Beyond the Veil

☼ Third Sun ☼

Al-Seglawi's wind was an unstoppable force, finding ways to slither through the spaces between the tents that were raised in two rings around the common work area. As Aisha made her way from her families' tent to the center, she glanced around at the disparity in the homes around her.

Each tent was a representation of wealth and status of the family that owned it. Lower families like her own lived along the outer circle with simple tents of one or two colors, while those with more means comprised that of the inner. The more wealth a family had, the more luxuries they could use to adorn their homes as well as themselves.

None of them, however, could compare to the glory of the sheikha's pavilion that crossed over both circles in its size. It was more than just a home to Wardee and her elders: it was a living reminder of the herd and its rich history.

Aisha stopped outside the large tent, trying to settle her nerves by focusing on the breathtaking work of art in front of her. The cloth was dark green with white stripes along the bottom hem—wealth and prosperity built upon purity and goodness. Silver and gold coins dangled in long strands from the overhang to catch in the wind with melodious chimes.

The entire expanse of green was embroidered with an intricate gold pattern that narrated the history of their herd. At the very top sat the symbol of Al-Seglawi: a curved line with six dots beneath it to represent her sacred winds. Spiraling down from it were depictions of an important event from every sheikha's rule, each connected by a single thread to denote the order as well as signify unity.

When there was no more room, the tent would be expanded, but there was still plenty of space for the sheikhas to come. With a sense of pride filling her chest, Aisha looked forward to what Wardee would sew by hoof. What would happen in her life to earn such an honor? A part of her hoped that she wouldn't just witness it, but even be a part of it.

Aisha pawed at the sand to release the nervous energy that had built up within her. Once she felt as settled as she was going to get, she lowered her head and gave a whinny through clenched teeth so that it rumbled in her throat. The sound was low, only loud enough for those nearby to hear.

A moment later, the flap opened and a head leaned out. The pair of deep brown eyes that looked at her were barely discernible in the sea of black cloth covering their owner.

"You may enter," Elder In'am rasped in a voice like falling sand, stepping back to allow Aisha passage while keeping a hoof against the tent flap.

Aisha said nothing; it wasn't her place to speak yet. She merely crossed the threshold from the hot morning's sun into the cool, large round tent that welcomed her with the smell of agarwood and cinnamon over hot coals. A burner in the middle of the room glowed, casting a faint light across the woven rug upon which the elders sat.

Across from the entrance, Sheikha Wardee was perched atop a wide, round cushion of shimmery silk. Shadows carved their way across her fine-boned face, accentuating the elegance of her long muzzle that faded from light roan to black. She practically radiated the power of Al-Seglawi that was bestowed upon her by her bloodline, her silver eyes glinting in the flickering light.

"May Al-Seglawi give you strength," Aisha murmured with respect, bowing low to touch her nose to the sheikha's hooves before backing away.

"Strength have I become, Aisha bint Sahar," Wardee said in a placid voice, dipping her head to sip from her tea before she asked, "What is it that brings you before me?"

Aisha prostrated herself on the rug and kept her head low. "Sheikha, I request your guidance and wisdom. My sisters went out into the desert and Sahar sent me to retrieve them. They went into a cave—"

A hushed murmur circulated among the elders, but Wardee raised a hoof to silence them, her eyes never leaving Aisha's. "Continue."

"I encountered a creature in the waters of Al-Hamdani," Aisha continued, her ears pinning back. "A horse of mist and light with a voice of music. And—And yesternight, I saw another. A different one."

All of the elders turned to look at the sheikha, who remained unmoved. Her gaze pierced through Aisha with a burning intensity, yet it chilled her to the very core. Then, with a light jingle from the ornate jewelry and bells she wore, Wardee rose and strode forward. Her presence was a palpable force that sent a shiver down Aisha's spine.

"Come," was all that Wardee said, and all that she needed to.

Aisha waited until Wardee walked past her to exit the tent before she straightened up and followed. A hush fell over the mares in the center of camp when her presence was noticed, and Sahar looked ready to bolt over when she noticed her daughter walking behind the sheikha.

Wardee moved with a long gait that barely left hoofprints in the sand, stopping at one of the groups and inclining her head to peer at them. "Is the khatar al'ahmar ready?"

