Chapter 5
The Mad Arab
I wake up late the next morning. My hands aren't bound.
It feels like I've swallowed several handfuls of broken glass. I slowly sit up and then glance down at my chest. A brahmin skin cloak has been draped over me.
Twil is standing by the cave mouth, just a few feet away. Her tent is packed up and tied to the side of her rucksack. Her pistol is still at her side. She looks ready to move out. I notice that her eyes are pink, and her face is a bit swollen.
She's been crying.
I stand up and slip the leather cloak on, over my tattered uniform.
"This woman wants to tell you she's sorry. She spent the night asking Great Mother for guidance on the journey ahead. Great Mother showed her that she has been wrong. This woman has done great wrong. Great Mother showed this woman that you will lose against Jethro, and she will die, unless it's you who makes the choice to fight him."
Twil's phrasing throws me for a moment. I believe I've heard similar wording once or twice before from tribal legionnaires-in-the-making. Some kind of formal way of speaking that never sounds right once translated.
"This woman? How nice of this woman to show up. I was getting very angry at Twil."
Twil's voice cracks as she continues. A tiny chink in her otherwise impassive facade. I relish seeing her the smallest bit vulnerable.
"Jethro has taken everything from this woman. Everything. Half her life, spent alone. The only thing that's kept her from dying in the desert is her hatred for that man. . .but Great Mother is right. This woman had no right to treat you as she has. She must be better than Jethro. Her anger has twisted her, but she won't let it consume her. She must let you choose your own path."
I listen to Twil's speech but don't react to it. I won't give her the satisfaction. I stare out at the vast desert that surrounds me. It all looks the same. Bleak, scrubby hills rolling on and on, into a backdrop of craggy, red mountains.
"I'm free to go?"
Twil nods with a gurgley sniff.
"Good. Now give me your gun. You're never pointing it at me again."
Twil shakes her head. She sniffs and then hardens her face and her body posture. Her little confession is over. She drops her formalisms.
"There's a knife in your robe. It's the only weapon I have to give you. You're free, as Great Mother commanded, but remember - I saved your life. You're honor-bound to fight for me. But you have to decide if you're a man of honor or a man of no honor. That's your choice, Io."
Honor?
I chuckle. "You still think I'd-? Whatever. Never mind."
A gust of cool wind blows against my cheeks. The sky to the north looks ominously grey. Below it, I see a dust devil swirling down from the hills. A geko's shriek pierces the air, and in its aftermath, everything falls silent.
I feel oppressed by my new-found freedom. Ever since I was released from the cross I've lived moment to moment, without any thought as to what I'd do next.
I have no goal or direction. The vast emptiness is suffocating.
"Where am I?"
"Three days walk from Zion."
"You told me that already; I don't know what it means. Is there a town nearby? A settled place? Somewhere where people still speak English?"
"My tribe's village is the only village near here." Twil takes a few steps towards me and then points north, at the grey sky. "That way is the land of the White Legs. They do not live in towns or speak the Old World tongue. They are nomads and hostile to all outsiders." She points east. "That way are the Crak-kow and Dead Horses. They too have their own tongue, and they live in caves, not in towns." She points west. "That way are the Sorrows and the canyons of Zion. Their land is surrounded by cliffs. Without a guide, its impassible." She points south. "Back that way is your tribe. Their border is marked by crosses like the one I found you on; if you wish to return to them."
My stomach contracts. An after effect of the poison. I shudder and the feeling dissipates.
In my twenty two years, I've become accustomed to a certain degree of civilization. Maybe even refinement. Most of my life has been spent sleeping indoors, on a warm cot, not sleeping outside, in a lean-to exposed to the elements.
The idea of trying to communicate with, let alone live with such savage tribals is not the least bit appealing. I'd rather try to start a new life living among my civilized, former enemy. The NCR.
"What about the NCR? Is there a Ranger base near here?"
"En-see-are?" Twil scrunches her face. She obviously hasn't had any contact with them. "My father said the En-see-are tribe lives far west - past Zion - where the sun sleeps below the ocean."
It appears I'm in the middle of nowhere. Or Twil just wants me to think I'm in the middle of nowhere. Then I might agree to go to her old tribe's camp.
This is just a trap. Another trick of hers. Always scheming. Always lying.
God I hate her.
"So you're saying that there are no settlements anywhere near here? Only your old village and savages like you?"
Twil clenches her jaw. Her face doesn't look puffy anymore. Her demeanor is back to its normal, brooding equilibrium.
"If my people are savage, then yes, savages are the only people who live here. These are savage lands - they create savage people."
The dust devil has drawn closer to us. Now I can see that the swirling cloud of dirt is actually being kicked up by a small band of travelers and two pack brahim. They are walking towards us, but are still far away.
