Song of the Desert

The Beginning

"Every step on the path towards your dreams, no matter how small, or seemingly insignificant, brings you one step closer to your destiny."

- Adélè Basheer

The sun rose slowly over the dunes, its first rays piercing the darkness and slowly burning away some of the frosts that had settled over the night. The land was bathed in a light orange glow and the village of Chief Tokar roused to life.

This was the best part of the day, thought the young man who watched all this from his perch on the rocks outside the village. He could have made an excellent guard – if he was not born a servant. He was not entitled to be trained in anything but labour and not even that. The welts on various parts of his body were testament to that.

Soral looked up at the fading stars and sighed. His people believed that the goddess of the moon, Retnan, and her mother, Backana, watched over them and kept them safe. In Backana's wisdom, she let the light shine over them by day and then she watched over them by night. The stars were her handmaidens and they were revered as the angels he had heard about from the caravan traders’ stories.

Soral wasn’t so sure about the deities or any handmaidens, but right in that moment, he could have used a little bit of wisdom. Things had taken a big turn over the last few weeks leading him to this lonely rock just outside the village – hidden to all but the keenest of eyes, gathering his thoughts.

Three weeks earlier

Chief Tokar’s great, great, great grandfather had established the desert village many years before with his family, his friends and his servants. They had lived here and grown here and established a way of life. There was an oasis nearby and the vast amounts of desert surrounding them guaranteed that there would be fewer enemies likely to attack, all the way out there. Besides that, chief Tokar’s guards were the most feared of the desert tribes, all the way to the Western Sea and the Eastern Plain. If you heard that the Chief was coming, you ran for your life or forfeited it – well, that was what Soral had heard anyway.

Chief Tokar was fierce and proud, unbending and sometimes cruel. What could happen to a servant who got in his way did not bear thinking. The Chief was greatly feared.

These traits didn’t seem to pass on to his youngest daughter, however. Jalina was called the “desert jewel” by many. She was beautiful and kind and made sure to pacify the worst of her father’s anger whenever she could.

And she was Soral’s oldest friend.

Of course, because they were so different in status, they had been separated rather early on. Between her rebelliousness and his desire to spend time with her, they had met a few more times than their parents knew - but she had grown into a woman and he into a man. Their "sneaking around" just naturally fell to the wayside as do things of childhood. So they had not had a proper conversation since her thirteenth celebration of birth - all of six years ago.

Until the night before. He pushed those thoughts away abruptly. It would not do to entertain them. They could get him in serious trouble if he was not wary.

She was sitting with her maid and the other women getting the sewing and weaving done in the open tent set aside for such activities. Her long dark hair flowed in curls under the sheer red veil she wore to match her dress. The gold embellishment of her veil and dress and the magnificent jewellery she wore bespoke her standing in society. She was the brightest jewel in Chief Tokar’s proverbial crown… And Soral had fallen in love with her.

He couldn’t really say when it had happened. He had begun to notice little things about her as they grew together; the subtle sheen of her dark eyes, the smoothness of her dark skin, the small upward tilt of her full lips when she was amused, the sway of her hips when she walked, the delicate perfume that wove around her and intoxicated anyone who got near, the way the light played on her glorious hair in the candlelight…

He could never tell her what he felt. She would never understand. Besides, because she was the chief’s daughter, she would be promised to another. Alliances among the desert tribes were important. She would marry a powerful leader and someday, have a place as queen over the people. Then she would bear heirs for a lord and bring forth a new generation.

It broke his heart to think of it but there was the truth. And even if he did offer for her and get her… then what? Would he have her live as the wife of a slave – a shepherd with barely a coin to his name at that - for the rest of her days? Her delicate fingers would turn hard and calloused and she would break her back working all day, every day. She would probably be shamed – the angel that fell from grace. And Chief Tokar would never allow it. He would literally hold Soral’s severed head in hand before he saw that happen to his daughter.

Soral bumped into the sheep pen he had been heading towards in the first place and stubbed his toe on a fence post. He cursed lifting his leg and in the process, losing his balance and falling backwards into a passing cart. The merchant was not too happy about that. Soral apologised and helped the merchant pick up his oranges then saw him on his way. He heard a few titters and giggles form the general direction of the women’s sewing tent. Of course they had seen. And he had embarrassed himself in front of her.

Not that it mattered. His chances were about as low as they got. His mother always did call him “her handsome boy” but what were looks without the riches he required to seek her hand? It was best to forget about it. He limped over to the sheep pen and leaned against it to examine his foot. It wasn’t bleeding and there were no splinters, but it definitely hurt. He turned back to his work. He needed to get the sheep out to pasture before he lost too much time. He was still required to report to the head servant in charge of livestock if he was going to get his pay for the day.

"That young servant is handsome, no?" said Keela, one of the girls sitting with Jalina in the women's tent.

"Oh yes, built by the gods he is," mused Levani, Jalina's closest friend. The topic had shifted indefinitely to Soral and Jalina made herself busy with her sewing to try and avoid it altogether.

"It's such a pity he's a servant. I wonder what kind of husband he would make?" said Ketani, another of the girls.

"Don't even bother. Servants shall remain servants. You know how much our lord hates to part with what belongs to him." Keela put down her sewing and stretched feeling a bit stiff from siting in the same position for a long time.

"But I'll admit, even I am curious," she said resting her chin in her palm as she watched him walk into the sheep pen. "What do you think Jalina?"

All eyes were now fixed on her and she could no longer avoid the topic.

"What do I think about what?" Jalina studiously continued her work not sparing any of them a glance.

"Ah, there's something here, isn't there?" Levani scooted closer to peer into her face. "Jalina?"

"Nothing. There is nothing anywhere. He is a servant, I am the chief's daughter. I can't show any interest in him, no matter how hands- ahem - how he looks."

"Well, that makes sense. If you give him even a little attention, it might very well put his life in danger. You know how your father gets when he's upset," said Ketani with a shudder.

She was right. It was not past the chief to kill anyone who got in his way and much as he hated losing his property, insubordinate servants were never tolerated. The last one had been hunted down, killed and had his body mutilated. It was enough to keep all the others in line.

She chanced a look in Soral's general direction and their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat and she pricked herself with the needle immediately drawing her gaze back to her work. No, this couldn't happen. It just couldn't. She would never see her oldest friend suffer such a fate. It was too cruel.

When the time came to prepare the evening meal, she went to help the other women. She would be expected to entertain the guests who had come during the day. One of them was meant to be her suitor. It was the way of things and she had been prepared for this eventuality since she was a child. When she had been told to keep away from Soral, she had begun her training as a wife and now the time had come for her to be married off.

She would have been overjoyed if not for the fact that something small and insignificant had changed since then. It was something anyone could have overlooked and probably wouldn't even think mattered... it was a myth anyway.

Jalina had just come back from the oasis with the other women the previous evening when she saw a pretty flower sitting near the fence. It was a sign of love for her superstitious tribe. The first man she saw would love her to death and beyond, as the legend told. She smiled wondering who that man would be.

As it turned out, she didn't have to wait very long to find out.