The climax chapter has been split into two chapters, because it was extremely long, and it had a place that actually seemed like the end of a chapter anyway. The second part will be rather longer than the first, but...oh well. In any case, it should be a treat for you because you're getting two chapters at once! Or if the second is not up yet when you read this, it will be once I finish editing.
Shahzad stood with his arms crossed, watching the men working. Occasionally, they glanced back at him with sullen, bloodshot eyes. He stared at them without moving, without blinking, and they eventually returned to their pulling. He could guess from their lagging steps and stony countenance that the effect of the Sands, plus the simple effect of working hard was...difficult for them, to say the least. But it didn't matter.
They were making progress—slow progress maybe, but progress nonetheless. They'd moved the Sands at least ten feet this morning. It had been a victory for them, grudgingly bestowed, but when that giant hourglass had finally started slipping down the gentle slope of the sand dunes, there was no better feeling.
A smile flickered across his face, then faltered slightly. There was a time when watching an object be pulled through the sand would have meant nothing to him compared to...oh, sitting on a rooftop in the city, watching the sunset with Faiza and Tahir. Now this was the greatest pleasure in the world to him?
He couldn't deny it, though. When he looked at the flowing, mesmerizing Sands in their brilliant glass encasement, he felt a happiness he couldn't describe in words. They were closer to getting back to the city, closer to the time when he would rule as sultan in his throne with the Sands of Time at his side. He would never doubt himself again, and no one else would either. He would have the ultimate power, and no one could take it from him.
The way things were—before—didn't really matter. Times had changed, and he'd only...adapted to fit different circumstances. It was the only thing he could do, if he wanted to survive. He raised his head slightly higher and glanced at the Royal Guard again.
They were better behaved today, as long as he was watching. He'd threatened them: whoever started the next fight would lose his food and water rations for the day and lose them for whoever got involved in the fight as well. Their rations were small enough as it was, so needless to say, no fights had been started, though occasionally—often, actually—the men had begun to speak loudly to each other and looked ready to start throwing punches, but one look in his direction silenced them.
So they kept pulling. The Sands had refused to move an inch since their glorious, though short-lived, ten-foot slide down the dunes, and things were once again at a standstill. The men would shout, "One, two, three!" and pull with all their might. And the Sands would stay as still as ever and stationary in their single spot. It was repeated over and over and over again. He was beginning to grow tired of it.
For a moment, he glanced away as they started their counting again and moved his eyes to his left, scanning the horizon. He stopped, startled by what he saw. Much closer than the horizon—indeed, no more than a hundred yards away—was a crowd of people he had never seen before in his life.
They were Arabians, he supposed, but their skin seemed darker and...tougher, from what he could see, almost like leather. They seemed to all be dressed in light, sand-colored garments that bore a scraggly, worn look about them. Actually, the people looked scraggly as a whole, with dark, tangled, and somewhat matted hair blowing slightly in the breeze. They were still too far away for him to make out many individual features, but something in their manner of standing, so silent and still and...proud, unnerved him.
He glanced quickly away from them and towards the men still working around the hourglass, apparently not noticing their strange spectators. He looked back at the crowd, still unmoving, once more before starting off at a quick, purposeful gait towards his men. As he neared them, they turned weary, questioning eyes to him, but he only scanned through them all, searching for Mahmud. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure what Mahmud could do about the situation, but he wanted to consult with someone, and Mahmud seemed like the natural choice.
He didn't have to search long. Within a few moments, Mahmud separated himself from the men he'd been directing and walked briskly to Shahzad, taking long, swift strides. "Your majesty," he began obsequiously. "Is there something I can do for you?"
Shahzad glanced past him, again turning his eyes towards the people, checking to be sure they were really there. They were, standing as still as ever, and he looked back at the captain in front of him. "Yes, well...there's a group of people over there," he indicated with a flick of his wrist, "staring at us."
The captain gave a small frown, turned to look, and turned back with an even larger, much more confused frown. "Who...?"
"I have no idea," Shahzad replied quickly, lowering his voice as he saw some of the Royal Guard watching them now. There was no reason to start a panic over this. "I was watching you work when I happened to glance over and see them. I didn't hear them come, or see where they came from, or...anything."