As they continue their slow approach, I hear the distinctive clank of a cowbell.
"Do you know who they are, to the north? Are they White Legs?"
"They're just a caravan." Twil mutters. "Ali's caravan – he always has bells. Few other outsiders trade with us. The Crak-kow call him 'Loco de Moor'– the Mad Arab."
The word "Moor" is vaguely familiar to me. I can't place it, but I know I've read it, somewhere.
I conclude that whoever Ali is, he'll be infinitely better than my present company.
I begin to walk towards his slow-moving caravan. There's no gear for me to gather up; Twil has seen to that. All I have is what's on me; the brahmin skin robe, Twil's knife, and my old uniform.
Twil follows me, about ten steps back. I glare at her over my shoulder, and consider telling her to piss off, but that would mean re-acknowledging her presence. Better to pretend she doesn't exist. I grin as I recall my fantasy of beating her to death with a rock, but her teary-eyed confession has quenched my thirst for vengence.
For the moment. . .
The caravan ahead has four members. Two men are positioned twenty paces in front of the pack brahmin. They look like a father and son team. A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a wiry beard, and a gangly, olive-skinned teenager.
They keep a close eye on me as I come up to them. I raise my hands to show they're not in danger.
"Hello." I smile at the older man. He gives me a nod of acknowledgement and continues walking.
Behind him and the boy, is a squat man wearing a white robe. He looks like a monk - or at least how I've always pictured a monk – I've read about them, but have never seen one. A curved sword is tucked into his belt. I recognize the weapon as a scimitar from my Herodotus.
Behind the man with the sword, bringing up the rear of the caravan, is what at first looks like an old woman.
Something about her is highly unusual. She instantly grabs my attention. She's tall and muscular; dressed in jungle-green combat armor. Her hair is grey, with a few streaks of natural brown. Its braided and the braids wrap around one another, forming a short, tight pony tail.
This isn't that odd, though I've never seen such a muscular old woman. It's her face that truly captivates me. She has a glass eye. I've seen a glass eye on a legionnaire before, but it was painted to look like a real eye, and snugly popped into his empty eye socket. This woman's glass eye is uniformly sky blue. It has no pupil or iris. Its larger than her other eye, filling up all the space between her cheek and her eyebrow. On that side, she has no eyelids.
As I become lost in her translucent blue orb, the short man with the scimitar cuts in front of her and waddles up to me.
"Hello! Salam alaikum my friend. Salam alaikum! Greetings. May Allah's grace shine upon you. My name is Farook Abdul-Alwahani bin Ali, but you can just call me, Ali. Okay, stranger? Ali."
"Sure." I give Ali a firm handshake. He returns my warmth with an eager nod. "My name is Io."
"Salam alaikum, Io. I see that you know Twil?" Ali points past me, at Twil, who's still a few dozen feet back. "Such a beautiful girl - my malak- my angel."
Ali scurries over to Twil and quickly wraps her up in a tight bear hug. The affection makes her noticeably uncomfortable, but she returns it anyway, kissing his cheek.
I scowl at the two of them.
"Look at the woman you've blossomed into." Ali croons. "You used to be such a carefree girl. Now you're always so serious. . . but still as pretty as ever."
Twil blushes. She glances over at me and then quickly looks away, hiding her embarrassment.
Ali turns back to me. His face is now glowing like a proud father's.
"How do you know Twil, my friend? A friend of my malakis a friend to me as well. In fact, I'll give you a ten percent discount on anything you'd like to buy from my caravan."
"Twil kidnapped me." I say with a smile.
"Ah. . .I - I see." Ali's rubs his chin, suddenly uneasy.
"I'd buy something from you, but I don't have any caps. I was hoping you could tell me where the nearest settlement is. I'm lost and need a town to stay in. Could I find a soft bed and a hot meal somewhere around here?"
"I'll buy him a weapon, Ali." Twil interjects. She stares straight into my eyes. Her offer makes my blood boil. "I will buy you a weapon. I owe it to you."
I hate to accept this, but see no point in declining. No matter where I go or what I do, I'll need a weapon to defend myself, and the kitchen knife Twil gave me is woefully inadequate.
"Fine. . ."
Ali claps his hands together in excitement. "Come then. Take a look at my caravan, friend. My wares come from all across the wasteland. Some can be found nowhere else. Come. See."
Ali guides me over to his pack brahmin. He has two of the beasts. Each has several bundles secured to its side. He removes these; talking to Twil while unraveling them.
"How have you been my malak? Its been at least a year since I last saw you." He crows with endless enthusiasm. "You're face. You look so sad. . .what troubles you, angel?"
