Desert Rose

by archonix

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure
Length: 5028

For many nights, Qamar of the Horse has dreamed of a moonlit garden filled with white flowers, a strange, dark temple to an unknown goddess, and the shadow of a mare on the horizon. Each morning he wakes to the scent of a rose.

Qamar of the Horse dreams of a moonlit garden, a walled city that does not exist, a temple to a goddess he has never before seen, and the shadow of a mare on the horizon. Each morning when he wakes, it is to a fragrance so beautiful that he cannot describe it.

The night he sets off into the desert, alone and unprepared, it is only his friend Rasoul, a camel of the tribe of al Jamal min al Fidda, who can see the madness that drives him, and only Rasoul who will be able to help him overcome it.

Written for the WBA monthly writing prompt, which is why it cuts off where it does. The rest will be up in a couple of days.

With a great deal of thanks to Amit for the horse puns in Foreign Scary Words, as well as the tips for finding more of them.

Published 2013-09-21 21:20:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-21 21:20:03 UTC

The Rock

"There, my brother! Did I not say I would bring you to it?"

The voice seemed so distant now, as if calling from the peak of a high and far-off massif. Qamar slowly raised his head, ignoring the corded fire that seared across his neck and shoulders, and lifted his sand-burned eyes to the distant horizon. For a moment he dimly perceived a ribbon of stone and mortar, only for it to be lost again in the shimmering haze.

Laughter echoed across the desert sands as his friend's shade turned that exultant grin toward Qamar and opened his mouth again to call out, but all Qamar could hear then was the dull roar of the wind and the baking sand, the scream of the burning sun and the erratic thudding of his heart. He tried to lift his head higher, tried to speak to his friend, yet nothing came out of his parched throat but a strangled croak. Not that it mattered. The camel was long gone, swallowed up in the desert that was his home.

Qamar lifted his head again to stare at the empty horizon, but it kept tipping backward and to the side, twisting and rising, drawing his body over itself until his forehooves rose up and to the left at the end of stone-stiff legs. The scorching desert rose up to meet his face.

He slid down the sand to the still pool of air in the lee of his dune. On his next breath came the scent of the rose that had haunted his dreams, and Qamar drank deep of that fading taste of paradise until darkness claimed him.

* * *

Amongst the steep-sided valleys of al Amaken al Hajjar, deep in the shade of an unnamed mountain, Rasoul of the tribe of al Jamal min al Fidda watched the great gates of Pistra for the moment they would swing aside and grant his caravan entry. He stood as still as those same gates, chewing contentedly on the cud of a thicket of sweetgrass he had found a few hours earlier, shortly after they had crossed from the sands of the high desert to the rocky scrub that the Horse called home.

There were twelve of them in his party, the majority sand-blasted and weary from the journey across the north-east corner of the Silver Plains – a shortcut few of the Horse ever took, save for the most urgent of business amongst their own kind. That business likely concerned the pair ensconced in a litter borne upon the backs of six of these panting Horse.

A curtain twitched aside. A servant of some stature, in the most literal sense, leaned toward the litter and nodded at the quiet words spoken to him. For a brief moment Rasoul caught a glimpse of the mare, clad in the halter and barding that symbolised her supposed servanthood to the subjects of Al Khamsa, even as she reclined in luxury atop their backs.

She glanced at him, a knowing smile on her lips as she retreated behind the curtain once again, and the servant trotted to Rasoul's side. There was no humour in his face as he spoke, nor in the way he held himself as far from Rasoul as possible without falling over.

"Her gracious ladyship desires to know when the gates shall be opened to us, oh guide."

Rasoul chewed a while longer, purely out of spite if he were honest. He eyed the bangles ringing the servant's neck and the gold band binding his tail, and wondered how many days of entertainment it would buy him in the back-streets of the city. Many was the only number he could think of.

"I do not control the gates any more than I control the sands we just crossed," Rasoul spat, punctuating the words with a little of his breakfast, much to the servant's disgust. "Tell your mistress to take it up with her friends in the Khamsa."

