☼ Sixth Sun ☼

"Aisha."

The sound of her name tried to penetrate the comfortable haze of sleep, but she held on to the last wisps of an already fading dream. She had been running, free—living, free—anywhere else, free.

A low rumble followed and a sturdy hoof pushed at her side. "Aisha, get up."

"But I'm tired," she grumbled, rolling over and nestling closer to where Basma slept at her side.

Her younger sister shifted in her sleep to unconsciously push Aisha away with a plaintive sound. Even though the sun hadn't even begun to filter through the tent flaps, it was already growing too hot for physical contact.

"That is what you said yesterday, and the day before." Her father shook his head, irritation slipping into his voice. "If this is what we will do every morning, then I'll leave you behind to contend with your mother instead."

That sent a jolt from the base of Aisha's tail all the way up her neck, and she jumped to her hooves so fast that her head spun. "No, I'm awake. I'm awake."

She looked up at Adil, his large and muscular form cutting an imposing figure against the darkness. He was normally a stallion of few words, and yet he had said more to her since she started working with him than he had her entire life prior. That sentiment chased away the remaining fog that lingered within her skull, and she smiled in spite of herself.

Adil retrieved her robe and headdress from where they had been discarded just before Aisha collapsed onto the pillows the night prior. It was a new robe, solid black and shorter than what she used to wear, which kept it out of her way as she worked. The dark cloth was marred by the days of labor she had already endured, waiting to be tarnished entirely by the many more ahead. She clenched her jaw and head her held high; this was the freedom she'd asked for and been granted.

Adil helped her dress in silence—and then she returned the favor—while the rest of their family slumbered. Sahar was stretched out with only her head on a pillow, while Nawar and Zahra were on either side of her, curled up on their own special pillows like kept pets. Aisha couldn't help but smile when she looked over to see that Basma had rolled over, seeking her presence out in her sleep.

"Come," Adil said as he turned to make his way out of the tent with his short robe billowing around his legs. "There is enough time that there may still be some pilaf and bread left for us."

As Aisha followed him, she felt a pang of hunger urge her to run ahead, but she kept her composure. Her presence among the stallions was still strenuous at best, and acting like an immature brat would only exacerbate the issue.

Conversation drew to a stop as she and Adil approached the circle of stallions in the center of camp. The very first rays of sunlight illuminated the copper pot from which rich, sweet tea flowed when tipped over an empty and eager cup. It shone like a beacon of early morning hope to uplift their sluggish, sleep-addled spirits.

Aisha settled onto an empty spot beside her father and, when a plate of seasoned rice and bread was pushed in front of her, wasted no time. She ate as if she had never eaten before and might never again; there was a long day ahead of her, and she needed every grain of rice and crumb of bread to get her through.

The small cup of tea was, however, thoroughly savored. The Souq had replenished their reserves of spices and herbs. Various notes bloomed across her tongue from the first sip: the warm bitterness of wild sage, the spicy citrus of cardamom, the biting heat of cinnamon—all dancing over the heavy sweetness of copious amounts of sugar.

Unfortunately, just as she was going for her second lap of the precious drink, the stallions rose to their hooves under the clipped instruction of the short and stout raqeeb, Hadi bin Shazi.

"Up," he barked out, always single-word orders. He was of the firm belief that time wasted was an offense to Al-Seglawi herself. The more they worked, the more they could mine the gems she led them to. "Go."

There were no complaints. This was their duty, and they did it with pride. Aisha grabbed the cup between her teeth and tilted her head back to drain it before she scrambled after the herd of stallions. Her father dawdled just enough so that they could walk together.

He shot her a glance with his brow just slightly raised. It was the closest he had ever given to a look of amusement. "Nice to not have to eat on the run, isn't it?"

"So nice," Aisha said, grinning underneath the safety of her headdress. "Maybe I'll get up the first time you try tomorrow."

A soft puff of air stirred his cloth, somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "I would prefer if you learned to get up on your own."

Aisha's ears swiveled back and she averted her gaze. "I'm still adjusting to this new life, Abi."

She could hear his quiet rumble of delight at the simple endearment any child would give their father. It made her reflect, somewhat bashfully, on how little of a relationship she'd had with him prior.

Growing up, Jabir had been his favorite, and Aisha had been too preoccupied with tormenting Qadira to care. When Basma was born, that was where Aisha's attention shifted. And, then, she reached an age where fighting with Sahar filled her days. There had been no room for her father, and he had never forced his way in.

Now, however, they were becoming something almost like friends.

"If you intend to follow this path in earnest, then you must adjust quickly." He glanced at her again. His brow had settled back into its slightly furrowed state, as if forever bowing under an unseen weight. "Of course, you could return to your mother's side. Sleep in. Work in the shade."

And, just like that, the bashful joy she had felt was washed away by irritation. He still didn't think she belonged there. She said nothing, but quickened her pace to trot with the rest of the stallions who had already taken up position along the dune to begin their digging.