One mare bowed her head before gesturing at the bright red vase affixed to a neckband. "Yes, Sheikha."

"Good." Wardee didn't look at Aisha as she commanded, "Give it to her."

Sahar's ears swiveled forward. "Sheikha, she is hardly—"

Saying nothing, Wardee silenced Aisha's mother with a single look, and Aisha grinned under the safety of her headdress. It was an honor to carry the khatar al'ahmar for the sheikha, one that was certainly never afforded to someone like her. Her family was of little consequence to the hierarchy in the herd. Perhaps she was the first in her line to perform this sacred task.

Two mares stood on opposite sides of Aisha, both holding the strap and lifting it over Aisha's head, then down her neck. The taut rope dug into her withers when they let go as the weight of the vase dragged it down, which pressed against the center of her chest like an oversized pendant.

Aisha pushed all thoughts from her mind—smug thoughts of what her mother's expression was at that moment, curious thoughts of how this related to her inquiry, excited thoughts to see the ceremony—and dedicated herself to following Wardee out of the camp and into the desert.

There was great danger outside of camp, but Aisha felt no fear. Al-Seglawi was with the sheikha, and the sheikha was with her. She was safe.

That didn't stop the sights and sounds of ar-Rub Wafir from invading her thoughts, however. Creatures somewhere among the distant dunes yeowled, a shaheen falcon overhead cast a broad shadow across the sand, and the wind kicked sand up beneath her robes to bite at her legs.

Aisha knew little about the ceremony's details, but she was aware of three things: first, that it required a safe distance from camp in case something went wrong; second, that only the sheikha had the power to perform it; and third, that it was Al-Seglawi herself that reached into the vase to separate the khatar.

In the back of her mind, she realized—with sudden and forceful excitement that took her breath away—the connection between her inquiry and the ceremony. She had seen a Djinn. Two Djinn, in fact. If Wardee summoned Al-Seglawi, she would witness the reaction to Aisha's presence.

No one had ever seen the Djinn who wasn't a sheikha. This was how Aisha would not only be a part of her herd's history, but change her family's life. Her heart fluttered against her ribs as she imagined the future that was all at once a possibility.

Her family would become almost as powerful as the sheikha, and all because of Aisha. Better still, what if Wardee adopted Aisha as her own? The sheikha had no daughter yet, after all. Oh, the look on her mother's face would be priceless if that happened.

"Set it down," Wardee commanded as she came to a sudden halt and turned to face Aisha with an impassive yet piercing gaze.

Aisha thrust every thought aside to focus on setting the vase down safely. A single mistake could cost her life. The ahmar's deep red hues after it was purified of the khatar were prized above all others; perhaps that was because of the risk involved in it.

Aisha lowered her head to set the vase down, the sand eagerly accepting the sudden weight and shifting around its base. She took a careful step back to slip out of the harness, and the rope was mercifully compliant in sliding off to drop to the ground—though it did take her headdress with it.

The wind stirred to life as Wardee lifted her head high, nose to the sky. A single note hummed in her throat, reverberating deep within Aisha's soul. She elongated her forelegs in a formal bow, softened the hum until it faded away, then straightened up to her full height.

"Al-Seglawi," she called into the wind that swirled around them in response. "We seek your blessing. Purify this offering so that we may walk your path."

Aisha felt her robe rustle and her mane flutter in the breeze, but there were no grains of sand brushing past her ears. It was the pure wind of Al-Seglawi, and it stirred a black cloud of powder from the vase, leaving nothing behind but the harmless, red ahmar that would become precious vermilion.

It all took but a breath's moment, and yet Aisha felt exhausted once the wind died down. There was a tremor seizing her limbs, as if she might collapse at the slightest touch.

"What did you see?" Wardee asked, still staring at Aisha with a strange intensity.

Aisha furrowed her brow, her gaze flickering away to avoid those burning silver eyes. "I saw the khatar removed from the ahmar by Al-Seglawi."

"But you did not see Al-Seglawi herself." Wardee's expression finally shifted and she stared at Aisha with a darkness clouding her silver eyes. "You came to me because you thought your vision's creatures were a Djinn, yet it was a mirage that you saw. A mirage from the over-imaginative mind of a youngling, and nothing more."

Aisha's head jerked up and she tried not to flash her teeth, but her voice bit back unbidden, "It wasn't a mirage! It was real!"

