Carpet

Bill shut his eyes, feeling pressured weight trying to move him. He smiled, turned his head away, He still felt the pressure and wondered who it could be. Bill opened his eyes to see sand. There was sand all about him and a slope was sliding to his side a bit. He was alone with a sun that was just overhead, now about to set.

The quiet spoke to him with the hollowness of an empty world. He looked this way and that, feeling the heat of the day as his robes swirled with each jerked turning. A bare shimmer caught his eye, then it disappeared with the sun’s final green flash. Darkness came quickly and from where the shimmer had been came a glimmer, a sparkle. There must be people there, he thought to his footsteps that were already travelling toward that hope.

With darkness came cold. His fingers and nose were attacked by the dropping temperature and his eyes smitten to running tears. He was moving fast and the glimmer steadied as a campfire then turned into two, then five small fires casting orange glows upon patterned tents and robed figures warming hands, standing as statues, looking at him. They had shadowed faces, bandoliers crossing their chests and swords hanging in patterns against robes.

Bill slowed his pace. His thoughts ranged from: to see them is enough for comfort’s sake, and onto I want to join their fellowship. He slowed but did not stop. Several of them beckoned him by pointing open hands to the small flames. He was nervous about the way they looked at him. He looked up while touching the sparse hairs of his moustache. The sky was with so many stars. His eyes blurred. He looked around quickly to see if they noticed his tears forming, then wiped his eyes quickly with the fingers that were still at the moustache. Nobody seemed to notice.

A large dark spider was hesitantly moving toward the fire. Tracks of various footfalls formed hills and valleys for the brute. It moved. Stopped. Moved. Bill wanted to kill it but he would have to draw out his sword to do that, and what if he missed? What would they think of him? What if the spider attacked? He looked away at the starlit desert with its hills and valleys of light and deep shadow.

A hand touched his shoulder. He shook it off and turned to see one of them in shadow, backlit by the blazing fire. They were wild men. He was nervous. Bill’s hand was now at the sparse whiskers on his receding chin.

The night was still dark, he thought. It would still be possible to leave, to get away. He looked around, out of the fire light, into the deep darkness that slowly revealed itself as mounds of shadow beneath a sparkling blanket of lighter darkness. There was only darkness out there except for the stars. But he would be away from these wild men, or would they find him alone… out there? Would they be merciless with him for leaving them? Would he have to pay dearly for the insult of running away. And where, feeling the sand now with his finger tips, where was he running to?

There was movement all around. Bill must have fallen asleep squatting. The fire was in its final glow. Somebody in dark robes was kicking sand over the embers until there was a smoking silence to its light. The fire had died, leaving Bill saddened; feeling alone.

Whispers all around. A clunking of scabbard, a rustling of bed rolls being gathered. A chuckle, stopped by an urgent whisper just off to the left.

    In the first grey of morning Bill saw the tent had already been struck and two slaves were burdened in hunchbacks of cloth. A quick purple light, maybe lavender, seeped into the edge of the Eastern sky. That sky was defining itself in silver specks that were turning into golden streaks.

Bill was moving with them now. He felt his body heavy, trudging up sand slopes and awkwardly slide-footing down them. The desert wanted to swallow him, sucking at his steps, pulling him down. They reached hard pan as the sun began to conquer the horizon. 

The oasis was in sight. Early morning fires trailed smoke through the peace of sleeping date palms. Swords were drawn. Bill pulled his out, looking around for somewhere to hide in the flat plane of pale sand. The first shout went up like fire pushing skin up beneath Bill’s hairs. He knew his eyes were wide. He knew he was screaming with all these wild men, and running, crushing chunks of hard sand. He knew his heart was racing with the footsteps and he needed to kill to stay alive.

There was clanging, both dull and ringing in the early light. Bill stopped at a maroon tent that had black trim. He jumped over a man’s body as the sun found them both. The man was in a dark robe. He was curled into a tight ball. A beautiful curved sword of polished silver and a golden handle lay in the sand next to him.

Bill grabbed the sword, throwing his own onto the ground. As his old blade hit, some sand grains flew onto the man’s hand he noticed that there were rings on three fingers, each mounted with a different shade of green stone. The sun sparkled green light into Pete’s eyes. He leaned over, only hearing occasional clangings from the other side of the tent, and easily pulled off each ring. Bill held them in the palm of his hand and looked at the sword in the other hand and smiled at his reward. Sticking the sword in the sand he put the rings on his right hand, then picked up the sword smiling at the rings with the serpentine s-shape of the golden guard piece.

Bill looked around. Five or six of his group had circled a couple of dark-robed men and were slowly thrusting and slashing swords at them. The men were defending themselves. Bodies were laying in the sand. Several women, some holding babies in their arms, were being tied around the waist by some of Bill’s group. The women were backed against a picket line of camels and horses. The women were crying, looking at their last defence; the captors were smiling, swords held loosely.

Bill slipped into the tent to hide. It was still night inside the tent but he could see it was more lavishly appointed than simple. Underfoot was softer than the sand outside with carpets and rugs of yellows and purples. Other rolled carpets and plush pillows divided the large space into two parts. Behind him the morning sun made tall boots shine and modestly ornate slippers awaken and sparkle. There was a wavering scent of rose. On the other side of the opening he counted three horse saddles and a haphazard collection of several camel cradles.

He looked around the room again for any other treasure he could collect before the others arrived. Amongst the carpets one was irregular in shape. It moved a tiny bit and heard a delicate grunt.like a whimper.

