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en-scribed · 6 months ago

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ORION'S FINEST [fantasy short story]

Personified immortal Stars have lived secretly on Earth throughout history. This piece takes place in 14th century Mamluk Egypt, so Arabic star names are used as the main roots. Yad al-Jawza (currently the Star Betelgeuse) and her brother Rijl al-Jawza (Rigel) interfere in human affairs for fun. The Stars' world was created by myself and @heirmyst. Previous post: [THE THREE BIRDS] Next post: [GATHERER OF GRAIN] [CENTER OF THE WORLD] Word count: 7,275

For the sake of the sultanate’s sanity, the leading amir’s jockey getting knocked off his horse just short of the race’s end was an act of God, and certainly not Yad-al-Jawza casting a minor explosion to keep him from winning.

“Yamna,” her brother Jabbar scolded, sitting beside her on the cloud. “Why are you playing with the earthlings again?”

“That one has won every race these past several weeks now.” She gestured to the affronted amir, his screams drowning out even the fallen one as attendants came to his aid. The last centuries had taught Yamna that the rich ones whined incessantly about even the most minor of grievances. “He needs to be humbled.”

“Do you truly have nothing better to do?”

She sighed, sitting back. “Not since the last execution.” Her assumption had been that a sultanate formed by ambitious slave soldiers would be endlessly stimulating, and it was proven wrong long ago. All the stories from the sun king and other fellow Stars over at Iran made her jealous; they lived near all the action, while all she and her brother got to have these days was covert attendance at parties. Still, she’d learned to make her own entertainment wherever possible. Turning to Jabbar conspiratorially, she said, “The week-long hunt starts shortly. Anyone in particular you want to unleash an ostrich onto?”

He scoffed. “Sister, please. I am a captain, and I have much more important—”

“Oh, I understand,” Yamna said, a smile playing on her lips. “Of course, this means I’ll have gathered up more activity to report to the king. You can proudly say that while I was doing all this, you just sat there, refusing to engage. I’m sure he’d love that.”

Jabbar’s eyes narrowed, sudden competitive fervor lighting them up with blue flame. Conjuring a glowing hunter’s net in his hands, he opened his wings and took to the air. “Excuse me while I set the trap.”

Yamna laughed, calling after him as he flew off. “That’s more like it. Show them the real hunter’s spirit!”

She meant to simply unleash the unique chaos of Jabbar’s attempts to show off, sitting back and enjoying the resulting mess from a distance, but truthfully, the curiosity was irresistible. He could go and rile up the prey all he wanted; Yamna would take the first step in knocking the hunters off their pedestals. She took off, and the sand blowing in her face was a small annoyance compared to the triumph of finally getting her brother to do this with her again. He was getting too up in the clouds about being the constellation’s captain lately, and she resolved to remind him he still wasn’t above having fun at the mortals’ expense.

She touched down near the paddocks, wedging herself behind a nearby strip of date palms. For once, she resented her stout, muscular form, good for everything except stealth; even vanishing her wings did nothing to help her hide convincingly.

Surveying her marks, she resisted the urge to gush with excitement about the sheer wealth of potential practical jokes available to her.

Should she release the precious falcons into the air? Let the gold-adorned dogs or the trained cheetahs out? Disrupt the tent building activity taking place around the preserve? Perhaps she could even steal crossbows and wait for the amirs to fight about it amongst themselves.

The majordomo entered, calling after the hunters, who all stood at attention. He carried a sack of blowguns. Perfect, Yamna thought, thanking the skies above for this glorious opportunity. The man left the sack on the ground, bowed respectfully, and made a swift exit as all the hopeful hunters descended on it like hawks.

Yamna tapped her fingers impatiently on the palm’s trunk, waiting for them to disperse. They were taking an ungodly amount of time, examining the make of the guns as if they were samples of fine wine.

Fortunately for her, when they did abandon the sack, they were too distracted arguing amongst themselves, measuring extremities under the veneer of respectability.

They left the door right open for Yamna’s entrance.