Mahmud glanced over his shoulder to look at them again for a longer moment, studying their appearance. "Do you have any idea of...anything about them?" he asked finally, looking Shahzad in the eye. "I mean...I didn't think anyone lived in the middle of the desert, but if they did, I suppose they would look like that. Or do you suppose they're from some other kingdom out here somewhere? They're certainly a rag-tag group."
Shahzad was about to give a shrug, when he heard the Royal Guard and Thieves shouting. He turned to see them pointing and yelling out many of the same questions he and Mahmud had just discussed, evidently having now noticed the silent observers.
The captain turned quickly to his men, planting his hands firmly on his hips, arms akimbo. "Men, quiet down!" he shouted over the buzz of voices that was quickly turning into a frenzy.
"But, Captain, there's people over there, and they—"
"Yes," Mahmud interrupted, voice soaring over the loud hum underneath him, and the men gradually quieted down until he was the only one speaking. "The sultan and I have seen them as well as you have, and we know nothing more than you do about them. We only await orders from the sultan." Here he looked pointedly at Shahzad, and the rest of the men did the same so that all eyes were fixated upon him, expecting him to do something, to say something that would take care of the situation.
Shahzad swallowed, feeling a sweat break out on his forehead. He balled his hands into fists, feeling a cold fear sweeping over him. He didn't know how to deal with situations like this. Actually, he didn't know how to deal with any sorts of situations. He couldn't think fast enough; he couldn't speak with the same calm authority that his father had and Mahmud had, easing the fear of their men with calm, reasonable orders.
He glanced at the Sands, trying to draw the same sort of strength he'd drawn out of them yesterday. The light sparkled in them, glowing and scattering as it fell on the floating grains of sand. He felt a warmth radiating throughout him, chasing away the fear and the cold. He just needed to think, logically. They wanted answers about these people, so the logical thing to do was to ask questions.
"We'll talk to them," he said at last, not loud but with an easy simplicity, a serenity that the men leaned in to hear. "We'll walk over to them as a group and ask them plainly who they are and what they seek with us. Let's go."
There was a soft murmur of approval throughout the men, and he glanced at Mahmud one last time, before turning and starting to walk, as the rest of the men fell in behind him. A moment after he'd started forward, he heard Nadim's voice behind and to the right of him, talking in a fast, excited tone.
"And anyway, they're still too far away to tell yet, but it would be my first guess. I didn't think I'd actually get to meet them! I don't know what I'll ask first! Just think of them living out here all these years. It seems impossible, but...we found the Sands of Time, and that seemed impossible too, so I don't see why this couldn't be true."
Shahzad glanced sideways to see the man looking expectantly at Jalal next to him, waiting for a reaction that would at least come close to his own excitement. Jalal showed only a mild amusement.
A small smile flickered across Shahzad's face. "Nadim," he began, guessing that if there was any information to be had about these people, Nadim would be the one to have it. "What can you tell me about them?"
Nadim scurried forward to catch up with him and fell into pace beside him. "Well, I can't be sure, but I would guess that they got lost in the desert when the Sands of Time were lost." He looked up, and when Shahzad said nothing, he went on hurriedly.
"You see, in the ancient days, Arabia prospered out here in the middle of the desert because they had the Sands of Time to help. The people could live here easily, and the capital city was actually somewhere here in the Rub'al Khali, instead of by the coast. Everything was wonderful, until the rulers decided that with the help of the Sands, they could prosper more themselves, and it didn't really matter what happened to Arabia. That was when they started fighting over it and killing each other, and all sorts of messy business." He glanced at Shahzad here, as if he considered Shahzad to be very similar person to the rulers of the day.
Shahzad returned an annoyed glance, and Nadim started talking again.
"Then two citizens, Haytham and Arwa...stole them and hid them, or something to that effect, and everyone was thrown into mass confusion. Their water probably all dried up in a day, they couldn't withstand any sandstorms that hit them, maybe there were invaders...anyway, most people fled to the coast to rebuild, but it's only reasonable to think that some of them didn't make it. And I think that these people are probably some of them, and they've simply been living out here since that time."
