As Dark as Night

"My thoughts and my discourse as madman's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147

The young girl stood at the entrance of the tent, looking past the fire that surrounded the camp to the desert beyond. Thick bracelets of intricate silver and gold worked with beads and jewels covered slim forearms. A stray night wind played among the tiny bells and intricate beadwork that covered the thin cloth of her outfit. Around her neck, hung a heavy necklace strung with coins and fine gemstones.

"Ameera! Come back into the tent. You will bring shame upon us all if a man were to see you without your veil." The voice was commanding, almost waspish. The girl turned to look over her shoulder. Thick rugs and pillows covered in geometric designs covered the floor of the women's tent. The woman who had spoken, Najmah, even now was making her way towards where the girl stood.

"I am in the tent. But soon I will leave it. I know now what I must do," the girl said in a calm voice. Some of the older girls and younger women giggled.

"What you must do is be good to your future husband. Your father and Shahin have worked hard to get you such a good match. It is not often that one so young finds such a strong husband." The woman grabbed the girl's arm, her fingers strong and unyielding. She drug the unresisting girl farther into the tent before forcing her to sit.

"Now eat. You are too skinny as it is. Your husband will never take you to bed if all he feels is bones beneath his hands." More laughter came from the other women. It was silenced with a look from Najmah. Her power lay in her neither her looks nor her personality, but the large dowry she had brought her husband all those years ago.

"You worry too much, Najmah. Ameera is as graceful as a gazelle, as beautiful as a desert bloom, as sweet as honey. After the bitter sands and harsh heat, Misbah will be as glad to come to her as a dying man is to come to an oasis," said Tasnim, a women in her twenties pregnant with her fourth child.

Murmurs of agreement met the statement. It was a common topic of gossip when Najmah was not around. How someone so plain and vicious could produce a child as quiet and beautiful as Ameera. Unconvinced Najmah tossed her head, sending beads and bells tinkling.

"I need a knife," the girl said into the waiting stillness. A plate of pita and hommus was laid before her. Pieces of spiced goat meat, dried apricots, dates, and white goat cheese accompanied the otherwise simple fare. One of the other women, thinking that Ameera wanted to cut the meat smaller, handed her a plain dagger.

"Ameera! What are you doing?" The women all stared as the young girl took the gleaming blade to her hair. The dark black strand fell in a silken pile. When the girl was done her hair, once falling past the back of her knees, barely came even with her chin.

It was only after the deed was done that anyone could overcome the shock enough to react.

"What have you done? A woman's beauty lies in her hair. Why do you think are so careful to cover it less it make men covet another's wife? Do you realize what you have done?" Najmah grabbed for her daughter intent on shaking reason into a girl who had suddenly gone mad. "You will not destroy this marriage with your childish whims. I will not have it!"

The entire women's tent had gone silent as the girl they had always thought of as Ameera held a knife to her mother's throat. "Woman, you may have given birth to this body but you are not my mother." The voice was soft, high pitched, child-like. The voice of a ten year old girl who was about to be betrothed by her parents. The words were much older, ringing with an accent that had long been wiped out by the shifting desert sands.

A casual shove sent Najmah stumbling backwards. Her feet tripped over the tray that had held the girl's dinner. The food went everywhere. Women screeched, trying to avoid damage to their embroidered clothing. Najmah looked up from her place on the floor, covered in green-gray hommus at the demon who had taken over her only child.

"There will be no betrothal, no ceremony. I will take no man from this land as my husband. I will not live in these tents, nor will I show you any consideration should we meet again some day. Ameera is dead, as if she had never lived. I will go wherever I please however I please. Men will look upon my uncovered hair and covet what they cannot achieve. The power that is mine alone, to give to whom I choose when I choose," the girl spat the words into the tent.

She held the dagger in front of her. As if it were a weapon she knew fully well how to use, even though this was the first time she had touched a blade to do anything but cut her food. Dark eyes moved from woman to woman, daring them to protest. Nobody did.

"I call upon the rights and privileges of a Seeker. Before dawn, three horses will be prepared. One to carry myself and all I take with me. Another to carry as much food and water as your tribe can spare without starving. A third to carry gifts from every family of your tribe." The girl drew herself up, commanding the women as if she had been born to do so.