In a blink, she rushed to the sack and retrieved one of the spare blowguns. She rolled the accompanying clay pellets in her hand; she could make this work. Counting on all the large animals at the edges of the paddocks to conceal her, Yamna took in her marks. Who was going to have the honor of being the first target?

“Back to the tents. Now.”

The genuinely threatening tone caught Yamna’s ear over the sea of overly saccharine, passive aggressive mingling. A cheetah growled in response to whoever spoke those words.

“And if I say no?” a woman’s voice challenged, low and lilting.

Yamna perked up, at attention. This, she had to hear.

She peeked over the horse’s behind blocking her vision, just enough to catch sight of the man and woman in question. The woman, every bit as maddeningly serene as her voice, held the cheetah back, meeting the man’s eyes with the unspoken implication that it was entirely his luck that she didn’t let it pounce.

The man, a nondescript amir who looked exactly the same as the rest of his ilk, didn’t seem to catch the subtlety at play in the fog of his obvious insecurity. “Malak,” he said, the name familiar and disdainful in his mouth. “I entertained your fantasies up until here. I believed you’d see sense once we reached this… frankly ridiculous excursion.”

“Ah, so keeping me from this is out of care for my welfare now?” she shot back. The cheetah purred with agreement.

He shook his head. “Deny truth all you want, but don’t ask me to indulge this.”

And just like that, Yamna’s buffet of choices narrowed to one insufferable man. She balled a clay pellet in her fist, imbuing it with red hot energy from the flame that made up her entire being. With a few swift motions, she loaded the blowgun, and aimed for his shoulder.

She shot. The pellet-sized explosion hit right on cue.

“Who dares?” someone screamed, and another responded, “Save them for the birds!”, while another with slightly less skewed priorities yelled for a physician.

The shock gradually turned to a blame game as everyone scrambled to figure out who had enough of a petty grudge against the amir to waste a pellet. As Yamna took off, away from the admittedly tantalizing scene, she cast one last glance back. To her relief, Malak was safely being escorted away.

Then, she saw the man himself, and wanted to slap herself. She had not, in fact, hit his shoulder and ruined his chance to hunt like she wanted. The shot grazed the back of his turban instead.

Well, she couldn’t win everything.

Once again, she took to the date palms, this time perching on one’s canopy for a better vantage point on the paddocks. The chaos had settled, and the crowd was several bodies lighter; everyone except the most foolhardy of hunters, surprisingly including Yamna’s victim, had fled to the comfortable tents.

Before she had the chance to search for Malak, a blue filter overtook her vision.

A net dropped over her and pushed against her side, knocking her toward the ground. Her wings were snagged too, leaving no chance of resistance.

“Jabbar!” she protested. “I was watching the mortals scatter like ants! That’s always the best part!”

He dissolved the net into thin air, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. “Shame on me for assuming you’d stay put,” he said, but the mask of annoyance wasn’t enough to hide the restrained laugh. “What did you do?”

“Shot a man who had it coming,” she said breezily.

“Right,” he said, unconvinced. “How badly did you miss?”

Yamna punched his shoulder, refusing to dignify that with a verbal response, even as her face burned with embarrassment. She would submerge herself in the Nile at night before she admitted he was right about having better aim than her. “Forget that. What did you do?” She rubbed her hands together in excitement for the answer, small sparks bursting at her palms.

“Managed to lay traps on the fringes of the preserves before having to stop,” he said. “I ran into the sultan. He wanted to speak to you.”

She made a face. “Skies above. That barely formed child?”

The clop of horse’s hooves announced a new arrival. “I am no longer a child, Yad al-Jawza.” Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad gracefully disembarked from his mount. From his gait, it seemed as if he’d come into his own as a young man, but Yamna privately thought he still looked woefully undercooked. She was further vindicated when, obviously unaccustomed to having to function without a go-between, he reached for Yamna’s hands and wisely stopped before going further. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced.”

“We have,” Yamna pointed out. “You just happened to be a hatchling at the time.”

His face hardened with defensiveness, reminding Yamna that he was in fact a man with a chip on his shoulder about having something to prove. Disappointing. She missed the precocious child, in over his head as he was. “You’ll find that much has changed since then.” His attention shifted to the nearby paddocks. “I assume you caused this havoc?”