Shahzad nodded slightly, looking towards the people and abruptly stopped walking. The entire crowd of them had moved forward as well, now not more than thirty yards away. He could see them more clearly now, and many of them had black, ragged welts covering their skin. They moved tiredly, shoulders slumped, with bright and feverish eyes. The plague, the were infected with the plague.
"That's odd; I wouldn't think—"
"Hush!" Shahzad cut off Nadim as the people came to a stop in front of him. He tried to give them a welcoming smile, as he knew he should, but in truth, he felt repulsed. They were dirty, and they were sick, and he had to force himself not to draw back in disgust. However, he scanned through them all, men, women, and children, searching for anyone in particular he ought to be addressing his questions to. They all looked mostly the same, clothed in the same sandy robes, watching him with the same curious expressions.
Finally, his gaze settled on the man and woman closest to the front of the group. They were obviously the oldest individuals present, with deeply wrinkled skin and long years that seemed to stare back at him from within dark eyes. The woman appeared entirely covered in dark, torn welts, and was supported weakly on the arm of a younger, uninfected woman. The old man on her other side looked slightly stronger, with the welts only halfway up his arms and beginning to form lightly on his neck. They both watched him expectantly.
"Hello," he started at last, forcing his mouth to form something like a smile and giving a slight nod. "I am Shahzad, the sultan of Arabia. This is my Royal Guard," he indicated the men behind him and looked back at the people in front of him, waiting for them to introduce themselves.
He received only blank, silent stares. He waited. Perhaps they were just shy, only they didn't even show any acknowledgement of what he'd said; they just...watched him. After a long, awkward moment, he decided to try again. "We...we saw you all watching us, and we thought we would come over to...talk."
But they didn't seem very interested in talking. They stared with their dark, looming eyes, and he swallowed uncomfortably. Well, if they didn't want to bother with introductions, he'd jump straight to the point. "Who are you?" he finally asked pointedly, dropping his tone of polite welcome and looking the elderly man in front of him straight in the eyes.
There was a long pause again, and he was beginning to wonder if they were all mutes when finally the man spoke. His voice was soft, but deep and resonant, as if it had once been much stronger than it was now. However, it wasn't his tone that surprised Shahzad. It was what he said; Shahzad had no idea what it was. It sounded like almost complete gibberish, though when he listened closely it seemed familiar, like something he almost recognized but just...didn't.
"What?" he asked somewhat belatedly, turning blankly to look at Nadim beside him, who was frowning intently at the man.
At his voice, Nadim turned towards him. "Oh, that's the other thing I didn't mention," he said lightly. "It's only natural that they wouldn't speak like us. I'm sure they're still speaking the ancient tongue, if they haven't developed their own dialect entirely. It's quite interesting, the difference in linguistics between our own language we speak today and the one we used to—"
"Well, can you understand them?" Shahzad interrupted impatiently. He didn't care about linguistics; he just wanted to know who these people were and what it was they wanted!
"Well, I—I think so," Nadim began uncertainly.
"You think so?" Shahzad practically roared at him. This was Nadim's area of expertise, this was what he did with his life, and he only thought he could understand them? They needed certainty, not guesses!
"Well, it's difficult to say. I've never heard the ancient language spoken out loud before. I can recognize it on paper, but recognizing it on paper and recognizing it from hearing it are two very different things. I have to think." He looked at the ground, biting his lip thoughtfully.
"Well, think fast," Shahzad said, glancing back at the people, where the man was speaking again, or perhaps repeating what he'd already said. He looked at the man, then back at Nadim, hoping Nadim would figure it out soon.
Nadim raised his head suddenly, bringing up one pointed finger. "I've got it!" He paused then, lowering his brows. "Or at least, I think I've got it," he amended, then slowly began to hesitantly speak something Shahzad couldn't understand.
When he fell silent again, the people stared with the same blank look they'd given Shahzad, though this time they talked more amongst themselves, turning to those around them and whispering.
"No?" Nadim asked after observing them for a minute. "Hmm." He crossed his arms over his chest and brought one hand up to his chin, rubbing it across his stubble. Then he looked up and said something that sounded similar to what he'd first said, but this time less smoothly, with sharper consonants and a great deal less vowels, making a harsher, guttural sound.