I tune out the rest of their conversation. It's bad enough that Twil's followed me this far. Now she has be the caravaner's daughter, or malak, or whatever.
As I wait for Ali to show me what he has for sale, my eyes wander back to the strange, grey-haired woman.
She's standing behind Ali and Twil, staring down the rocky trail that leads back to the cave with the dead yao guai. I'm still captivated by her artificial eye. She turns towards me and catches me ogling her.
"Yeah?" She cocks her head. Her voice is very deep, but still soft enough to sound feminine. Her natural eye is also blue, and looks just as vacuous as the glass one.
"Sorry." I smile, guiltily. "It's just-"
"My eye?" She doesn't let me finish.
". . .Yeah."
"Yup." She nods once, as if that's a sufficient explanation.
"Here friend." Ali puts his hand on my shoulder and eases me back towards his brahim. I find him to be a pushy salesman, but his good nature makes it tolerable.
Ali has laid three leather mats on the scrub. On top of them is an impressive spread of weaponry, and a few random combustibles. There's a .45 pistol, a 10mm pistol, a hunting rifle, two 9mm submachine guns, a laser rifle, three grenades, a grenade launcher, a machete, four water bottles, two dried squirrels, a box of matches, and a scimitar.
"Some nice guns here." I pick up the .45 and pull the slide back.
"The finest available my friend. Hand picked from across the wastes and the heart of the NCR."
"About the NCR. . ." I put the pistol down. "Is there a town nearby? Somewhere where I could rent a bed and maybe a woman?"
"Nearby? No. But Ogden's rising from the ashes. There are many settlers there now. I just came from Ogden. Its two day's walk - northeast. Otherwise, they're just tribals from here to the Mojave." Ali nods to himself. "The legion's border is just south of here though. I trade with them too. I'm headed to the border, if you'd like to join me."
My heart sinks. "No thanks."
"Io is legion." Twil weasels her way between the two of us and picks up the machete.
"Then true to Caesar, my friend." Ali bangs his fist against his chest, in a mock Roman salute, before I can get a word in. "I deal with men from all camps fairly; for we are all Allah's children."
"You say Ogden is a two days walk from here?"
"Yes. Just up the trail." Ali points north. The sky in that direction is even darker now, and I can hear deep rumbles of thunder. "Hmm. . .Looks like a storm is coming. Sandstorm most likely. Very dangerous. I wouldn't try to walk through it."
I stare at the approaching storm while Ali begins to pack up his inventory.
This is just perfect. I have no fire or shelter.
"Kitarshna!" Ali barks at the one-eyed woman. "Find somewhere for us to make camp. A storm is coming!"
"There's a cave in that hill to the south." Twil volunteers. "Io and I camped there last night. It could shield us from the storm."
Us?
I stare daggers at Twil, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Very good! Let's go!" Ali whistles and both brahim perk up their ears. He takes them by the reigns and begins to follow Twil towards the cave. He glances back at me. "Coming friend? We can do the sale once we're in shelter."
I don't want to join Ali and Twil in the cave. I'd actually like to put as much distance between me and Twil as possible. But, with a storm bearing down, and no real sense of direction, that seems suicidal.
"Okay. . ."
Ali nods and gestures for me to walk closer to him. Twil can sense my agitation, and keeps her distance. She's lucky that Ali is around. If we were alone, now's the exact point when I'd bash her skull in.
"Who are your mercs?" I try to get my mind off of Twil.
"Thomas, Jonathan, and Kat - Kitarshna. I'd guess that Kat is the one who's got you interested."
I nod, discretely sizing up the grey-haired woman. I try to estimate her age. By her wrinkled skin, I'd guess sixty, but she looks too strong - too built - to be that old. Much too muscular.
"A lioness, she is. Thomas says she never sleeps. Always has one eye open." Ali giggles at the allusion. "I found her far to the north; north of old Seattle. She said she wanted to go to New Vegas. I was headed south, so I offered to take her on as a guard. She doesn't talk much, but doesn't need to. She has quite an aura."
I lean into Ali's ear, whispering. "What's with her eye?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"
If she were any other woman, I probably would, but her aura is a bit too unapproachable.
Ali and his mercs quickly shoo the two pack animals into the cave. Ali then unpacks his gear and I pick out the .45 pistol as my choice of weapon. Twil and Ali talk about an acceptable price, but I don't listen.
The price doesn't concern me since I won't be paying.
After a few minutes, Twil walks up to me with the .45 and a machete.
"These are for you." She hands me both weapons.
I pocket the .45 and then take a practice swing with the machete. Its well balanced, with a comfortable leather grip. It reminds me of my gladius.
"Why'd you buy this? I didn't pick this out."