Yamna stiffened. She had not been expecting to get caught.

Jabbar stepped protectively in front of her. “Great sultan, I hope you don’t presume to charge my sister with—”

The sultan held a hand up to stop him, without breaking eye contact with Yamna. “Who did you hit?”

The posture broke any tension Yamna might have felt; how was she supposed to feel intimidated when she easily towered above the man? “The one accompanied by his wife and a cheetah,” she said without hesitation. “Honestly, if I hadn’t done it first, the creature definitely would have. And I wouldn’t overlook the wife either.”

Jabbar sighed, realizing there was no use defending the guilty. “Why do I bother?”

“Hossam, then,” the sultan said thoughtfully, clearly having stopped listening at the man’s description. “Yes, I have suspected. A particularly troublesome one.”

Somehow, Yamna didn’t feel as if the suspicion was in her direction. Jabbar looked at her, just as confused.

“These last two reigns have barely been my own. Still, rest assured, this one will mark history.” Remembering the Stars were his audience, he said, “My predecessor’s execution was only the beginning. If I allow you free reign to inflict what you wish upon the amirs during these hunts, do you believe you can… clean out my court?”

Jabbar scoffed. “With all due respect, we don’t merely exist as tools for your mortal politics and—”

“We wholeheartedly accept, great sultan,” Yamna cut in. Here was an excuse to have all the fun she wanted with these pompous amirs, handed on a silver platter. Why shouldn’t she take it? “When do we begin?”

The sultan stared at Yamna like he didn’t quite know what to make of her, then turned to address Jabbar, because apparently his opinion was the important one at play. Typical. “Rijl al-Jawza, I assure you, this will benefit you as well. Your—”

“Save it,” Jabbar said coolly. “I’ll defer to my sister here, thank you.”

Yamna smiled. It was moments like these that made her certain she would scorch the very skies for her brother. “Let Orion’s hunt begin!”

Without further ado, the siblings took to the air, laughing and kicking up a small sandstorm in the faces of the sultan and his horse.

As soon as they ascended beyond the clouds, the air cooled between them in the absence of the need to perform. Falcon cries echoed from every direction. One almost flew right into them. Yamna let it perch on her arm.

“Thank you,” Yamna said to her brother, stroking the falcon’s head. “I’m… sorry I got excited. I know you had your reservations, but…”

“Sultan or not, he had no right to supersede your acceptance that way,” Jabbar said. “I doubt he even has the facts straight about our ranks. Who does he think he is?”

“A man,” Yamna ventured.

“Exactly! A mere man! Why would—” Jabbar trailed off, realization about what she truly meant dawning slowly on his face. He sighed, exasperated; he tended to forget such matters entirely, treating them like an inconvenient reminder when brought up. Yamna honestly envied him. “Humans and their ridiculous divisions of sex…”

“Jabbar,” she said, amused. “We’ve taken on those divisions as well. We call each other sister and brother, for skies’ sake.”

“Not all of us have taken the easy way out. The North Star outright refuses to, and they’re in good company. Besides,” he said with a teasing smile, gesturing vaguely to Yamna’s whole form, “tell me what about any of that signifies a woman in any mortal’s sense of the word.”

She let the falcon go free and pulled her military coat tighter around herself, glaring. So what if she preferred it this way? After all, so-called women’s clothing was much better admired from a distance. Preferably on a different beautiful woman. “It signifies so in an immortal’s sense of the word,” she said. “And by an immortal, I mean me. It’s my word.”

Her brother nodded sagely. “The only word that matters.”

She laughed. At least human men’s narrow-mindedness gave her and Jabbar a common enemy. Now he had no choice but to take part in the game out of sheer contrarian spite.

The two of them touched down in the shrubs lining the hunting preserve.

Predictably, a ready net had materialized in Jabbar’s hands before Yamna could even close her wings. Forging ahead toward a clearing with obvious purpose, he said, “This way!”

“Oh?” Yamna followed, her curiosity piqued. “Why that direction in particular?”

He laughed, confirming her hope with a wink. “A good hunter always knows when his trap is sprung.”