The servant's reply was a snort, followed by a grumble of realisation at the message he would have to relay. Rasoul closed his eyes and returned to his chewing, content to wait. His people were good at waiting, though if you listened to the Horse they were said to do nothing else.

Let them laugh. The desert would have the last.

Scant moments later a horn blasted, echoing about the valley until it seemed to come from all directions at once, and the gates swung ponderously apart, slowly revealing the city beyond the great wall that cut the valley and sealed it from the outside world.

Rasoul turned and nodded to the two camels at the rear of the caravan; they returned the gesture, before turning and loping back along their path toward the valley entrance and the desert sands, leaving Rasoul alone to escort the caravan.

There was always a danger for a camel amongst the Horse, even in Pistra, supposed Capital and symbol of the union of the tribes and clans, though there had yet to be a camel or donkey counted amongst the Khamsa. A camel alone was no threat to them. A group of camels, even just three or four, could set the skittish Horse running for their weapons and guards, and that was why Rasoul now stood alone even as every bone in his body screamed to seek out the safety of tribe and dune, and to put as much difference between himself and this wretched walled-in city as possible. If not for for the fact that his paymasters lived beyond those walls, he would be gone already.

The servant growled at the litter-bearers, and the company set forth, with Rasoul plodding alongside and out of the way. He had led them here, but now his task was to follow and simply be seen amongst them. And to be paid.

Guards with bored eyes and slender faces watched as they passed through, barely paying heed to him as they genuflected to the litter. How the mare within responded, Rasoul couldn't know, nor did he care, as he surveyed the narrow street of Pistra for sign of any friendly face. A few of the Horse stared at him from windows and doors carved into the living rock of the valley walls, or from the shade of tents and stalls crushed to the centre of market immediately after the gates, but by and large were too busy staring at the litter to pay any real attention to him.

Until, that was, they passed the door of a squat adobe building, where a stallion lounged against the door frame, idly flicking at flies with his tail as he watched the tiny parade. His genuflection to the litter was curt, though sincere, but his attention had turned to Rasoul before the act had even completed.

"Well met, oh great sage and poet of the flowering wastes," the horse intoned with overabundant reverence that drew an amused chuckle from within the departing litter. Rasoul rolled his eyes and lumbered to a halt just beyond the door, before turning slowly to eye the stallion.

"Your insults against this poor wanderer do you no justice, proud prancer of the stone places," Rasoul replied, narrowing his eyes. The stallion's mouth turned flat and he stepped out of the shade, flicking a well-kept but functionally cut mane from his eyes as he moved.

The opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated and shook his head. "Nope, I can't beat that one."

"Oh Qamar, you are no camel," Rasoul chortled, stepping forward to wrap his head and neck around the young stallion. Qamar lifted his head against the side of Rasoul's cheek, his laughter joining the camel's own.

"If you mean to insult me again, old fool, it isn't working." Qamar stepped back from the camel and bowed his head. "It is good to see you again, Rasoul."

"As it is you," Rasoul replied, mirroring the bow as he, too, stepped away. They both turned at the distant yell of the servant, standing at the far end of the street and glaring at the pair. Sighing, Rasoul glanced at the shady interior of Qamar's dwelling. "Would that I could reminisce, but I am required by duty to accompany the lady and her grumbling steed to the palace."

"To the palace treasury, you mean? That one such as you should resort to trade and escort." Qamar chuckled and shook his head. "Shall I hope that you grace my humble establishment before you leave with all the riches of Pistra?"

"Qamar, if I did not pay my respects to your palatial house of coffee, I would be forced to return home in shame." Rasoul backed away from Qamar and bowed his head once again, before turning to catch up with the caravan.

"Old lotus!" Rasoul slowed and looked back at Qamar's call. The horse was grinning as he held up a hoof. "This time, you pay before you leave!"

Rasoul simply laughed.

* * *

Qamar's eyes opened on darkness. He snuffled at the sand filling his nostrils; it tickled, irritating his nose, but he had no strength left to sneeze. Overhead the stars wheeled, the moon a mere crescent, stood at the horizon like a pair of wings raised to the heavens. Like a messenger, ready to bear him to paradise

"So weary you are," a voice murmured. "Rest a while beneath my light."

