Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Ghandrah ❯ Part 3 ( Chapter 4 )

Part 3

The night was still and silent. The coming storm would be a harsh violent one, he knew. The time before the storms was Ashikii's realm, the Goddess of the Silent Storm. This stillness was a part of the storm. The violent part of storms belonged to Asandrii, the God of the Raging Storm. Quatre brushed aside the canvas flap, stepping outside his tent quietly, so as not to wake Duo, who was still snoring softly. The sand still jealously held the warmth from the long-set sun, and it caressed his toes as he walked slowly away from his tent. He breathed in the cool night air. It was moist. There would be rain. Rain was good -- it would refill the oases. He frowned as he thought about the oases. As a child, he remembered the oases being closer together. Could it be that there were less oases? He shook his head, physically negating the alarming thought. Khanji would not abandon the Tribes so readily. He turned to look at the large white moon -- still shimmering like a pool of water -- and offered a prayer to the Goddess. His only response was the soft shuffling of feet in the sand. He turned, following the sound. It was Mhana. She inclined her head, a sign of respect. She was also bareheaded and unveiled, another sigh of respect.

"I trust I did not alarm you." Her voice was like sand on the wind.

"No." He watched her approach. Her face was serene, deep lines of a desert life etched gracefully in her weathered skin. Mhana was the tribe's Weather-seer. It was good that she was up, he had planned on speaking with her in the morning -- now he could get her opinion of the approaching storm. She stood beside him, face upturned to the raging fires in the night sky. He watched her until she began to speak -- the words flowing forth like rippling water.

"Yes, Quatre. The storm will be harsh." She turned a bemused smile on him, mirth sparkling her eyes. He smiled freely in return.

"How long?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, earliest. Next morning, latest." He nodded. His people would certainly get the rest they deserved and no one would be able to follow them. He was glad he had been able to guide his people to water before the storm. It was a sign of the gods' displeasure if a tribe was caught by a storm away from the shelter of an oasis.

"I smell moisture. Will there be rain?" Mhana nodded.

"It is good you found us shelter." Quatre watched the moon, Morii, as it traveled backward across the sky. Morii was well past zenith, slowly drifting down toward the northeastern horizon. Khanji was sitting on the western horizon as if contemplating whether or not to hide under the desert sands. Rusted imperfections marred the serene visage of the large moon, yet another sign of the impeding storm. Quatre sighed.

"We will prepare for the storm first thing. If it's to be a harsh storm, we'll need to be well prepared." He glanced toward the sleeping msanii. "We have a lot to do." Mhana nodded knowingly.

"Yes, and our young leader should take his own unspoken advice." He tossed the aging woman a sharp glance. Mhana chuckled, amusement coloring her moonlit skin. "It is hours yet before Rhuii rises," she gestured to the southeast where the sun rose at this time of the year, "you should be resting, not worrying about a typical wet-season storm." She shook her head, still laughing.

"You have found us a grand oasis." She continued, placing a weathered hand on his arm. He covered it fondly with one of his own. "We have shelter from the palm fronds and protection from the short grasses. We will be fine. Go, sleep."

"And you? Will you sleep?" She shook her head.

"No. I will offer up a prayer to our God for our safety. Shikah likes his prayers for mundane things early -- before the sun rises. It interferes less with his day that way." She chuckled fondly. Quatre grinned at her enthusiasm and obvious love for their patron god.

His tribe took their name from their patron god, Shikah, the God of Destruction. The tribe's colors were the greens and purples of the nightly display of fire in the sky, Shikah's colors. His people were proud to belong to the destruction god's tribe. He was proud to lead that tribe.

His people were proud warriors, strong and skilled. His Warrior Head had never been defeated by another. His Warrior Head was irreplaceable, she was invaluable in her position of champion and trainer for the tribe as well as leader of the warriors. Phoenix was Duo's younger sister. Their mother had wanted both of her children to be the best they could be, and had cajoled Quatre's father, the leader at the time, to allow her children to apprentice with the tribal masters. Duo had excelled as the apprentice to Quatre's father's advisor while Phoenix had apprenticed under the Warrior Head -- until she had bested him in single combat. He had resigned, gracefully handing over the ceremonious blades that were the symbol of the Warrior Head, to Phoenix. She had ascended to Warrior Head just over a year after the commission and Quatre's own ascension to the Leader of the tribe.

An old and familiar hatred built up within his heart. The Lsar had not only stolen people and murdered their Leaders, but they had denied a proper funeral for their Leaders, instead leaving them to be consumed by the desert vermin. The Tribes burned their dead respectfully. It was only for those who had been banished or had died dishonorably that earned themselves a sand burial. Those that were banished were exiled to their fate in the desert unprotected. Those that had died dishonorably were either left where they had fallen, or they were buried in the sands; either way the djeinge could get to the bodies. The djeinge were unclean; they were without honor. The Tribes took care of their dead, keeping that which should be honored away from the vermin.