They barrelled through the thicket, stopping short when a gaggle of amirs’ screams reached their ears. With a light touch of flame, Yamna burned away the leaves obscuring her vision and peeked out her makeshift window. Ahead, a glowing net, hanging securely from branches above, had hoisted three men into the air. Two ostriches on either side tossed the swinging net between them, a different cry ringing out with each hit depending on which man was the current victim.

As if that wasn’t delightful enough, for a split moment, Yamna caught sight of a burned turban. Hossam was one of the men inside. This was everything she wanted.

Yamna looked between the sight and Jabbar a few times, impressed and baffled. “You did not.”

He shrugged, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. “Who else could?”

“I thought you didn’t want to,” she said without thinking, and immediately wanted to smack herself for how pathetically wounded her voice sounded. When Jabbar looked back at her, his face creasing with concern, she forced a sardonic laugh into her next words. “I mean, I thought Orion’s illustrious captain was too good for fun now.”

He elbowed her playfully. “I thought so too. Then you dragged me into this.”

Yamna wanted to cry. Ever since the rest of their constellation scattered towards their own tasks, Jabbar was all she had. Him avoiding time with her in favor of appearing serious and competent for Stars that weren’t even there with them… stung in a way she could never quite figure out how to say out loud. She could have, right then.

“You were going to rust uselessly if I didn’t,” was what she said instead. “Idiot.”

He rolled his eyes, the smile not leaving his face. Then, he reached within the folds of his outer tunic and pulled out a crossbow. He notched the arrow and handed it to Yamna. “Do you want to end their misery?”

“Where did you—”

“The sultan had to approach me without his procession in tow,” he said. “Should have kept a closer eye on his stuff.”

Yamna mentally rescinded every comment she’d made about her brother becoming boring. Eagerly, she swiped the crossbow. Taking the arrow’s end in her fist, she added her own personal touch to it. She positioned the weapon and aimed.

When she made to shoot, she underestimated her strength.

The arrow flew unscathed. Its bow wasn’t too lucky. It cracked from the force of her grip. Wood splintered in her hands and fell to the ground in useless, charred pieces. Jabbar pulled her back into the shrubs before she could reach to salvage something.

The explosion she’d stored in the arrow went off and the men screamed, falling to the ground with a too-loud thud.

Yamna dared to peek.

She hadn’t just hit the branch she aimed for; she’d toppled the entire tree backwards. At least the ostriches had escaped.

“Good work,” Jabbar said flatly.

She shoved him in retaliation. “Well, it covered for us, didn’t it?”

Hossam shoved the other men off of himself and struggled to his feet. “Did anyone maintain this preserve?” he yelled to no one in particular. “Trees falling everywhere. Unacceptable.”

Yamna smiled smugly at Jabbar. See?

One of the men cleared his throat apprehensively. “I believe the ostriches went that direction, my lord.”

“To hell with the ostriches,” Hossam shot back. “And with this so-called sultan. Were it not for my unwanted company, I would have finished him off before this poor excuse for a game began.”

Yamna froze. Beside her, she felt her brother tense with sudden focus. Was this…?

“You cannot still be considering this plot,” the third man objected strongly. “After Baybars’ execution?”

Hossam scoffed. “The cowards who were scared off by that stunt didn’t have what it took to begin with. I refuse to let this man under my skin with his overcompensation.” Promptly, he proceeded to walk backwards into a loose branch and fall flat on his face. Waving off his men’s attempts to help, he said, “One way or another, I will end this hunt prematurely!”

The half-hearted hunters scurried away toward the wildfowl that they lost. As soon as they were out of sight, Jabbar seized Yamna’s shoulders, unmistakable urgency in his eyes.

“We need to nip this plot in the bud,” he said.

“Why?” Yamna asked. The news was shocking, to be sure, but she had no attachment to the sultan. All of these nominally powerful men blended together in her mind. “Let him do it, I say. Either way, it will be fun to watch.”

Jabbar shook his head. “At least this current fool on the throne knows us and is a reliable secret keeper. Can you say the same for anyone who’ll usurp him? The lack of a succession line guarantees us nothing!”