This time the response was immediate. The old man replied with more of the strange, throaty sounds, and Nadim replied to him, and within moments they were speaking rapidly to one another. Shahzad looked between them, at Nadim with his wild gesticulations and occasional lengthy pauses as he tried to think of a word, and the man, straight and tall with his plain but powerful way of speaking.
Shahzad himself suddenly felt distinctly left out of the conversation. He looked backward at the Royal Guard and the rest of the Thieves and was thankful that they bore the same confused expressions. He moved towards them to seem less conspicuous and wished Nadim would hurry up and tell him what they were saying.
Finally, there was a lull in the conversation and Nadim turned around to face him with a wide grin, and Shahzad prepared himself to hear the entire history of the people.
"Well, it's like I thought," Nadim began. "When the Sands of Time were lost, their ancestors were going to travel to the coast. They were on their way when they got separated from the rest of their group by a sandstorm, but the...desert provided for them. I'm not entirely sure what they meant by that, but I've gathered that they've always had a well, or several wells that they moved to one after another...they had some odd word for water, which led me to believe that the wells weren't entirely natural, probably powered by the same magic of the Sands and...whatever possessed our horses when they came bounding through the wall. It's quite a strange phenomenon, really. This part of the desert...it's wild in a way we can't even begin to understand..." he trailed off and stared far out at the horizon for a long moment.
Shahzad stared back at him blankly, impatient for him to go on, but...he did know what the man meant. He could remember the way his father had loved the desert, and well...he loved it, too. It was wild and untamed, but it was always the same, too. It was full of strange...mystical magic, but it was always there and always golden and always beautiful. It was his home.
Finally Nadim snapped back to attention. "Anyway, not too long ago, their last well dried up, and they seem to just know somehow that they won't find another one anywhere...but shortly after the well dried up, they met two travelers: an Arabian man, blind and blue-eyed, but otherwise like the rest of us, and a young woman with pale skin and hair 'like the sand at sunset,' I believe they said."
Shahzad's eyebrows shot up at this bit of news. "Tahir and Xavia?" he asked incredulously. They'd met these...desert people? When, and why hadn't they ever mentioned it?
"Yes..." Nadim began uncomfortably, "I actually already knew that they had met people of a similar description, though I wasn't entirely sure if these were them until now..."
Shahzad felt a sudden pang of jealousy and...loneliness gnawing at his stomach. They had told Nadim, but not him. Of course, he knew why. He'd hurt them in innumerable ways. They had no reason to confide in him about anything, but still, it hurt. But Nadim was going on now, and he was forced away from his emotions.
"Anyway, apparently they could sense that Tahir and Xavia were Destined, and they sort of...related them to Haytham and Arwa, who were also Destined, and wanted them to bring the Sands back to protect them and make their lives much easier. However, Tahir and Xavia refused and left, and shortly afterward, they developed this disease they'd never seen before."
"The plague," Shahzad said, glancing at the marks on their dark skin and grimacing. Why did the plague have to be everywhere? It had stolen Faiza and his father, and...he hated it, so, so much. He remembered then, Tahir pleading with him to spill the Sands and cure the plague, but he...he couldn't do that! He wouldn't do it, and he didn't care what they said! It was his choice, and he wanted—he needed the Sands himself.
"Yes, they picked up the contagion from Xavia, I'm sure," Nadim replied. "They'd never been exposed to anything like it before, so it hit them hard. Several have died already, and...it looks like at least of half of them are sick now...but that was when they realized that the Sands could heal them if they were spilled, so they set out to find them themselves, and...that's what they've done." He raised his hand in a slight shrug and let it fall back to his side. Then he paused and looked at Shahzad, shifting on his feet.
Shahzad could easily guess he had something more to say, something he didn't want to say to him. "And...?" he prompted.
Nadim quit rocking back and forth and finally forced himself to stand straight and tall, meeting Shahzad's eyes strongly. "They want you to spill the Sands, Shahzad."
