostly locusts. Going to be hard to find enough meat if we stay here much longer.”

“We set off in the morning,” said Tarsa, “We’ll resupply at Alba and ask for news of other attacks.”

The man grabbed the hot meat with his bare fingers and tossed it to Tarsa. It was a whole, roasted lizard. Tarsa took the lizard and began to strip off the ashy skin. The cook handed a lizard to Hal with a somewhat reluctant look. Hal took it, but quickly dropped it on the rock–it was burning hot. The cook cursed chidingly.

Tarsa only smiled. “Haleth has spent his life on watered lands,” he said. “It will take time for him to learn the ways of the desert.”

The cook muttered something about how he wasn’t planning to make buttered toast to appease the tastes of soft brown-eyed boys.

Tarsa laughed. “I seem to remember a time when you, Bzuzha, had a taste for finer foods than buttered toast. Have you forgotten your city days already?”

“Ay,” said Bzuzha, “seems like another life, the days before you plucked me out of the city to wander around in the wilderness. But I am a desert man now.”

“You have learned the ways well, cousin.” Tarsa turned to Hal. “Bzuzha could take a rock and make it edible. You will not find a better forager and cook anywhere on the plains.”

“No rocks,” said Bzuzha, clearly pleased by the praise, “but plenty of food to be found under the rocks, if you know where to look.”

“Are any of the other men your relatives?” Hal asked Tarsa.

“Most of them,” said Tarsa, “cousins of one variety or another. And of course, my own brother and sister.” Kiva and Heyeh had sat down by the fire now as well, and Tarsa clapped a hand on Kiva’s back.

“I still say this is a mistake,” said Heyeh sharply. “This farmer does not belong here.” Something about the way she held herself, firelight glinting off her nose ring, made Hal feel uncivilized–even as she deftly pulled the blackened skin off a lizard.

“Did any of us belong here in the beginning?” said Tarsa. “The desert has made us strong enough to belong to it. Battle has made us belong to each other.”

“We belong to each other because we are Veyta,” Heyeh replied.

“Perhaps,” said Tarsa, turning to Hal with a smile. “My sister is not much like your Enedram women, is she?”

Hal hesitated to answer. “Enedram women are usually not warriors,” he said.

Tarsa sighed. “Not many Veyta women are, in this day. In the cities, most Veyta women have adopted softer ways. But there was a time when it was common for Veyta women to fight alongside the men. Heyeh is a true Veyta woman like the great warrior-women of the songs, and someday others shall follow her in the old ways.”

Tarsa looked at his sister with pride. She touched her forehead in acknowledgement, though her haughty look did not change. “I am as you have made me, brother,” she said, but Hal found it hard to believe that anyone could make this woman anything she did not wish to be.

That night they laid their cloaks on the ground and slept. The starlight was almost too bright in Hal’s eyes, and the desert air felt dry in his throat. He had never noticed the humidity of the water-cooled houses of his people. The faces of family drifted through his mind– his mother, Piria, Oweth. Then there was Esath–the surprised look on his face before the life had faded from his eyes. And the kind face of his father as he had looked in the star-lit garden on that last night. Hal fought back the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. He had a feeling that Veyta warriors did not cry.