She cursed under her breath. Out of every possible thing Stars had to worry about, humans’ political instability was the most annoying. She could handle skirmishes with monstrous Hauntings or devastating floods any day of the week, but she could not explode her way out of a succession crisis.

Or at least, she’d never tried to. Yet.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Jabbar scanned their surroundings. “I’m going to keep the conspirators occupied and see if they’ve got anyone else involved. Hossam made it sound like most of the coterie wouldn’t be, but it can’t hurt to make sure.”

Yamna stood. “I’ll come with—”

“No!” he shot back, so adamantly it made her flinch. Instantly though, the flame in his eyes faded, and he went on, softer, “Yamna, I didn’t mean…”

When he reached for her hand, she pulled back, plastering on a smile. “It’s fine,” she said, even as a break in her voice betrayed her. “I’ll let you take this, captain.”

She took off, because the last thing her brother needed to worry about right then was her inconvenient emotions. If he knew how she felt, he’d either give in despite being right, or he’d stay to make her feel better.

Neither could happen right then, Yamna decided; she was not going to ruin more than she’d already had.

As the sun began to dull, she landed where the falcons circled, near the ground populated with extravagant tents. Taking a deep breath, she closed her wings and left the safety of the palm trees. If she couldn’t do anything useful in Jabbar’s stealthy and serious mission, she could at least be mindlessly entertained with the nonsense in the tent quarters.

She’d be here for a whole week. This was how far she’d fallen.

In the midst of feeling sorry for herself, Yamna didn’t see the cheetah before it tackled her.

She proved too heavy to instantly knock to the ground, but it didn’t do her any favors; the surprise was enough, and she was too preoccupied trying to keep any spontaneous fire at bay to focus on her balance. The cheetah pinned her to the ground and bared its teeth, growling.

Yamna spat loose sand. “Can we not do this now?” she asked the cheetah, tired and unfazed.

It stopped growling and stepped backwards, its gold eyes blinking in confusion. It hadn’t released Yamna just yet; she’d just gone from intruder to curiosity.

“You must forgive Hurairah. I asked her to guard the tent,” a new voice floated in, bemused. A woman walked out of the nearest tent. Malak, Yamna recalled. “Get off of the nice lady, beloved!”

Hurairah finally left Yamna alone to return to Malak, and Yamna was left on the ground, blinking. Had she just been called a lady, and a nice one at that? There was no telling what would come next.

Malak helped her to her feet. “She’s still staring,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the cheetah. “I believe she likes you.”

“Flattering. I wonder why,” Yamna said, knowing exactly why. Night was setting in, and cats always did tend to be more perceptive to Stars’ light around this time. “How are you enjoying the hunt?”

Malak’s face scrunched with irritation. “Please. Genuine enjoyment for me might as well be a crime.”

She laughed bitterly. “You and me both.”

A spark of interest seemed to wash all of Malak’s boredom away. She met Yamna’s eyes with an odd sort of hope, as if she was looking for some of her own discontent mirrored. “Are you… here with anyone?”

“My brother,” Yamna said automatically.

Malak’s gaze remained steady, hungry for more. Skies above, Yamna thought, trying not to panic. If she couldn’t manage stealth in the hunting grounds, how was she meant to do so in a conversation?

Carefully, uncharacteristically testing every word in her head, Yamna went on, “We’re here on the sultan’s request. My brother’s an incredible hunter, and I misfire every weapon I touch. As much as I’d love to be out there, you can see why I’ve been made to retreat.” She paused. Was that everything? “And, well…” She gestured vaguely at herself. “You know how men are.”

There, she thought, satisfied with herself. Enough of the truth to say comfortably, and vague for plausible deniability at the same time.

Malak nodded, fully on board. “Do not get me started. My husband is out hunting, and I’m left here.” On cue, the cheetah smacked her head against Malak’s leg, making her laugh. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, beloved. You know that.”

Yamna watched the woman fawn over the cat. The silk mantle draped flawlessly around her, and she carried it as effortlessly as if it were part of her own flesh. Malak seemed so much freer, less on-defense now than she was back at the paddocks. Fighter that Yamna was, she couldn’t help but tense up; this was too intimate for her to bear witness. She was not used to seeing humans letting down their walls of pomp and performance.