Wardee narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to cast her shadow over Aisha's prostrated form. "Retrieve the vessel, return it to the herd, and do not speak of this nonsense again. Your mouth runs away with childish fantasies when your mind should be on the Khetbah."

Without another word between them, Wardee walked past Aisha, leaving her in the silence of the desert. Aisha felt a heat within her stronger than the sun on her back. The sand beneath her felt distant while her mind was a storm of emotion.

كيف يمكنكِ رؤيتي وسماعي؟

Aisha clenched her eyes shut when the sound pierced her ears from inside her memories. The wind gently shifted the folds of cloth that protected her, pushing on the underside of her muzzle to force her head up. She opened her eyes to see the black powder still in the air, and just as long as it took her to blink in surprise, it almost felt like it was looking back at her.

Then the wind returned and blew the powder to the far corners of the desert, taking her headdress along with it.

There were so many questions filling Aisha like a thirsty vessel, but she knew it was pointless. Her childish fantasy of becoming the—what? The next sheikha? It all seemed suddenly foolish, and she regretted saying a word to Wardee at all.

Only the sheikha could see a Djinn, and only her firstborn daughter could be the next sheikha. Aisha was neither.

With a feeling that was lost between embarrassment and frustration, she grabbed the vase's rope between her teeth and rose to her hooves. The walk back to camp was a slow march, and each step seemed to drag her down further into regret. She knew her mother would be waiting for her with an interrogation the moment she got within sight of camp.

All she wanted to do was pretend it had never happened, that all of it really was just a mirage. The pressure of the Khetbah was making her desperate for a way out. While she knew it was her privilege to be cared for by a stallion, it also meant that she would have to be resigned to becoming a wife and mother.

Aisha wasn't ready to give up on making her own way within the herd. There had to be something more for her to do. She didn't want to end up like Sahar or Qadira, just another mare within their line to sit at the bottom with little hope of becoming someone great.

Movement off to her right caught her eye and she glanced over to see a lizard perched on a rock, both the color of sand with flecks of darker brown. The twitching legs of an insect that stuck out from its mouth were a stark reminder of the constancy of the world she lived in.

All life followed the same principles: from the unforgiving food chain of predator and prey to the hierarchy of families within the herds, something had to be at the bottom for others to be at the top. She just wished it didn't have to be her stuck so low.

As soon as Aisha crested the final dune, Sahar was already storming toward her with narrowed eyes and pinned ears. "What happened?"

Aisha let go of the rope to drop the vase at her mother's hooves, her own eyes downcast. "I aided in the ritual."

"Why were you with the sheikha?" Sahar put a hoof on the vase almost protectively. "What trouble are you in?"

The frustration rose to the surface again and Aisha couldn't swallow it this time. She glared up at her mother and snapped, "Why do you think I'm in trouble? Why couldn't the sheikha have simply wanted my assistance? Why would that be so hard to believe?!"

Sahar opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she simply snorted and jerked her head to the side in a quick gesture at the young mares sprinting about the camp. "You should practice before the herd of Al-Kehilan arrives. Last year, you ran too fast. You must learn the balance of being swift enough to be caught without losing your honor."

"If I'm never caught," Aisha muttered bitterly as she walked past her mother, "then I will never lose my honor."

"Aisha!" Sahar whipped around to continue to face her, ears now pinned flat against her mane. She seethed, breath sucking in through clenched teeth, before she exhaled and murmured in a lyrical manner, "The arrogance of the daughter reflects on the teachings of the mother."

Calmed by her poetic mantra, Sahar continued with calm composure, "Why must you be stubborn on this? Your sister is happily cared for by her husband."

Aisha came to a halt and rolled her eyes. "Despite the name you gave her, Qadira has no grain of strength within her." She sighed, the tension leaving her muscles as the frustration gave way to regret once more. "I'm tired, Ummi. I'm going to go rest with Basma while she helps me prepare."

She could feel Sahar's glower on her back when she resumed walking away. "Basma will reach the age soon, and she will allow herself to be caught by a fine stallion. What will you do then?"

Aisha said nothing, for there was nothing to say. She already knew that Basma would follow the path of obedience because she was a delicate little thing. Basma needed a stallion to care for her, and how could Aisha begrudge her that?