Again the scent of roses filled his senses. Again he closed his eyes.

* * *

Camels were not built for climbing rocks.

As he climbed the steep, narrow and frankly terrifying path up to the plateau above Pistra, Rasoul repeated this fact to himself. Over and again he spoke it, to remind the cliff that it should be merciful and not fling him to his death, for he was not used to such heights, nor accustomed to such narrow ways. The desert was his home, he told it.

The cliff hugged close, but refrained from pushing him off the path, a mercy for which he gave immeasurable thanks to the Lights Above. Some minutes later he found himself at the top. He refused to look back along the path of his ascent. He would see that sight soon enough and there was no point in facing it before he was good and ready. Shivering in the chill dawn air, Rasoul set off across the plateau at a brisk trot, heading for the bluffs above the great gate that overlooked the desert.

Before long he found Qamar stood on the edge of the cliff, and staring out at the horizon. Despite the early hour the desert sands shone bright against the dark western sky, reflecting back the light of a sun that had yet to rise. He sidled up to Qamar and settled at his shoulder, watching the young stallion's face. Qamar was almost motionless, his face betraying nothing of what he might have thought. Only his eyes moved, searching the distant sands.

"It is early for one such as you to wake, Qamar." He watched for a reaction, but Qamar's face remained impassive as ever. "I came to see you before I left, but you were gone. I thought perhaps you were at the market or the fountains, but I find instead that you have taken to climbing rocks."

Rasoul kicked at a pebble by his feet, watching as it skittered across the bare rock of the bluff and over the edge, falling out of sight without a sound. He lifted his eyes to the sky and sighed. "It is said that you have taken to climbing these paths every morning before the rising of the sun. None know why you do this."

"I wish to think," Qamar replied. His voice was rough, as if from a dry throat. As if he had only just woken. "It is quiet."

"Those are not the eyes of a contemplative, Qamar."

Rasoul hesitated, drawing his nostrils closed as he considered what to say. The horse beside him remained still as ever, never taking his eyes from the horizon. His forehoof pawed briefly, fitfully at the rock, scraping lichen and dust into a short pile.

"Perhaps I should—"

"What's..." Qamar swallowed and took a deep breath. He lifted his snout at the horizon. "What's out there?"

"Sand, camels, silence and the death of the unwary," Rasoul replied with a cocked smile. He chuckled, but Qamar only frowned at the answer, then shook his head and raised a hoof toward the south-west, guiding Rasoul's eyes toward the distant dunes. A light flared briefly in the haze, probably the goods of a caravan catching the early rays of the sun.

"I mean out there."

"Al Buhayrah al Hilal. After that there is only sand and storm until the distant sea. There is nothing for the Horse between those two, Qamar. Even my people do not venture far into the wastes of Hubal," said Rasoul.

They stood for a while in silence. It was not Qamar's custom to be so still, nor Rasoul's to be so quiet, but for once there seemed little to say. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to hunker down against the illusory storm of his thoughts, and leaned close to his friend.

He said: "They told me, in the market, that you have slept poorly these last days. That you often wander at night, as if looking for something."

Qamar shrugged, but still his eyes remained on the horizon. "I enjoy the night, and I sleep well enough in the afternoons. I have told you before, Rasoul, I am not made for the day."

"And yet..."

Now Rasoul did hunker down, flexing and bending his legs until he was settled on the floor. The movement was enough to capture Qamar's attention and draw him from the horizon, even if just for a moment; he watched Rasoul with a frown and a smirk as the camel made himself comfortable.

"And yet you seek the land on which the sun shines brightest. I have seen eyes like yours before, Qamar, far too many times amongst your people. What has touched you?" From where he sat, Rasoul looked up at Qamar and tried to smile, to reassure his friend, but the expression was difficult to force to his face. "It would be simple to dismiss this as the madness of one who drinks too much coffee, but it is not. I am your friend, Qamar. Tell me."