This woman must be guarded, she thought. Most of all from that unbearable man she has to call her husband.

Her husband… the conspirator she and Jabbar were meant to clean out.

The instant Yamna remembered the mission, her mind burst with glorious clarity.

She was going to make herself useful, and she was going to do it without collateral damage. This challenge would be conquered swiftly.

Yamna cleared her throat to get Malak’s attention. “This would be when I take my leave, my lady. Do you know of any spare tents I can use until my brother returns?”

“Nonsense!” Malak said, reaching for Yamna’s hand, smiling widely. “I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to the…” She bit her lip, searching for a polite descriptor. “...various characters who saw fit to trail this hunt. You’re staying with me.”

“My lady—”

“Stop.” She held up a palm. “I won’t hear a word otherwise. And for the love of God, the name is Malak. Call me as such.”

Yamna smiled, and she didn’t have to fake it this time. This was starting off even better than she’d thought. “As you wish, Malak. Please, lead the way.”

Malak bolted into the tent, dragging Yamna by the hand. Yamna let herself be led forward, but she made it only one step inside before her feet touched carpet. Lush, very flammable carpet.

Bury the fire, she told herself, trying to repress it even though it was a laughably contrary instinct for a Star. Bury it deep, deep down.

Malak let out a cry of surprise and abruptly dropped Yamna’s hand. Concerned, she touched her face. “Friend, you’re positively feverish!”

“Am I?” She scrambled for an excuse that wouldn’t get her cast out of the tent; she was too close to be pulled away now. “I’m… simply adjusting to Cairo’s weather. This is nothing to worry about!”

Malak sighed. “Of course. You’ve been out all day, haven’t you? I’d have assumed the sultan would at least given you and your brother a proper welcome before hoisting this task on you.” She looped her arm through Yamna’s and led her, more gently this time, to a spread on the ground. A lead platter sat there, a lavish mutton dish inside with a piece of fresh bread. Two golden goblets were placed on either side. “Eat. You need it, and I’m certainly not passing up the rare chance at a meal with someone tolerable.”

At her insistence, Yamna sat, racking her brain for the appropriate way to act; it had been far too long since she had to consume a human meal. As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, Malak unwrapped her head covering, her tied-up tresses falling to her waist like midnight waves. She was looking at Yamna expectantly. Clearly, the guest had to eat first.

Yamna tore half of the bread for herself, a safe bet on a fair share.

Then, she wrapped it around the portion of meat, and bit down on the meal with full force. Malak was staring, her eyes wide and her hands over her mouth. Skies above, why was she staring? Yamna blinked, her mouth full of food that she couldn’t prevent in time from instantly burning.

Malak burst out laughing. “Right. I should’ve realized.” Her gaze swept keenly over Yamna’s form, an approving smile blossoming across her face. “You didn’t achieve that… impeccable physique by shying away from food.”

Yamna swallowed, relieved and oddly pleased by the compliment. “Yes,” she said, even though she hadn’t eaten in the last century, and for the life of her, she could not understand humans’ inexplicable push-and-pull with their source of sustenance. Why would consuming less of one’s life source ever be considered a virtue? Light was the closest thing the Stars had to an equivalent; no one in their right minds would think to deprive themselves of it.

“Oh, wait!” Malak grabbed the remaining piece of the bread and imitated Yamna’s haphazard method of wrapping it around meat, bubbling over with infectious laughter. She attempted to stuff it in her mouth in one go, but had to settle for a quaint, human sized bite from the top instead. That didn’t seem to deter her enthusiasm for even this quiet act of rebellion. “Lovely.”

With gleeful abandon, they devoured the platter clean and didn’t leave a single morsel to spare.

The two of them were lounging on the carpet, indulging themselves with the beverages and exchanging stories of travel, when a scream sounded outside the tent, followed by Hurairah growling. Malak’s face fell, the brightness of the past hour vanishing as if it had never been there.

She cast Yamna an apologetic look as she donned her covering. “He’s back.”