Shahzad looked at him for a moment, then turned to look at the people, at the frail, old man and woman, at the wide-eyed children, and the weak, drooping way they all stood, watching him for an answer. And suddenly, he hated them. He hated them for being weak, and he hated them for being sick, because...because everyone around him was sick and weak, and they were all dying, and he hated it! His father had been old and weak before he died, and Faiza was so sick, and—
It wasn't his fault. He had nothing to do with them getting sick, so why he should he have to deal with it? He shouldn't have to, and he wasn't going to. He turned deliberately away from them, hating the hopeful way they were looking at him, hating their black welts and tired eyes and weakness. He never wanted to see a weak person again, and he hated them completely, with every shred of his being.
"You know I won't do that," he said simply to Nadim, then watched as the man turned and relayed the message to the people. He could almost feel their eyes turn on him, asking why, pleading, perhaps hating him in return. Well, he didn't care. Let them hate him. They couldn't touch him in the end.
The old man said something in reply, and Nadim turned sharply with a startled look towards Shahzad, looking at him with something like alarm. Shahzad frowned in puzzlement back at him, and he quickly turned away apologetically. The man went on speaking, and after another short, furtive glance, Nadim replied, speaking slowly and hesitantly at first but quickly getting faster. Within moments, the two were flying back and forth again, and Shahzad started paying more attention, feeling like something was odd about the conversation. They shouldn't have had that much to say to each other, when the main question had already been answered and denied. Perhaps Nadim was rambling again, but with the way he was starting to sweat, something seemed wrong.
"Nadim, what are you saying to them?" he asked quickly, but he received no reply, and the two simply went on speaking.
Shahzad turned to look at the old man, who seemed to be appraising him with cool, defiant eyes. Nadim had stopped speaking, and the man, while still watching Shahzad, made a short reply, another phrase Shahzad couldn't understand, but there was no mistaking his tone: bold and mutinous.
All at once, the entire crowd parted down the middle: the elderly, the women, and the children all stepping to either side. That left only the younger, strongest men in their prime in the middle, and they quickly threw off their long, robes, leaving only what clothing was necessary, exposing tanned, if slightly infected skin, and firm, strong muscles. From sheaths at their sides, they pulled out long metal sabers.
Shahzad stepped back in surprise, alarmed, but unfazed. Did they really mean to fight him for the Sands? They'd never win! They might have had a few good, strong men, but at least half of them were infected, they were probably all dehydrated, and the Royal Guard far outnumbered them anyhow. Let them fight, if they wanted to die!
Then he noticed the rumbling. The ground beneath his feet was shaking in steady tremors, and there was a deep, thundering noise, similar to when the Sands came up, or...when the horses came. Yes, the rhythmic pounding into the ground had to be horses. He was sure of it.
He looked at the old man again, and the man raised his eyebrows, taking a long, sweeping glance all the way around them. Shahzad followed the man's eyes, and saw strong black horses—complete with armed riders—storming down towards them, from every direction except for the wall. The warriors in front of them and the stepping to either side must have been for signaling purposes, and the people had many more fighters than that. He and his men were surrounded.
He turned towards Nadim, realizing that this was what they'd been discussing, that Nadim had allowed it to happen, agreed to it, probably told the desert people anything he thought could be helpful for strategy against him. They both wanted the Sands spilled, and that made them allies. So Nadim had plotted against him, right in front of his face. He glanced towards the man, but he only shrugged uncomfortably, not apologetically. He was a traitor, as bad as Tahir and Xavia.
But it didn't matter. He still had better quality men, even without horses for them. The desert men riding towards them weren't healthy or fit to fight, even if they did have horses. They might have had an advantage or two he and his men were missing, but it wasn't enough. He could—and would cut them down until they regretted even considering to fight him.
He turned around to face his own men, comprehension just now dawning on their faces. They were slightly nervous maybe, but they looked to him as their leader, waiting for his orders. He smiled, placing his hand at the hilt of the saber at his waist. He drew it slowly, listening to the sound of the ringing metal and began to shout above it, "Men, draw your weapons! We fight for the Sands!" He thrust his saber into the air, holding it high above his head, and heard the echo of all of his men's sabers being torn from their sheaths, ready to fight.
He glanced over his shoulder caught the eyes of the old man with a malicious smile. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he'd get.