Qamar's ears flattened, which Rasoul took to mean he was reluctant to speak, though he was never entirely sure about the way the Horse expressed such things, even now. Well. Let him be silent, if that was what he wanted. Rasoul looked away and coughed up a gobbet of cud, which he began idly chewing as he gazed over the desert.

"I cannot stay long," he said around the sticky mass. "Either I will scare your compatriots and be asked to leave the city, or I will be in trouble with my brother and his wife when I arrive late. If you wish I can—"

"No."

When he looked up, Qamar had his eyes closed. The horse took a deep breath and let it out through his nose.

"I had a dream."

The air seemed to chill at Qamar's words. Rasoul ceased chewing and swallowed. "Go on."

With his eyes still closed, Qamar turned a quarter and settled down, deliberately turning his gaze away from the horizon. His dappled grey coat glowed with golden light as the sun finally began to crest in the east.

"It was... I was out there, on the sands, at midnight. I was standing on a vast plain, glittering like... like diamonds." He opened his eyes and turned to Rasoul, but his gaze looked right through the camel to some other place. "All around me was covered in white flowers that shone as bright as the full moon, and ahead I saw a walled city. When I was inside, there was a garden, and a temple to a goddess I have never seen before. And the moon. Always the moon..."

Closing his eyes again, Qamar took a deep breath that he let out as a slow, shuddering sigh. He couldn't see Rasoul's worried frown.

"When I awoke, it was to a fragrance so beautiful that I cannot describe it. I followed it to the city gates and then to here, and I have returned every day hoping to catch it again."

"Perhaps the gardens," Rasoul pondered, shifting uncomfortably, but Qamar shook his head. The camel bit his lip. "Qamar. You..."

He fought to keep his eyes and nose from closing tight. This wasn't something to be avoided. There had to be a way to distract his friend.

"You have heard of the Rose of the Desert, yes? The traveller's temptation?" In the face of Qamar's confused gaze, Rasoul managed to laugh. "It is a dangerous and wonderful thing, this desert rose. It draws travellers to their deaths, but it can only do so because they seek something to begin with, and so they follow it." Rasoul pushed his jaw forward and grunted. "Amongst my people there is a saying: between horizon and horizon, the Perfect may be found. You are a dreamer, my friend, seeking that place between the horizons. You wish to see new things. You wish to be Perfect, as I am."

"Rasoul, if I wished to be as you I would only have to roll in shit and steal a poor trader's coffee."

Rasoul's laughter echoed across the plateau, and he thumped Qamar on the shoulder. "You young prancer, I paid for the coffee this time!"

"I would give it to you for free if you would only bathe once in a while."

"It would be an impossible thing, Qamar. If I see water, I drink it!" Rasoul lifted his chin. He snorted and coughed up another mouthful of cud, giving himself a moment of silence to consider his options. Qamar was already looking out at the horizon again, eyes lidded against the brightening glare of the desert sands, but again searching the horizon for something only the Lights Above knew. For the briefest moment Rasoul caught a scent of something, but before he could identify it the fragrance was gone.

Qamar's jaw had loosened. He breathed deep and sighed again, then smiled just a little. Then he shook his head and blinked, looking about as if he had just awoken.

"I should probably get back," he muttered, turning to look at Rasoul again. "When do you leave?"

The cud slid between Rasoul's teeth as he considered his reply. He chewed at it, and then turned and spat a gobbet of it over the cliff. "Now that I have coin again, I believe I shall stay for some more of your coffee, Qamar."

"But your brother—"

"He can live without me for another day." Rasoul pulled himself to his knees with a grunt. "I shall return to him and his chattering cow tomorrow."

* * *

The dune was gone when he awoke again. Qamar's eyes fell upon the petals of a silver-white flower that lay flat on the sand before him. Fighting the agony in his neck, Qamar lifted his head. A field of flowers greeted him, each as wide as his muzzle was long, each heady with a rich, cloying sweetness, a scent almost liquid on his senses. He breathed deep, feeling refreshed and whole.

The wall was ahead of him. He tried to rise, only to collapse under the weight of his own body.

Gasping against the pain, he twisted his head to gaze at the moon. Just as his vision faded, he saw the silhouette of another horse rise up against the slender crescent.