"Every Yampa man carries a knife-spear. Doesn't every legionnaire carry a sword?" Twil blinks. "A sign of your tribe and your manhood."
I feed the machete through a loop on my robe. "You do realize I'm not going to fight Jethro? I'd sooner kill myself."
Twil nods. She looks miserable. I notice that she's sold half of her things for the two weapons. This almost makes me feel sad, but I push those thoughts aside, and recall that she poisoned me just a few hours earlier.
"Almost time for afternoon prayers." Ali booms. He's lying a brahmin skin down on the cave floor. The wind has already begun to pick up outside, and the sky above the cave is noticeably darker. "Are you a religious man, Io? Do you pray?"
"No."
"Do you believe in God?"
"I don't know. Caesar teaches that there are many gods. I don't think that's true, but I can't say for sure. But no, I don't believe in those kinds of things. I've never prayed to them, anyway."
"Well, if your soul ever aches, take comfort in the fact that you needn't believe in Allah for Him to exist. Allah is still there. And Allah loves you. Allah will always love you. Allah loves every man regardless of their faith or their sins. And Allah is always willing to accept those who turn to Him."
"If Allah loves everyone, then why did he allow the Great War? Why did he let us salt the Earth like this?"
"Allow?" Ali chuckles. "My friend, Allah cannot control our actions. Men butcher one another as men always have. Allah gives men the eyes to see what is right and what is wrong, but He cannot make the choice for them. Its up to us how we treat one another."
"Then why pray, if Allah can't change anything?"
"Allah commands us to pray five times a day. Through prayer, you learn to better see Allah. You learn to feel Allah's love and take comfort in it. You learn how to ask Allah for guidance, and how to interpret His answers. Allah is there, my friend, and anyone can find Him. Even if you do not care to look, know that He is still there. He is everywhere, Io."
With that, Ali kneels down on his mat and bows his head. I move away, mindlessly walking towards the grey-haired woman, Kat. She's staring out at the brewing storm with her one real eye. I consider asking her about the other one.
I don't know why I find it so intriguing.
"Allah hu Akbar - Allah hu Akbar," Ali chants in a pleasant, soothing melody. "Ash-had al-la ilaha illa llah. Ash-hadu anna Muħammadan rasulullah."
"Do you know what he's saying?" I ask Kat this while her back is to me. She turns around slowly, studying me with an absolutely blank expression.
"God is great. I bear witness that there is no God except the one God. I bear witness that Muhammad is God's messenger." She drones in monotone.
"Did Ali teach you his language? What is it, anyway?"
Kat shakes her head. "Arabic."
"Well. . .as my people say, 'fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt.'" I give her a smug smile. "That means people believe in what they want to believe. Behold the power of self delusion."
Kat is unimpressed. Her blank stare is unnerving.
"Omnia dicta fortiora si dicta Latina*" She mutters.
For a second I'm floored, but then I laugh at Kat's little quip. There are probably only a handful of people outside of the legion who understand Caesar's language.
I have no idea how Kat came to be one of them.
"Io?" Twil taps me on the shoulder.
I glare at her, fighting back a strong urge to smack her.
"What?"
"You're going to Ogden?"
"Maybe." I shrug. "What do you care? I told you, I'm NOT fighting Jethro."
"I will guide you there. The road to Ogden is dangerous. Many White Legs patrol it. I know these trails and can get you there safely."
"You think I'd trust you after what you've done to me?" I scoff.
Twil kneels down on the cave floor in front of me. She bows her head.
Her overt display of submission makes me uncomfortable.
"I apologized, Io. I bought you a weapon. I offered you my knowledge. I have nothing else to give and no other way to show I'm sorry. Forgive me for wronging you."
I am acutely aware that Ali is now looking over at me and Twil, wondering what's going on between the two of us. I don't think it would be very wise to offend him.
Twil's his angel. I better treat her well, at least while he's watching. . .
"Get up." I seethe to Twil, quietly.
She slowly rises to her feet. "Will you let me guide you, Io?"
"Why? What do you get out of this? This is another trick. You're just going to 'guide' me to Jethro's camp."
"I swear to Great Mother, I will not." Twil makes a strange gesture with her hands. I assume its some kind of shamanic holy sign. "I only want to see you off, safely. I saved your life. If you die on the road north, it will have been for nothing."
"I don't trust you. Not for a second."
"Then don't." Twil sniffs. The same annoying sniff as always. "But will you let me guide you? I promise not to mislead you."
I'm tempted to say no immediately, but then think it'll be more fun to watch her stew for a little while. Without giving her an answer, I glance over at Kat, and then outside. The day has turned black and dark sands swirl around the cave mouth with the roar of a cyclone.
*"Everything sounds impressive when said in Latin."