Rub al-Khali, A southern desert of the Arabian peninsula
Desert lands will forever be veiled in mystery and natural wonder. They are forbidding lands where nature is as beautiful as it is deadly, where water is valued like gold, where sand encroaches on all it sees and the unrelenting wind whispers forgotten secrets it has witnessed from the dawn of civilization. In its remorseless abandon, nature has made this land merciless, but to those that dare make it home, it rewards with secrets many can never imagine. It offers the richest spices, the most magnificently lush oasis and the bluest, clearest sky you can ever hope to witness.
The people that play out their lives in this vastness do so with an understanding. They understand that the highest power is that which moves the sands, brings the rains and lights the sun. These elements are the highest law of the land and they listen carefully. Their existence is a nomadic one, spent herding and working busily until the very earth lets them know it is time to move on. The signs are subtle and the elders confer often. They pool their memories and recall past events in majlis councils. Others just listen carefully. Very carefully, not because they hope to decipher its intentions, but because they are blessed with an uncanny understanding that supersedes any speculation and runs deeper than any precognition.
These blessed individuals know of the desert because the same turbulent forces that reshape the dunes and urge the winds forward touch their restless souls. The desert itself knows this and pulls at them in recognition. Their fates are intricately intertwined, for they belong to one another and are one and the same in their magnificent beauty and majestic power.
Lo'gan's hazel eyes focused on the still dunes in the distance. Under the silver moonlight, the sand glimmered and reflected in a good imitation to the night sky full of stars. The serene dunes took on a grayish light at night, but they still looked beautiful. The southeastern kaus winds were still and he knew that was the first sign.
Burying his thick fingers into the sand next to him, Lo'gan felt the coolness in the course grains. Letting them slip through his dark fingers, he thought of the earth and how it never seemed to mind the stirrings of man. It never stopped its cycles, never even paused in its duties to alternately build and destroy. The sands kept shifting, the winds kept blowing and nothing seemed to matter.
Lo'gan wondered what it all meant. He was not a philosopher by trade, but his solitary nature always kept him on the fringe of his clan and the only other company he had if not human, was nature. And nothing elicited a philosopher's musings like the desert at night. Letting the rest of the sand slip through his fingers, Lo'gan brought his hand to lace with the other behind his head and looked at the twinkling lights high above.
He truly enjoyed his time alone but his heart was not still knowing the chaos they would encounter soon. Even though Khalaf was doing his best to keep the peace, it would not last long and when the weather turned hotter and drier, the competition for lifewater would challenge any peace. Lo'gan knew with certainty there would be conflict soon, he just hoped it would be after they reached Gazir. Five days, maybe six and the clan would be relatively safe. Only it would be hard. With close to eighty people, it would be hard.
Lo'gan looked away from the navy depths of the night sky to Nayif, who was hoofing the sand in sudden alertness. Reaching over to his left, Lo'gan took the leather reins that dangled into the glimmering sand to still his majestic black stallion. A horse was the greatest honor a sheik could bestow a clansman. Rare and precious, only warriors were given one and Lo'gan had received Nayif at the tender age of thirteen when he was inducted into the warrior subset.
With quiet murmurings, Lo'gan stood from where he was stretched out on the sand and petting Nayif's long snout, looked at the direction of the approaching figure. Even in the night, Lo'gan had sharp vision and he could make out his sheik's outline from afar. Gathering the robe he had discarded earlier, he slipped his arms into the wide sleeves and slowly patted Nayif as the limping outline approached.
"Lo'gan, my son, what are you doing out here when the celebration is over there?"
Lo'gan peered over to the left where the fires were burning high in celebration of his brother's induction and the voices of singing and dancing could be heard faintly over the still dunes.
"Greetings father, I needed time to think."
Sheik Khalaf waved one hand to dismiss the comment and slightly out of breath, patted Nayif's bulging shoulder muscles in appreciation.
"This is a fine creature, my son. Worthy of my best warrior. You have kept him well."
Lo'gan increased his own petting of the stallion's long snout and offered no comment. Most people would consider it disrespectful to not respond to a clan leader when spoken to, but Khalaf understood Lo'gan's quiet ways better than most. He even ignored the fact that he wasn't wearing his ghutra headpiece. It seemed like Logan was eternally unmindful of manners anyway.
"Have you been feeling the kaus winds?"