* * *

That night Rasoul found himself wandering the Gardens of the Headwaters, searching for the flower that had so briefly impressed itself upon his senses. He had spent most of the day in the market or lounging in the shade, enjoying the novelty of being mobbed by foals and idling without work. But now, in the dark and watched by a single, wary guard, he plodded across the spongy, well-kept lawn, nosing at bushes and plants until his muzzle was was coated with a riotous melange of dusty pollen. None came close to his memory of that morning. It was disappointing, but not unexpected.

After pausing for a short drink at the fountains and paying his respects to the guard, who seemed quite put out by the amount he drank, Rasoul returned to Qamar's café near the market. The building was dark, Qamar having retired with the setting sun, and Rasoul had to pick his way carefully through the tables, hookahs and one or two prone guests who had fallen asleep with pipes still in their mouths.

He rolled into the back room, where Qamar had thoughtfully laid out a second bedroll for him, but as he moved toward it and his eyes adjusted to the dark, Rasoul could see that neither bed was occupied. Qamar was gone.

"Lights Above save me from the sun-touched," Rasoul growled as he wheeled and stomped from the building, no longer caring that he disturbed the sleeping Horse scattered on the floor.

Outside the squat building he paused. His head swung back and forth, peering up at the cliffs, and down toward the marketplace and the city gates, but neither offered any clue of Qamar's path. Rasoul pursed his lips and turned toward the gates, settling into an easy lope that carried him there in moments.

The night door was open when he arrived, with a guard stood half way through and conversing with another horse on the far side. The guard retreated into the city as Rasoul rolled up next to him; he looked up at the camel with little interest and seemed almost ready to dismiss him until Rasoul spoke.

"Did a horse come through here? Qamar, the coffee maker?"

"Outside. Said he had to go to the desert."

"And you let him go?" Rasoul rolled his eyes. He would have rolled his entire head, but the sight tended to put these skittish Horse on edge. Instead he leaned down toward the guard and glared at him, full in the face. "He is obviously sun-touched! Why did you not stop him?"

The guard shrugged as he turned away. "My job's keeping things out, not in."

Rejecting the idea that he should chase down and argue with the guard, Rasoul turned to the door. He growled out a sigh at the sight of it; the structure was built with Horse in mind and was just tall enough that they could enter if they ducked, which was something of a problem. Rasoul was a camel.

He lowered his head and pushed it through the gateway. Qamar was already some distance away, walking slowly toward the end of the valley, but unless he started running Rasoul would be able to catch him easily before he reached the sands.

"I am coming, Qamar," he grunted, lowering himself to his knees. With a careful, uncomfortable shuffle he managed to squeeze most of his bulk in through the door, though getting his hump beneath the low lintel was an exercise in perseverance that only a camel would willingly endure, though it did leave him muttering under his breath. "I shall never complain about the door to your café again, Qamar, if you will only return with me."

Free of the door, Rasoul was soon back on his feet and loping along the valley. Qamar's gait was deceptively fast, and by the time Rasoul reached him he was already at the flat valley mouth, tromping across a stone shelf that reached out to the desert proper. Rasoul lumbered alongside Qamar and then around, thudding to a halt a few lengths before his friend.

"Qamar, where are you going?"

"I have to find it, Rasoul."

"Qamar..." Rasoul stepped forward and held out a foreleg at Qamar's chest height. The horse ploughed into him, stumbling to a halt as Rasoul twisted the leg around his neck.

"Ras, let me go!"

"No." Rasoul tugged Qamar up close to him, holding the horse so tight he could barely move, let alone escape. He curled his neck around to hold his mouth close to Qamar's ear. "You are not prepared, you are not ready. You will die out there, Qamar. I have seen far stronger than you leeched dry by the sands."

"You don't understand, I have to find it!"

"Find what?"

"The temple! The city!" Qamar struggled to free himself from Rasoul's grasp, but the camel held him firm. "There was a garden, a lake, there were flowers. She was there, Rasoul!"

"Qamar!"

"I have to find her!"

"Qamar, be still!"