It was a grueling process to unearth the ore. Al-Seglawi's wind would lead them to the bounty, but the sand was not her domain. Her herd was responsible for shifting the sands deep enough to find the bedrock below where precious gems lay in wait. Once they had cleared away enough sand to establish a sizable quarry, tools were affixed to the stallions' forelegs to carve the ore out from its lode.

Aisha took her position with them along the lowest point between the dunes, where reaching the rock would be easiest. Time was of the essence, for the winds would shift the sand and undo their work in spite of the temporary barriers erected by Raqeeb Hadi. The stallions around her scooped sand with ease using their hooves, which were wider and more pronounced than her own.

But they required tools to break up the stone, she noted with bitter pride. She was able to extract chunks of ore and gems with her bare hooves, sharper and more precise than theirs due to Al-Seglawi's blessing.

Before long, she had broken a considerable sweat, enough to cause her robe to stick to her coat. Her legs were raw from the relentless grit that cut at her with each dig and scoop.

She wanted to throw her robe to the ground and stand at the top of the dune to soak in the breeze. A brief reprieve from the heat that sapped her strength almost seemed worth the inevitable consequences. Perhaps she was going mad from the sun's touch; how much longer would it be before she succumbed to mirages?

Dread pooled in her stomach when she glanced up at the sun to see it still far from its zenith. There was so much left of the day ahead, and she already felt at her limit.

With a shake of her head, Aisha returned her focus to her task. She had to work twice as hard just to keep up with them. A small part of her knew that she was ill-suited to this labor, but giving up was no longer an option.

"Aisha bint Sahar," Raqeeb Hadi sneered as he trotted toward her and tilted his head back to meet her gaze. His lack of respect for her presence dripped from his voice, as well as from the use of more than one word. "If you're going to make as much progress as a petulant foal, then perhaps you would be better suited returning to camp."

She felt a snarl part her lips and was grateful for the headdress that shielded most of her expression from view. He caught the narrowing of her eyes, however, and pushed his face up into hers.

"It's that sour attitude that brought your mother to force you into such labor," he muttered. "I have as little interest in you being here as you do."

Aisha's ears swiveled back and she drove her forelegs into the sand. "That's where you're wrong! I've wanted to be here more than you can imagine!"

There was a flash of amusement across his visible features as he pulled back. "Then prove it."

That set her blood on fire. She wanted nothing more than to do just that, so she put everything she had into moving the sand like Al-Seglawi's samoon, the sacred wind that formed the dunes each day.

Across from her, as she reared to her tallest height, she caught a glimpse of pleasure in her father's eyes before he refocused his attention. The sudden burst of pride sent her forehooves sailing down and deep into the sand.

Once she found a rhythm for rearing, striking, and scooping, her ears twitched at the sound of the hooves around her moving in harmony, as if each were a beat against a drum. When they had all fallen into an almost melodious pattern, a voice rose up from down the line.

"The pull of my heart

"The pull of the sand

"Drawn up from the dunes

"By this young stallion strong."

"And so do I," the others replied, "and so do I."

Aisha could only listen as they sang, the words still foreign to her but the purpose clear. Song brought the herd closer in spirit, and just hearing it made her heart swell as the burden of work seemed lifted.

"If yesterday is as today

"And if tomorrow is the same

"Never will I be without purpose

"Under the guidance of Al-Seglawi."

"And so will I," the reply came again, "and so will I."

They carried on until Hadi whistled to signal the height of the sun's journey was approaching. Aisha followed the stallions to a temporary canopy that brought sweet relief in its shade, where they took long draws of water from their canvas bags and relished in the breeze.

"Not bad," her father remarked, his voice briefly muffled as he slipped his headdress off. His black mane was plastered against the side of his neck from the sweat that glistened along his light grey coat.

The stallion beside him snorted and shook out his equally sweat-laden mane. "I expected your daughter to already be crying her way back home days ago. Abu al-banat, you've raised a daughter like a son."

Adil shot him a narrow-eyed stare, but Aisha startled them both with a breathless laugh. "Please, Abi. Let him speak into the wind if he likes. I've endured worse sitting with the mares." She removed her own headdress and heaved a sigh of relief at the exposure to the cool breeze. "No, I find I quite prefer mining. Gossip bites harder than sand."

There was a long pause before laughter rose up from several of the nearby stallions, deep and unlike the sounds her mother and the others made back at camp. It was earnest and true, and it brought a smile to her lips.

"The day's not over yet, and there are more after it," another stallion cut in, his voice low but clear. "There is still time for her to break."

She angled her head to glare at him, but the realization that he was not the only one looking at her with contempt stopped her before she could even narrow her eyes. The mirth that had bloomed in the stallions around her was no more than a single grain of sand in an otherwise harsh and unrelenting desert.