Yamna perked up. The target. She could start learning how to end him now. She followed Malak outside.

“Leave him alone, beloved,” Malak called out, and it might have been the most half-hearted, toothless reproach Yamna had ever heard, second only to the way Jabbar scolded her for exploding people who beat children. Hurairah obeyed, without taking her eyes off Hossam.

The man struggled to his feet, dazed. Yamna noted with amusement the net burns on his outer garments. “If you don’t get that accursed animal under control, woman, I’ll—” He seemed to notice Yamna for the first time, and reached for the sword at his belt, eyebrows furrowing with anger. “Who are you?”

Yamna couldn’t muster a reply at first, until she realized; he was mistaking her for a man. The child sultan had made the same error when she first appeared to him, simply because of her cropped hair and dressing; and here, she’d thought humans got wiser with age. “This is immensely improper behavior, you know,” she said.

Hossam froze at the sound of her voice and sheathed the sword again, now more confused than angry.

A shadow of a smile returned to Malak’s face. “Yamna here is my friend. She’s kept me company in your absence.”

He was already shoving his way into the tent, muttering something about Malak’s choices in company. Yamna took this as her cue to leave and reconnect with Jabbar, but Malak held her back.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Please.”

“I plan to,” Yamna said truthfully, savoring the look of relief that crossed the other woman’s face. “I must meet with my brother first.”

Malak nodded gratefully, turning to go back inside. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Hurairah grumbled, making her displeasure known as soon as Malak was out of earshot. Sympathetically, Yamna patted her soft head. “Sooner than you think,” she promised.

After making sure every hunter had taken refuge in their tents, Yamna opened her wings and set off into the night sky. Jabbar sat anxiously on a cloud nearby, waiting for her.

“Yamna!” He took a few tentative wingbeats toward her. “I’m sorry, you know I never wanted to—”

“Oh, shut it.” She shoved him playfully, sending him flailing about in empty air for a moment before he steadied his flight. “You can have your serious missions, and captain duties, and whatever, they’re all yours. I’ve found some new entertainment in the tents.”

“You… have?” he asked, with inexplicable disappointment. The tone gave Yamna pause. Shouldn’t this have made him happy? “With what?”

“Not so fast, dear brother. If I tell you now, it will only distract you.”

“But—”

Before he could continue, she cast an explosion at him, which he easily countered with a protective net of his own.

“Fine!” he conceded. “Keep your secrets. Have a good week, I suppose.”

Yamna folded her arms and nodded, satisfied. She would have a good week, and get the stupid conspirator out of their way as she did so. “Nice work today,” she told him. “I saw how much you managed to bust him up when he returned.”

He perked up. “Really? If I keep it up, would the king be impressed with me?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” she said, and resolved silently to follow through. After all, Jabbar didn’t know it, but he was going to make this much easier for Yamna; in every way, this would be a team effort.

“Alright,” he said, quietly, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Yamna looked at him curiously. In what world would he think she wouldn’t even do that little for him? He caught her eye and straightened up. “I should go back to the preserves and… set up for when they leave after Fajr prayer.”

He bolted away before she had the chance to press further into the strangeness of leaving so early. There were several hours left before Fajr; maybe he simply didn’t want to be around her when he had to take care of work.

That’s fine, she reminded herself. I have work too. She dived, returning to the tent grounds.

As the week went on, Yamna learned a great deal from witnessing Hossam and Malak’s daily life up close.

Malak was a different person depending on proximity to Hossam. The iron core beneath her lovely silk garments and the sharpness in her eyes was a constant, of course, but when she was alone with Yamna, whom she had known for only a few days, she was all smiles, loose and carefree.

Around the man she’d been spending her life with, the defenses went up. She spoke as if on trial, and he belittled her every happiness; the one bad time Yamna had observed on the first day seemed to be their norm.

He annoyed Malak, that much was clear as day. Yamna would be doing her a favor by taking him out.

Or at least, that was what she told herself, every subsequent sunrise. The reality of the days involved much less watching for Hossam’s weaknesses and more… warm mundanity with Malak. Sharing meals, walking Hurairah, relaxing in baths… all of this they did while Hossam was out. He was the subject graciously sidestepped in conversation, never mentioned by name, lest the acknowledgement shatter the joy.

