Engraved on the Eye by Saladin Ahmed

Author:Saladin Ahmed [Ahmed, Saladin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: short, sci-fi, anthology, Fantasy, short story, science fiction, scifi, short stories
Publisher: Ridan Publishing
Published: 2012-09-18T20:00:00+00:00

She focused on her breathing, her blade, the mocking Shaykh across from her. Zaad had killed Shaykh Rustaam, who had shown Layla how strong she might be. But if her teacher could look on now, he would see her strength. Her sword appeared suddenly in her hand. She flew at Zaad.

Before the Shaykh or his pupils even got their weapons up, Layla’s sword made three deep cuts at Zaad’s neck and shoulders. He gurgled as he fell. Then he stopped moving.

The assembly rang with men’s shouts and the drawing of swords. Shaykh Saif bellowed her name. Hands clutched at her. Her blade bit into flesh again and again. Hakum fell before her, clutched at his bleeding gut. Her sword flashed. She heard screams, watched a man’s severed fingers arc through the air.

Whether her power came from God or from the Traitorous Angel, Layla was faster than any man at the Lodge. She bolted through the stunned assembly, out the great double doors, and into the cool night air.

Layla ran down the rocky path that led away from the Lodge. The shouts slowly grew more distant behind her. She headed off the path and down into the stony hills. Picking her way among the rocks, she ran for an hour before stopping beside a great gray boulder. She held her breath and listened for sounds of pursuit, but heard none. She allowed herself a few huffing breaths and put her hand to her swordhilt.

Merciful God, please, no! This can’t be!

But it was. Brushing against her scabbard, her fingers touched only leather. No scrap of silk was wound there. During the Judgment, or when she’d killed Zaad, or perhaps when she’d fought through the assembly—somewhere she had lost her mother’s scarf.

Her grand-uncle. Shaykh Rustaam. Her home in the Lodge of God. Her oath to her mother. All lost. And what did she have? Revenge? Shaykh Zaad’s death meant little enough, when she thought on it. How she had burned to kill him! But now his allies—men who called God’s name as they took what they wanted—would run the Lodge, even if Shaykh Saif became High Shaykh in name.

Her life in the Order was over. She would never become a Shaykh as she’d once dreamed. And she had maimed and killed men. Other Dervishes. She’d done it simply by reaction. It wasn’t as hard as the Shaykhs had made her believe. She felt no shame thinking on Hakum and…Yusef, had it been? Mahmet? Others whose names she’d never retained had gotten in the way as well.

Her eyes stung and her stomach clenched, but she felt no shame. What had she become, she wondered, that she could kill others of the order and feel no shame?

Layla inspected herself. Bruised and cut. Her blue silks tattered and stained with blood. She could not continue to wear them, and not only because they were ruined. She was no longer a Dervish.

She thought of the map on her grand-uncle’s wall and all the cites listed there. She quickened her pace through the hills.

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