Lo'gan shook his head and turned to face his father. Even though he wasn't an elder, Khalaf always asked his opinion when moving the tribe. He wondered briefly if anyone else knew that. Many of the other men didn't like how much esteem the Sheik publicly showed for him, but Lo'gan didn't care.
"You feel we must go, my son."
The older man turned back to the direction of the celebration and started walking in his slightly limping way. It was an old injury and Lo'gan's only regret was that he had not been there to kill the man who dare hurt his father. Lo'gan clicked to draw Nayif's attention and fell into slow step beside his leader.
"Yes, father, but the Dawasir will be moving too."
Khalaf rubbed his brow tiredly before clasping both hands behind him.
"Yes, our only hope is that we move fast enough to get to Gazir first and then we could be ready if they mean war. We will move tomorrow and I will hold peace as much as I can. "
Lo'gan crinkled his forehead in thought.
"With the dryness of these months, that will be hard."
Sheik Khalaf looked over at Logan's hulking form with a wry smile. He would never understand why the younger man wore outside robes without an inner thobe shirt. It was almost indecent the way his chest was bare with only the fluttering robes and he was pretty sure Lo'gan knew that. He just didn't care.
"You would make a fine leader one day, my son."
Lo'gan snorted. Inevitably, conversations with Khalaf always ended up on the same note.
"Not interested."
"That is still to be seen. I will not live forever."
Lo'gan wisely kept his mouth shut. Of course Khalaf was getting old and he made it no secret Lo'gan was his favorite, but he was not made to be a leader. He hoped the old man would see that, but as the years rolled by, it was obvious he wasn't.
"There are others."
"None with your skill, your courage, with your sense of things."
Logan looked down at the soft shuffling of sand under his sandaled feet.
"I am an outsider."
Khalaf stopped in his tracks and waited for Lo'gan to turn and face him. The cheering and singing was a little louder now, making Nayif a little more alert.
"You are my son. It does not matter how that came to be. Don't ever let your mother hear those words."
Lo'gan peered past his shoulder to the dunes on the far right, unable to face the older man's eyes. It was true. With the Jabir clan he had found a family. He was lucky to be so blessed.
"I am sorry, father."
Khalaf grinned and waved the comment away. No matter how it had happened, Lo'gan was his son and despite his objections, he was a natural born leader. Khalaf knew this with certainty. Resuming his leisurely pace, the Sheik broached on the other subject he had been campaigning on for countless years.
"It is forgotten, now tell me, which of the women strike your fancy?"
Lo'gan cast a tired look at his stallion and tugged at the reins slightly. He knew something was missing. It was impossible to talk to Khalaf these days without at least one mention of his bachelor status.
"I don't need a woman."
The Sheik burst out in laughter.
"That's not what the men tell me when you go to Ma'in! They claim you see several."
Lo'gan gave him a wary look before turning his attentions back to the camp. He had wanted to return after everyone was asleep, but now he would have to navigate through the unwanted attention. Of course he enjoyed women, just didn't like them very much. When Khalaf's chuckling eased down, he patted Lo'gan on the shoulder.
"I hear Salma has plans on you. She is a beautiful girl, don't you think?"
Lo'gan shrugged again, dreading each step closer to the joyful celebration. He knew about Salma, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.
"I prefer to be alone, father."
"This I know, but maybe it is time you settle down, Lo'gan. There are plenty of girls here that would make excellent wives and it is not wise to be alone forever."
Lo'gan nodded in insincere agreement and scanned the camp. If he were to make a quick getaway, he would have to move quick. He shortened the slack on Nayif's reins and looked towards the path of least resistance. Knowing he wouldn't get more in the way of answer, the Sheik continued.
"At least promise me you'll think about it."
Lo'gan looked at the man who raised him like his own. He owed him as much.
"I will, father."
Khalaf patted Lo'gan's arm considerably happier and already making quick calculations of how fast they could move tomorrow, walked off to where the elders were still debating around the campfire, while watching the girls dance in all their twinkling finery.
Lo'gan spotted his mother, Joza, in the far distance with his aunts and walked to her in a wide arc to avoid people along the way. Nayif snorted and ruffled Lo'gan's long straight hair, alerting him to the fact that he wasn't exactly respectable at the moment. Lo'gan dug into the waistsash of his pants and withdrew his ghutra, sloppily securing the black headcloth down with his double corded, silver igaal. When he reached the women sitting on a stuffed cushion, he lowered his eyes in respect.