All she could do was suppress the urge to get in the stallion's face and, instead, turned away. Her father was no longer looking at her, and the laughter was long gone. The stallions moved forward with new conversation and she felt suddenly small.

Around her, they all engaged one another in teasing banter about their mares back at the camp or, in the case of the younger ones, the lack thereof. Aisha felt familiarity in that moment, when biting remarks were loosely veiled behind kind words. But there was a vital difference: all of it was said in jest.

None of them averted their gazes in shame, instead giving back as well as they got. It had taken her a few days to catch the nuance, and she found she greatly preferred the way the stallions talked to one another.

Aisha smiled, slipping her headdress on when Raqeeb Hadi corralled them back to where the ore waited. It would take time, but she felt more at ease here than she ever had back at camp. This was where she belonged, and she was determined to prove it.

More than fire in her blood fueled her this time. Raw determination coursed through her as she threw all of her weight into striking the sand and kicking it out of the way. The stallions around her were already gathering piles of ore and she had yet to find a single piece.

She was soon rewarded with the sensation of hitting something much harder than sand—followed by surprise and embarrassment as the ore fell apart under her hooves. The sound of it drew attention to her, and the stallion nearest to her whinnied in alarm.

Mixed in with the sand were bright red shards: khatar al'ahmar. The red danger, so volatile that only the most experienced mares were allowed to grind it down.

And she had driven her hooves straight into it.

Then there was a sudden rush of activity as the stallions swarmed around her, pushing her out of the way, yelling to one another in frantic and broken sentences.

"—be careful, we—"

"—al'ahmar, she found—"

"—lucky it didn't—"

It was as if Aisha was, all at once, a little foal who had broken something precious, and the adults were too concerned with it to make sure she was all right. Logically, she knew she was fine. Her legs were still attached to her, after all. But her whole body tremored at the mere thought of how the blood-red mineral could have combusted—could have killed her.

Raqeeb Hadi shot a cold look at her as he yelled, "This is why you don't belong here!" He broke away from the stallions to march up to her. "Go back to camp before you get us all killed with your careless hooves."

Aisha instinctively sought her father's gaze, but his attention was focused solely on the safe extraction of the khatar al'ahmar. There was no one to step in and defend her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Hadi narrowed his eyes and cut her off.

"It's time for you to leave."

Indignation burned through her chest and she tried to move past him. "I'm not done yet. There's still work to do!"

While he was smaller than her, he had a lot more force behind his weight and easily blocked her way before she could take even a few steps forward. "You are done when I say you are!" He bumped his chest to hers to push her back. "And you are finished here."

Briefly, she wanted to fight. She wanted to throw herself against him and try to knock him over, to prove that she was just as strong as a stallion, but the look in his eyes quelled the fire. He had the power, and she had none. She had lost.

With a reluctant bow of her head, Aisha turned away from the mining site and started to climb the dune toward home. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked rapidly to chase them away. What would her mother say?

'Do not cry to me when the reality of your choices does not match your imagination of them.'

This had nothing to do with her imagination; it just wasn't fair. Her hooves stopped and she turned to look over her shoulder, biting her lower lip as she struggled with the desire to rush back in and prove her worth to them all.

However, standing atop the dune, she could see two figures past the site that caught her attention. The elegant black robes of the elders clung to their forms in the face of a sudden gust of air, but what Aisha couldn't wrap her head around was the barrels strapped to one elder's sides.

What were the barrels of? And more importantly, where had they come from?

Aisha skirted the edge of the site to meet the figures halfway, their ears perking at her approach in surprise.

"May Al-Seglawi give you strength," Aisha greeted once they were near to each other and quickly prostrated herself to touch her nose to the nearest elder's hoof.

The elder's eyes crinkled from a veiled smile and the raspy voice of In'am replied, "Strength have I become." Her head tilted. "What are you doing away from the mining site, Aisha bint Sahar?"

"I was—" Aisha couldn't help the flattening of her ears and she quickly shook her head. "It's of no consequence." Her gaze flickered to the large barrels before returning to meet In'am's. "What is all this?"

There was a pause. It was long enough for Aisha to hear wind moving the sand that skittered and hissed, long enough for Aisha to notice the way In'am's eyes darted off to the side at the other elder, who remained silent.

"Al-Seglawi has provided," In'am explained with a burst of joy in her voice. "The sheikha felt Al-Seglawi's call, and we followed it to discover two barrels of water. Tonight, we will rejoice in how truly blessed we are!"

Aisha's brow furrowed, but In'am gave her no time to reply, trotting ahead the rest of the way to camp. The second elder—who, without hearing his voice, remained a mystery to her—gave Aisha a long, hard stare before following after In'am.

Al-Seglawi had never led them to water before, much less whole barrels of it. She watched as the robed figures moved away, and she listened as whoops of joy greeted their arrival.

Something new and unfamiliar settled in the pit of Aisha's stomach as heavy as a rock: doubt.

Author's Note

This story is a part of the Quill & Blade universe.