When she slipped through the tent flaps and spied her sleeping sister, Aisha couldn't help but smile. "What a nice life it must be," She said, walking over and lowering her head to Basma's ear, "to sleep all day and dance all night."

The ear flicked before Basma stirred with an incoherent mumble. She shifted on her pillows to angle her head so she could smile up at Aisha. "Would, if I could, to work alongside you rather than sleep alone."

Aisha chuffled with amusement and sat down on the rug. "Unfortunately, I require your assistance. Ummi says the herd of Al-Kehilan is going to be here soon."

Basma gasped with delight and bolted upright. "The Khetbah! I almost forgot!"

A wry grin forced its way onto Aisha's muzzle. "How could you forget? It's been all everyone can think of!"

"Sorry!" Basma hurried across the tent to retrieve a basket set against the rest of their belongings, bringing it over with the handle held between her teeth. She sat down and used her delicate hooves to begin detangling Aisha's mane. "It doesn't come up when I go out."

Aisha sighed, closed her eyes, and tried not to flinch as Basma worked a particularly angry knot. "What a nice life it must be," she repeated, this time with quiet sincerity.

Companionable silence coiled around them while Basma's hooves performed magic. Soon, her mane was smooth and ready to be braided. Each lock of hair was maneuvered with careful precision, and if Aisha were to speak, Basma would lose her focus and have to start over.

Once the braiding of her mane was completed, it was time to be decorated. For special occasions, Basma would dip the tip of her hoof in black kohl to apply the symbol of Al-Seglawi. For the Khetbah, however, the design was more extravagant and traveled down the side of her face to disappear under a veil that was draped over her muzzle.

Slowly, irritation began to bubble up in Aisha's chest as Basma wrapped her frame in layer after layer of sheer cloth. The intention was that, when she ran, she would look like the wind itself; all she felt was the weight of expectation strangling her.

"Oh, Aisha, you look wonderful," Basma said as she finished the last wrap of cloth. "You will be caught by a suitor for sure this time!"

Aisha snorted, the veil fluttering from the sudden breath. "If I have my way, that will never happen."

Basma pulled her forehooves in toward her chest. "But you're of age. Is it not time?"

"Why must it be?" Aisha stood and frowned down at herself. "Am I not perfect as I am?" She shook a hoof to try to free it from the suffocating shroud.

Basma only blinked. They had this conversation countless times before the previous Khetbah, and judging by the look on her face, there was going to be a repeat performance.

"Aisha," Basma began in a soft voice, "it is our privilege and right to be taken care of by a stallion. What else would you do instead? You don't want to have to—" Her voice lowered, as if she were speaking ill of the Djinn themselves. "—to go mining, like a stallion, do you?"

With a soft huff, Aisha stuck her nose in the air and breathed in the distant scents flowing in through the tent flaps. Exotic spices were carried along the draft; the herd of Al-Kehilan was approaching from upwind. "And what if I do?"

Basma gasped and jumped to her hooves. "But why?!"

"Because I'm just as capable as they are." Aisha snorted and strode through the tent flaps into the blinding sun, ending the unpleasant conversation. Her mind was made up, and not even her love for Basma could change it.

If she could work alongside the stallions rather than sit at camp, then she had a chance. In all the stories of the herd's history, she had never heard of an Al-Seglawi mare that went mining. She could be the first. More than that, she could prove her worth as more than just a kept mare.

The camp was full of energy as eligible mares and stallions watched the horizon for the herd of Al-Kehilan. Mothers bragged to one another over whose daughter would attract the best husband, and whose son would find the best wife—save for Sahar, who stood amidst them all with her ears folded back.

Aisha's lips curled into a frown and she stalked across the sand to join the giggling group. Marriage meant she could no longer lounge with Basma; she could no longer dance across the dunes whenever she pleased; she could no longer enjoy the freedom that she lived and breathed.

"My first Khetbah! I'm so excited," Nazli bint Amna declared in a voice that struggled to remain even. Her hooves scuffed the sand as she shifted in place, her tail flicking beneath the sheer fabric they all wore for the occasion. She turned her head to look at Aisha and asked, "What sort of stallion are you hoping to be caught by this year, Aisha bint Sahar?"

"None," she bit back, relishing in the awkward silence that followed her response.