But the Lsar had left the Tribal Leaders out for the djeinge. And he had watched as the vermin had swarmed greedily over his father, and he could do nothing about it. He turned away from his contemplation, unwilling to relive those terrible days. Anyway, Mhana was right, he did need to rest. He had tossed and turned all night before he had finally given up and stepped outside. He turned toward his tent and saw Phoenix walking up to him. Mhana bowed her head to the Warrior Head. Phoenix smiled widely in return. The two women hugged briefly before Mhana wandered off toward the pool to offer her prayers. Phoenix inclined her head to Quatre.

"Couldn't sleep either?" She asked wryly. Quatre shook his head, unable to speak, his attention was riveted to Phoenix's hair.

"Your hair is red." She stepped closer, peering at him with concern. She brushed her fingers against his temple.

"Are you okay?" She asked. He swatted her fingers away.

"Of course." He snapped, irritation coloring his voice. It was those damned Legends. Every time he spent too much time thinking about them, he seemed to see everything in a new light -- like Phoenix's hair. He had known her since birth; her hair had always been red. In fact, her hair color had been part of why her mother had been so ambitious in getting her children into apprenticeships. After all, red hair was rare, and usually signified someone special. He sighed, taking her hand in his. "I've been thinking about too much, lately." She laughed, a warm full sound.

"Oh yes. The Legend. Of course." He narrowed his eyes at her. "For a moment I was afraid that you had lost your mind, and I find that you have." She waved an absent hand. "I highly doubt that I am that girl in The Legend. I think that you are worrying about nothing." Quatre shook his head at her, marveling at her stubbornness to believe that she was anything special. She didn't believe that the color of one's hair meant anything other than the color of your hair. And she didn't really believe in The Legend. At least she didn't believe that she would live to see The Legend unfold. Perhaps she was right, Quatre conceded, perhaps I am putting too much stock into The Legend.

"I'm more worried about everything we saw yesterday." He replied. Phoenix shifted uncomfortably.

"I saw a trail of dust yesterday." Her voice was low, controlled.

"Duo saw it too." He confirmed, his unease growing. He hoped that whatever was causing the dust line wouldn't reach them before the storm. Though the Tribes had banded together to fight the Lsar, they were not united. The Tribes still fought each other, over territory, water, food or just because. However, instead of the bloody whole tribe battles of a few years ago, most tribal confrontations had been settled in single combat between the opposing Warrior Heads.

However, his growing unease was convincing him that what lay on the horizon was not another tribe, but the Lsar themselves. The theory fit when considering the dark-haired corpses they had left behind. He was sure that by now the corpses no longer existed -- the djeinge had most likely consumed everything. Phoenix shifted beside him, dragging him from his thoughts.

"If they are headed this way, they won't arrive before the storm." The information did little to comfort him, as it did little to comfort her. Her hands were both resting on the hilts of her blades, fingers twitching slightly as though she wanted to draw her weapons. He placed his hand on her shoulder. The muscles were tightly coiled. Something more than a line of dust on the distant horizon bothered her.

"What is wrong?" She shrugged, cloth and muscle rippling under his hand.

"I can't get those corpses out of my head." She whispered. He squeezed her shoulder, silently conveying his understanding. She turned to him, unsheathing one of her blades, turning it slowly in her hands. The moonlight glinted coldly from the ancient steel. "I fear the Lsar have entered the Deep."

Quatre watched the blade -- it was one of the ceremonious blades that marked the position of Warrior Head. He didn't know how old they were -- no one in his tribe knew. The twin blades were passed down from Warrior Head to Warrior Head as a mark of distinction. There were other metal blades, but they were rare. He carried a blade of metal, Duo carried two and Phoenix carried four. A few of the other families passed blades of metal to their descendants, there were maybe three or four other blades of metal. Most of the weapons were made of baked clay or palmwood. Duo had inherited one blade from his parents; they had originally given the other blade to Phoenix. The previous Warrior Head had given Phoenix his two blades along with the twin ceremonious blades since he had no children. Not seeing a need for so many metal weapons, Phoenix had given Duo the blade their parents gave her. She kept the other four blades; two to fight with and the ceremonious blades only for rituals. It was the ceremonious blades, engraved with undecipherable runes, that she played with now. Her fingers danced along the blade with diligent familiarity -- she knew her weapons so intimately that it became second nature to her. Quatre admitted once that he was slightly envious about the ease with which she handled her weapons.

She spun the blade, passing it from hand to hand in a complicated pattern borne of skill. The reflected moonlight flashed brightly from the twirling blade. It helped calm him, slowly easing his mind. He began to drift away, flowing from his thoughts, floating on the breeze. One by one, his thoughts disappeared. Once his mind was clear, he tore his eyes away from the deadly display.

"Thank you." She smiled at his gratitude, slowing the spins on her blade until it rested peacefully in her hand. She sheathed the blade. Quatre sighed. The complicated handling served two purposes -- it taught blade handling and dexterity making the warriors better with their weapons, but it was also a hypnotic tool, easing tension and worry. Phoenix shrugged, her fingers lingering on her weapons. Her tension had not waned.