"But you are of this tribe, and a woman..." Tasnim began to protest. One look from the girl's cold eyes stopped her.

"I am not a woman. No woman would dare act the way I must, the way I am." Several of the women nodded, more than willing to accept the explanation given. Anything to provide stable footing in a world that had suddenly gone awry.

Then the girl looked around as if realizing no one was moving. "What are you waiting for?" The knife was thrown downwards, where is sank into a thick pillow blade first. "I want food and drink to refresh myself. Rouse the men and have them get the horses. Everything must be ready before dawn." She clapped her hands, startling everyone with the sound. "NOW!"

As if she had just kicked over a anthill, the women's tent became a flurry of activity at the girl's commands. Pillows were straightened, food was brought, and the girl that was once Ameera sat down to eat. Mint tea and replacements for the foods spilled earlier were set on a tray before her. As she dipped the pita bread into the hommus, the girl could hear the women comforting a crying Najmah. But the woman's wails did not concern her. Only the reason why she was here did.
______________________________________________________

Outside the girl could hear the stirrings of a camp that had thought to sleep the rest of the night. She could here the confused chatter of women, the deeper notes of annoyed men. The dogs had sensed something, as had the horses, goats, and other animals. They added their voices to the still night. But inside the tent was quiet, all the women having gone to fufill her commands. None of them wanted to be left with the girl who was suddenly possessed. None of them wanted her to think they were not doing as she commanded.

Simpering, conceited, gossiping fools. And I thought they had bred the brains out of them over two millennia ago. Why I have to be born a woman in this land every time something requires my attention is beyond me. The girl frowned, her thoughts pensive and amused at the same time.

Let's see. By my guess my father and my supposed husband-to-be will come through that door any minute. They will think that the women have become hysterical over a little girl's nervousness about leaving her family as we women are want to do. I'll have to think of something to prove just how serious this is. A sudden smile lit her face, making her appear as innocent at the body she now wore.

With the grace and fluidity of a born dancer, the girl retrieved the knife and got to her feet. The blade glinted in the brazier light. The girl placed the sharp edge against the skin of her palm, and braced herself for the pain. Then she drew it across her hand. Blood welled up in a crimson line as she repeated an ancient spell.
"By this blood I call you now, in a bond as old as time,
Set in stone and writ in pain, delivered to you in rhyme
Demon born and demon bred, of darkness and of night,
I call ye now to stand by my side, to live, to die, to fight."
She winced at the high-pitched sign-song quality youth gave her voice. Power flowed out of the wound, giving form and substance to the shadows of the tent. The girl grabbed an odd scrap of cloth and used it to stop the bleeding. The darkness coalesced into the form of two Bedouin, covered head to toe in black and crimson cloth, glinting scimitars pushed through their belts. Only their eyes could be seen, deep red coals sunk into impossibly black skin.

"Welcome. You recognize who I am, even in this body?" The girl cocked her head to one side when she asked her question. Red eyes flared brighter for a moment. Assessing. Then one of the dark djinn spoke.

Yes, Dark Lady. It is why we came. You have been reborn and have need of our service until you come into your full power.

"Correction. I have need of your service until we reach the end of the desert sands. Or I finish whatever I have been reborn to do. You are tied to this land, and it is not yet time for my final rising." The two djinn bowed at her words. "Serve as my protectors. Keep me from harm as I travel. That is what I require of you."

As you wish, Dark Lady.

The girl sat back down on the cushions. Less than a minute later the tent flap was pushed open and two men entered. The elder one was Ahkmed al Fazim, Najmah's husband and sire of the girl. The younger was unknown to her, about sixteen in age, and not bad looking. This must be Misbah. The one I would have married had I not remembered.

"Ameera! What have you done to upset your mother so? I will not have you... Your hair. You have cut your hair." The girl watched as Ahkmed stared in shock. Misbah eyes flickered hungrily over her body. To them, she was barely clothed without her veils. Then he noticed the two shadows which stood on either side of her.

"What kind of girl have you born, that can raise the dark djinn?" Misbah asked as his hand came to rest on the dagger by his side. The girl nodded, conceding the younger man her respect. He is no fool. I have a feeling I would have enjoyed having him as a husband had things played out differently.