Hassan bin Tahira cleared his throat. "Well, I'm hoping to win the favor of a mare of Al-Hamdani." A grin broke across his muzzle. "I wouldn't mind never having to go thirsty again, surrounded by all that water."

The memory of the cave flashed through Aisha's mind and she shivered as she felt the stagnant air invading her lungs once again. It was hard to breathe. Cold seeped into her muscles. Her mind filled with that musical note.

يمكنك رؤيتى؟

The sound reverberated against her skull until it felt like she might fall apart and she hissed, "Shut up!"

"What?" Hassan looked at her, his grin changing like the shifting sands into a frown. "Why do you bother to show up, Aisha? You shamed yourself last year. Do you intend to waste the time of another stallion again?"

Aisha sucked in a breath of warm, free air before she glared up at him. "Do you intend to waste your life in the wind by hiding underground?"

Hassan's ears pinned back and he lowered his head to be at her level as he sneered, "Do you intend to waste your life as an embarrassment to us all?"

Before Aisha could respond, cheers rang out all around them and they looked ahead to see the herd of Al-Kehilan cresting the dunes. As the Givers of Life, they served as traders between the other herds and were a welcome sight on any horizon. They brought with them spices, food, clothes, and—once a year—guidance to where all the herds would meet for the Khetbah.

Aisha followed the group of eligible horses to meet Al-Kehilan's horses halfway up the dune, her hooves scuffing the sand. How greatly she wanted to run in the opposite direction and flee this tedious affair, but where would she go? A horse alone in the desert was a dead horse. She needed to appease her mother by taking part in the ceremony whether she liked it or not.

Just as she came to a stop a few paces away from where the eligible horses of both herds were already mingling, Aisha heard the sound of little hooves thundering up from behind her. She caught sight of two white foals they bolted past her and before she could yell their names, they had already engaged the first follower of Al-Kehilan.

"Do you have any sweets?" Zahra asked, bounding in a circle around the stallion.

"Sweets!" Nawar chimed as she followed at her twin sister's hooves.

The stallion came to a halt to avoid stepping on the foals, watched them a moment, then laughed. It was a deep sound that filled Aisha with a strange sensation as she hurried toward them.

"Of course I have sweets," he said, one hoof raised to stop Zahra before she made another rotation around him. "But your mother is coming."

Aisha froze in place, then quickly looked over her shoulder. Her mother was well distracted with loading their folded tent and pillows onto her father's back. Confusion replacing the irritation that had been swirling in her chest, she looked back to see the stallion grinning at her.

"Oh, forgive me." His voice rumbled with amusement. "You're wearing the garb of the Khetbah, aren't you? So that must make you their sister. I just assumed a mare like you would already be wed."

Aisha's ears pinned back. "A mare like me? And what does that mean?"

The stallion stepped toward her, close enough where she felt heat radiating off his tall, muscular form. His head lowered to hers and she felt enraptured by his smoldering, dark brown eyes. Though he was a follower of Al-Kehilan, he reminded her more of Al-Hadban: a searing beam of sunlight that threatened to melt her from his gaze alone.

"It means," he said in a low voice, "you're far too beautiful to still be eligible, though I am grateful that you are."

A new heat surrounded Aisha, this one from somewhere deep inside her, and she returned his sultry look with a scowl. "Zahra, Nawar," she called, jerking her head away to tear herself from his gaze. "Go to Ummi before she worries."

The little foals just stood there, their eyes wide. She flashed her teeth in a sneer and they squealed in both fear and amusement, galloping down the dune to where their mother stood with Basma and Qadira.

When she looked back at the stallion, she felt herself grow hot again. "Is that all?"

His brow raised. "Is what all?"

"My beauty. Is that all you see?" She started walking forward to be with the rest of her Khetbah kin. "How shallow."

The sound of hooves against the sand followed after her until he walked by her side. "What else do you expect me to notice at barely a moment's meeting?"

She felt her muscles twitch and she opened her mouth to reply, but he continued instead.

"But now I see that behind those eyes is a fire most intriguing."

Fire? No, she was no fire—she was the wind. She was Al-Seglawi's shamal, blowing across the desert, seeking to be ever faster. Her hooves barely grazed the sand as she trotted ahead of him, ignoring the chuckle that filled the space between them.