"You needed it. I could tell." She said simply. He acknowledged the truth in her words with a tired smile, fatigue flowing suddenly into his limbs. He yawned.

"I thank you, again. I shall retire. We will speak more in the morning." He turned, knowing her would hear her agreement as he made his way back to his tent. Her ascent drifted over the night breeze. He silently slipped inside his tent to the soft sounds of Duo's uninterrupted rest. He laid down on his sleepmat, his mind blissfully clear and his body relaxed for the first time in weeks. He closed his eyes, but it would still be a while before he could sleep.

* * *

Phoenix watched Quatre as he shuffled back to the tent he shared with her brother. His pale hair was a sickly green from the fiery sky. He had looked so forlorn when she had approached him earlier, even through his smiles. She knew he hadn't been sleeping well from her brother. She smiled at Duo's concern for Quatre. After their mother had been taken in the Raids, they had had only each other. Eventhough Quatre had always been their friend, Duo had retreated into himself, opening up only to her. Over time, however, Duo had come out of his shell, adding Quatre to his short list of people to care for. Though Duo was well liked in the tribe, he still was distant to everyone except Quatre, Relena and herself.

Phoenix closed her eyes, forcing her mind away from her brother. She had been woken up, and she needed to know why. She knew that something had woken her up because she didn't usually snap awake. Tonight, she had. She woke so fast that her heart had been racing and her weapons were already clutched in her hands.

Her ears had felt as though something had been stuffed in them, like sand or cloth. There had been a low pulsating feeling in her head that quickly faded. And then there had been nothing but the sound of her own harsh breathing. Restless and uneasy, she had risen to secure the tribe's camp, wandering from tent to tent, checking the msaniis and searching the darkened horizons. Everything had been peaceful and silent -- even Shikah in the sky had been subdued.

She stood by herself, a monolith in the desert night, contemplatively fingering her blades, staring at nothing, lost in her thoughts. Something moved off to her right, a slight shifting of the sand. She whirled, blades materializing in her hands, to face a startled Mhana. Phoenix lowered her weapons, nodding her head in recognition. Mhana breathed. Phoenix sheathed her blades reluctantly.

"You are out late." Mhana's voice wavered.

"I'm sorry to have startled you." Phoenix apologized.

"I'm thinking that I startled you." Mhana remarked dryly. Phoenix managed a smile. "You aren't usually this jumpy. What is wrong?" Mhana asked, concerned.

"I wish I knew." Phoenix scanned the horizon again, noticing that Khanji had set. There was something there -- she knew it, she just couldn't see it, nor identify it. "Why are you up this late?"

"Early, probably." Mhana paused. "I think that the coming storm will be more than weather." Phoenix turned her gaze to Mhana. Mhana spread her hands defensively. "Everyone's on edge. Quatre cannot sleep -- I'm afraid his worry lines will become permanent. You are jumping at sand grains, your brother is smiling less and less, getting that creepy gleam in his eyes -- that same gleam, I might add, that is etched permanently in your eyes."

"Duo is stressed because Quatre is stressed." Phoenix supplied automatically.

"Don't fool yourself. Duo's becoming as dangerous as you, my dear." Mhana gazed at Morii. "The coming storm is more that just the weather." She repeated. After a moment of tense silence, Mhana nodded to herself and moved off in the direction of her tent. "Sleep, Phoenix. I fear we will need our Warrior Head at her best." She called over her shoulder, suddenly sounded very old.

Phoenix stared after her, digesting the strange conversation in her head. She didn't understand what Mhana was trying to tell her. She rolled the words over and over in her mind. A storm that is more than weather? Phoenix shook her head, dislodging the confusion, pushing the message away for the moment.

A low pulsation gathered in her ears -- not sound, per se, but a feeling. Her head snapped up. It was the same feeling she had when she woke up. What ever it was, it had returned. The feeling morphed into sound, the pulsation's seemingly slowly down as sound, but speeding up as feeling. She strained her ears, closing her eyes to focus her hearing. She tried to place the sound, but she had never heard it before. The pulses got louder -- harsher -- almost thumping in the otherwise still night. She automatically looked in the direction the sound originated from, but she realized the sound also seemed to come from everywhere.

The wind picked up, a sandstorm swirling of sandless wind. In the dim moonlight cast upon the dunes from Morii, sand billowed from the ground, dispersing quickly as though it had never existed. Her robes clung to her legs, ripping away from her at the same time. She held her free hair behind her ear with one hand, cursing as she drew one of her blades. The sound was everywhere, now. It was her; she had become a part of it. The furious thumping seemed to close in on her -- trapping her.

There was light. Harsh blue-white light stabbed down from the sky, a sharp circle tracing the dunes. Letting her hair whip in the wind, she shaded her eyes from the piercing light.