"You must be mistaken. My daughter has no knowledge of magic. There has to be a mistake." Ahkmed turned to Misbah, apology in his voice. Then he rounded on his daughter. "What have you been meddling with girl? Do you seek to make a fool of me? Ameera you will stop this nonsense at once! You will marry who I choose, assuming you have not destroyed any prospects of a decent marriage. We will never talk about this night again."

"I am afraid that that will not happen." The girl slowly got to her feet. The two dark djinn moved to stand on either side, exactly one step behind her. Supporting her should she need it. "I am Ameera no more. As far as you are concerned, she is dead. Make up whatever tragic story you so choose to explain my disappearance. It makes no difference to me."

"With all respect, al Fazim, that is not your daughter. No girl of ten would speak that way," Misbah said. "Who are you, spirit? What have you done to this man's child?"

"It is true that I am born of this man's flesh. I hold the memories of his daughter. But I have much older memories that demand that I take up a course different from he and his wife had planned. I must seek out what has awakened these memories and put them to rest."

The mood inside the tent was tense, neither side willing to concede. Then Misbah nodded. "I am sorry, al Fazim, for the loss of your daughter. Let us hope she has been called to a better life."

"But the arrangement..." Like a drowning man to a rope, or a merchant to his gold, Ahkmed clung to his vision of the future to the very end. It was no use. The battle had been fought and won before he had stepped into the tent. Misbah shepherded the older man out of the tent, talking about his interest in the daughter of Ahkmed's second wife.

The girl released a breath she was not aware she was holding. That went better than it could have. Better than last when I had to have the djinn kill that greedy slave seller into in order to leave. Now all I can do is wait, until the horses are ready

Sometime later Yasmina, a timid not much older than she was girl with veils draped to reveal nothing but her eyes, entered the tent. “The horses are ready Amee.. lady. You will be pleased by all that we have offered to you.” The girl nodded and followed Yasmina out into the night.

High above the stars of the constellation wheeled in their nightly journey through the sky. Closer to the ground, torches burned pushing back the night. The two dark djinn came through the fabric of the tent, like water squeezed through cloth. Yasmina gasped, but made no commet.

The entire tribe was gathered around the center of camp. Both girls headed in that direction. Small children were hushed by their parents, and a few of the babies squalled when she pass. Dogs she had known all her life growled at her as if she were stranger. Two of the bravest men of the tribe and Misbah held three horses in a circle of torch light.

They were good animals, pure bred and swift. The two pack horses were males, culled from the herds as slightly inferior and cut to prevent breeding. A black mare, her hackmore decked with beadwork and scarlet tassels, would be serve as the girl’s mount. She nodded her approval of the tribe’s choice.

“They will do, al Fazim. I approve.” Ahkmed winced at her formal, distant tone. The girl who had been his daughter spoke with the voice of a stranger. “It will be morning in a few hours. I wish to journey as far as I can in that time. I wish you and your tribe much luck in the desert.”

Najmah started her wailing again and the other women rushed to quiet her. Ahkmed ignored his first wife. “I am sorry that you must go. Even if I never see you again, I will always remember you and this night.” If possible, the wailing got louder. If the girl didn’t know better, she would have sworn even the dark djinn winced.

The girl walked forwards and took the reins of the black mare from Misbah. He offered her his cupped palms to mount. She ignored them, managing to swing her small frame aboard without help. Her heavy jewelry clanked with the effort. Ahkmed winced. She was riding off with small fortune, and everyone knew it.

A sharp command to the packhorses to make sure they would follow her, and the girl was ready to leave. A hand around her wrist gave her pause. The dark djinn crowded closer, their hands on their scimitars. The girl raised her hand, stalling their protective gestures. She looked down into the brown eyes of Misbah as he stared up at her.

“One thing before you go. You are no longer Ameera. If should meet again, what should I call you?” A slight pressure and the black mare took the girl away from the young man. He let her go.

The tribe moved to one side, clearing a path for the girl and the djinn to follow. It looked like she would refuse to answer Misbah question as she rode away from the center of camp. Then she stopped, and turned around in her saddle. Her voice was eerily loud as the words echoed in the sudden silence.

“You may call me Müllenkamp.”

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