He moved over to the roll's end, bent to peer in and saw large, scared eyes looking back at him from the beautiful face of a young woman.

   Shocked, Bill stepped back, then heard a grunt behind him. Another had entered the tent and had seen her over his shoulder. Bill knew what the man would do. He found the silver of his new sword blade in the man's midsection and blood seeping into the man's clothing. Bill turned toward her, his hand still on the sword handle and put a finger to his lips.

Her eyes were grey, almost disappearing into her face. There was a sort of almost imperceptible glowing that pierced his heart and instantly made him her guardian. It was an unconditional bond that brought with it a fierceness he had been a stranger to but vigorously accepted.

‘Come,’ he commanded her in this new role as he pulled the sword out of the fallen body. Bill’s eyes never left her large eyes. She hesitated, studying him and seemed to understand a bond. She grabbed his hand. with what seemed final tears dropping. He roughly pulled her out.

As she stood a part of her fragile clothing fell from a shoulder bringing an uplifted breast into the tent’s soft light. He looked around quickly and saw a purple robe lying on the rumpled pillowed divan that evidently served as a bed. He pointed at it with the sword tip and went to the tent entrance to see if they could use that as an exit.

His former comrades were in the screaming frenzy of rape. Women were being held and beat while those men waiting their turns were urging it all on with some jerking off with wild eyes staring at those engaged with the rape. Some of the men were sucking and fondling their comrades without a glance at the raping.

A fire had been enlarged and naked bodies were being thrown onto the burning palm leaves into the flames. It was both horrible and a merry scene. Bill was trying to understand that he was witnessing something real when she pulled at his elbow and he turned to see her beauty in the robe and with a lightly-wrapped checkered keffiyah head-dress, its ending around her neck and down her back.

He remembered that she had very long hair but it was now hidden in the robe and fall of the cloth. She looked like an elegant boy. He let the curtain fall back and she guided him to another exit hidden in the canvas sides of the tent. They were out in the morning sun with the calamity of the camp noises receding as they ran through a shallow parting of dune.

Finally the desert hid the sounds from the encampment and they stopped with her breathing heavily and her face already starting to sweat. Bill hadn’t felt the heat yet and was not winded but knew she needed the rest. They needed to also stop and consider their situation.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Yasmin, and your name?’ she responded through hard breaths.

‘Bill,’ he answered, looking down at her. Yasmin’s heaving chest told him that she was already tired and he wondered how far they would be able to run.

‘Vill? What tribe are you from?’ She was breathing easier with her curiosity stimulated.

‘I was just wandering,’ Bill’s mouth responded without thought, ‘and they took me in. I don’t know their tribe and I have none.’

She inclined her head curiously at him and he surmised by her expression that she was still innocently in her teens.

‘What tribe are you from?’ he asked smiling.

She smiled back, showing beautifully white teeth with tiny side colourings of pink. ‘I am like you. They, we, my family were of a lost tribe and were wanderers, musicians. My father was a great Oud player and my mother danced like a sinful fairy.’ Her eyebrows went up a bit in thought. ‘They captured us and killed my brothers and father. My mother was there where you found us.’

‘And you? In the tent?’

‘Yes, he, the leader took me.’ She was matter of fact and sighed at the energy taken to go through her narrative.

Bill looked around at low and high dunes. In the distance to his right were the tracks of their attack and a remembrances of horses at his overnight camp. He wondered if he could get back while they were still at their celebration and steal a couple of horses, and maybe get some food and water? He thought they had no alternative and the more time spent considering it the less time to do it.

She had submerged her head into the folds of the keffiyah.

Bill looked toward the dune and shook his head in doubt, ‘I have a plan.’

They rounded the dune and saw the campsite, then ran screaming as though attacking with Bill waving his sword. The three enslaved boys guarding the camp ran off toward the raided encampment hardly looking back.

All of the horses and camels were saddled with the tents struck and everything packed, ready to move. Yasmin pointed to the two picket lines that ran through the bridles and Bill cut them easily with his blade. He looked at the sword again and ran his finger along its edge in a wonder at who had created it.

He turned to yell at Yasmin to get mounted but found her already on a bold chestnut nudging the other horses in a course away from the attack. He mounted a spotted grey. 

‘There,’ she yelled to Bill and pointed at a camel with water-bags that was rising stiffly and blinking slowly. He rode over, dismounted, and pulled two of the bags off, slicing two open, then going to the other side to slice one other but retrieving the last. The camel turned his head in wonderment. Bill piled the bag on his grey behind the saddle and walked along to the other camels slicing bags with thick water falling. He came to one camel that had exquisite ornamentation and two double saddle bags in hand-worked leather. He opened a flap and saw gold coins.

Yasmin rode over to hurry him and he pulled a heavy bag off and hefted onto the back of her horse. She frowned and he lifted a flap as her frown changed to a smile. He threw the other one in front of her saddle, then turned and mounted. They rode scattering the other horses. 

They rode at a relaxed pace as the sun rose higher and the heat of the day descended. Yasmin knew another oasis not far away where they refreshed the horses.

As the sun set Bill found himself galloping across a carved sand ridge line with a beautiful woman riding alongside with bags of gold and water. The desert was empty no longer and with a joyful scream bringing itself from his mouth it was no longer silent either. The blaze of sun now left moulds of golden fire light all about and the world was his.