"Mother."
Joza's eyes sparkled as she reached up to her adopted son. Lo'gan lowered enough in response for her to place a kiss on his cheek. Straightening out again, he bowed slightly at his aunts. For the thirty years he'd known her, Joza's hair was the purest white. Both in the sun and in the moonlight, it shown brightly, and Lo'gan figured no woman could ever compare to his mother's beauty when she was young. Even now, with her dark velvety-soft skin lined with fine wrinkles, she was truly breathtaking.
"You spoke to your father?"
Lo'gan nodded and straightened out, crossing his robe shut for the benefit of the two other women, who exchanged smiles at his awkward attempt at civility.
"Are you retiring?"
"Yes."
"Very well then, I wish you pleasant dreams, my dear." She looked past his shoulder to the stallion waiting off to the side. "And you too, Nayif."
Lo'gan smiled faintly at Joza, who patted his hand, and nodded curtly at her sisters before turning and leaving. He mentally adjusted his previous thoughts. He did like one woman and that was Joza. With a click of his tongue, he called to his stallion and gave the festivities around the fire one last look. It was rare to have wood, so they were burning a frankincense oil dipped skin. Catching Salma's dancing form in the hazy smoke the fragrant oil produced, Lo'gan quickly turned away before he could be spotted.
She was attractive, but he could not imagine spending long periods of time with her. His ears rung with her high pitched laughter whenever she was around, and no matter how pretty she was, that alone could kill a man. People typically stood away from him anyway and in time she would hopefully lose interest and move on.
Not needing much in the way of companionship, Lo'gan always set up his tent as far away from the others as possible. Trekking through the soft sand to the very fringe of the camp, he walked to the colorfully woven tent that Khalaf had given him. It was entirely too lavish for his taste and more weight than he needed to carry, but he could not deny the old man anything and had accepted it humbly. Still shifting slowly through the sand, Lo'gan walked Nayif to the wooden post buried at the side of the tent. Giving him a quick pet, he tied his lead to the post and unstrapped the leather fittings that secured his saddle in place. Checking the sand around them to see that there were no scorpions or snakes to scare him, Lo'gan patted his only true companion one last time before walking to his tent.
Parting the thick, heavy curtain that served as a doorway, Logan yanked at his ghutra headpiece and tossed it to the side. Shrugging off his outer robe and kicking off his leather sandals, Lo'gan dropped to where heavy skins and woven linens made his bed. The tent was considerably neater than that morning and figuring that Joza had straightened it out for him while he was gone, Lo'gan wondered back to his father's statement. He was getting older and everything had a mate. Even camels and lizards needed another and maybe he did too.
As Lo'gan's eyes adjusted to the dark, he remembered something. Getting to his feet, he walked to the middle of the tent and untied a section he had cut out one day with his Khanjar knife. Instantly, a flood of silver moonlight flooded the tent and pulling his entire sleeping mat to lay directly under it, Lo'gan once again lay down to rest, looking up at the stars that were now so familiar. His thoughts strayed to the people he shared his life with, or rather, those that honored him by allowing him into their lives.
Khalaf and Joza loved him dearly and they only wanted to see him happy. Apparently that meant picking a wife and having children of his own. But was that so terrible? Perhaps he was being selfish. Everyone contributed to the tribe and having children was the ultimate contribution anyone could offer. All he could do was fight. Fight and kill.
Thoughts of the journey to Gazir flooded his mind once again. They were going to encounter trouble, he was sure of it, and he would gladly fight again to keep his people safe. It seems that was all he was good for. And who was he to challenge destiny? It might have been selfish, but he was not a made to be a family man or even a husband. A fighter was what he was, and like it or not, that was what he had to be.
Closing his eyes while his ears drowned out the celebration raging on not that far away, Lo'gan drifted off to sleep, hoping Joza's wish for him to have pleasant dreams would suffice and he would not have those horrible dreams that jarred him awake most nights. They were strange, confusing dreams that would leave him breathless, sweaty and terrified, but they were all he had of his past. He didn't know how that was possible, since he was a baby when Joza found him, but Lo'gan always felt they were of another time, another place. No matter what Khalaf said and how much love Joza gave him, Logan knew he was an outsider among the Jabir people. He was reminded every time he had that dream and it would forever make him different.
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