With a firm thrust of his leg, Rasoul pushed Qamar away, The horse stumbled and fell to his haunches on the scrub and dirt of the plain, his bewildered eyes staring at Rasoul as if betrayed. He struggled back to his feet, but before he could move again Rasoul thrust his head close to Qamar's own and glared at him.

"You cannot go out there," Rasoul finally said. Qamar tried to move around the camel, but Rasoul danced nimbly to one side and held out a foreleg again, halting the horse in his tracks. "You will die, Qamar."

"You can't stop me! If you try, I'll call the guard!"

"And tell them a camel is robbing you? Idiot!" Rasoul whacked Qamar on his head, knocking the horse sideways with the weight of his blow. "Fool and son of a fool! You would do that to my people and yours, just so you can go and be turned to a skeleton in the distant sands?"

They stared at one another. Qamar was panting, though whether from exertion or something else, Rasoul had no idea. His eyes kept darting from Rasoul's face to the horizon, while his body shivered and twitched, as if he were about to take flight. The camel closed his eyes. "

"Lights Above save me from what I am about to do," he muttered. "I will take you out to the sands, Qamar. If it will knock this foolish idea out of your head and keep you from dying, I will take you."

"O-oh. I..."

"Do not thank me," Rasoul grunted. He nudged Qamar back toward the city gates, not even letting him look back at the desert. "I expect payment."

"You've had enough of my c-coffee to cover it," Qamar replied. His teeth were chattering, though it wasn't cold; sweat lathered his back and hips, as if he had been running all day. "Ras, she—"

"Quiet."

The guards ignored both of them on the way back. So much for keeping things out, Rasoul groused, but only in his head. There was no point in getting their attention if they were being so lax, it would only end in heartache.

They paused at Qamar's café only long enough to retrieve bedrolls and Rasoul's water bags, before dragging his friend up to the fountains in the garden. The guard was still there, and again watched Rasoul with a distant curiosity as the camel lead his friend to the water. The bags were tossed into the pool, and then Rasoul leaned forward to drink. He paused with his lips just above the water.

"Drink, Qamar."

"But I don't have any bags."

"So drink! It is better to keep it in your belly anyway."

With a withering glare, Qamar leaned forward to the water and took a few small gulps, before leaning back with a sigh. Rasoul shook his head.

"Drink."

"But I already did."

"Qamar, where we are going there are no convenient troughs and wells. There is nothing but sand. All the water you carry will be all the water you will have. Drink." To illustrate the point, Rasoul leaned into pool and began to swallow. He could feel Qamar's eyes on him, the horse likely goggling at just how much water he was taking in.

"But surely it makes more sense to ration..." Qamar's voice faded as Rasoul abandoned his drink to face him. The camel didn't speak at first, letting his water settle in his stomach.

"What do you know of the sands, Qamar? Nothing! You horses scrape around the edges of the desert and call yourselves kings. You build your fortresses on the great stones and call yourselves lords of all you see, but you never leave your rocks and bushes and rivers, you never travel so far that the mountains themselves are lost to your sight, not without a Perfect guide. The desert does not forgive, Qamar, nor does it restrain its fury in the face of your careful little sips of water. I have encountered travellers dead and dried out, with full canteens strapped to their backs. I have found raving lunatics drunk on the blood of their dead comrades, that they stole to live but a single day longer. I have seen withered bones of those the desert did take, within a hundred yards of an oasis that they could not see because their thirst had blinded them. So you will drink like a camel, Qamar, and be glad of it when the day is done."

He turned away to retrieve his water bags from the pool, and wa rewarded a moment later by the sound of Qamar desperately sucking down as much water as he could swallow. Nodding, smiling, Rasoul slung the bags over his hump and turned to look at the sky.

"We shall travel first to Al Malad and my brother, a day from here, where I shall find you some proper clothing for the desert," he said. "And then we shall turn south to the wastes of Hubal. You will understand then, Qamar."

He turned to his friend and grinned, but Qamar's eyes were already trailing toward some distant place.

Lights Above, Rasoul thought, shaking his head slowly as they set back along the path to the gates. Truly you have been touched.