On the fifth day, it hit Yamna all at once; she was no closer to ending him. Once more, she’d neglected the seriousness of a mission for… what? Useless play?

Malak jabbed her in the side with an idle foot, sprawling across a ridiculous amount of pillows. “What are you afraid of?” she asked, casual as ever.

Yamna puffed out her chest. “Never in my long and storied life have I been afraid of anything.”

“Really?” she asked slyly, clearly pleased in meeting this challenge. “Your silence and fidgeting today says otherwise.”

Yamna threw aside the pillow she’d already ripped to shreds. “So?”

“So, I want to know more. Even if we ignore right now, surely you don’t expect me to believe you’ve always been this perfectly sculpted, absolute marvel of a woman who could kill a man with a glance?”

If only killing a man with a glance was accepted behavior at the moment. “Trying to flatter me into confession, are you?”

Malak inched closer on the mattress. “Is it working?”

“Almost,” she admitted. And so, like she had with every question thrown her way, Yamna played the game of dressing truth in human skin. It was always more convenient than lying. “I earned the spoils of every game I’ve played fair and square. I didn’t start out like this, I made myself so because I was bright and unstoppable and… I just could. I’m an asset to the ruler of my land, and my brother knows it.” This hung in the air. She hadn’t seen him all week except for in short glimpses. He was always so busy with the mission. “I hope he doesn’t take it to heart.”

“He shouldn’t,” Malak said. “You’ll both be on your way as soon as this hunt passes, nothing soured.”

The next question, Yamna didn’t meticulously polish. Raw and unfiltered, she asked, “Where will you be? After—”

Malak placed a finger on Yamna’s lips. Their eyes met, and they were close enough together that Yamna knew she wasn’t the only one heating up. Oh, she realized, comically too late. She’d done this a little too well. Yamna leaned down enough for Malak to eagerly make her move.

Their lips collided. Malak, determined, held fast, practically scaling Yamna’s body to deepen the kiss further. Yamna kept a hand on Malak’s back, pulling her in closer; suddenly, keeping the explosions at bay was second nature, because in that moment, they were not Yamna’s greatest pleasure. This was.

They parted for breath only when Malak toppled them over onto the mattress.

“You,” Malak managed between breaths, still on top of Yamna, “light fires within me. A force of nature, you are.”

You have no idea. Yamna reached up to pull a strand of hair away from Malak’s eyes. She wanted that smiling face before her in all its glory. “Look at you,” she said admiringly. “Such brilliance, and all of it waters down in other company. What are you afraid of?”

Hossam’s voice yelled outside, drawing closer and shattering the scene.

“That,” Malak answered softly, instantly moving to smooth out her hair and dress.

Yamna bolted upright with a start, and not just because of who was coming their way. “What did you say?”

Malak flinched, avoiding her eyes. She hadn’t misspoken, then.

“You’re afraid of him?” Yamna pressed. All that shameless rebellion, then… what for? “You know you can—”

The tent entrance parted and Hossam stormed his way in. “Five days,” he said between heavy breaths. His clothes were blackened in impressions of Jabbar’s nets. “Several men lost in the maze these preserves have become. And not a single worthwhile kill to show for it!” He rounded on Malak. “You. Make use of all the space you and your beast have been taking up. I need some relief.”

Yamna clenched her fist, sparks coalescing within. She could end him now.

For a moment, Malak held her gaze. Then, she turned to Hossam, resentment burning in her eyes. “You can’t get this… relief elsewhere?”

He laughed humorlessly. “You are the only wife who insisted on coming along. Who else would it fall to?”

The unabashed crass speech, in front of a third person no less, was unbelievable. Then again, Hossam stopped seeing Yamna as a person the very second he no longer perceived her to be a male threat. Resigned, Malak looked to Yamna. One word, Yamna thought, trying to convey it with her eyes. One gesture from you and he’s dead meat.

“Go,” Malak said instead.

Stunned, Yamna walked out. This time, Malak hadn’t begged her to stay. What else could she have done?

So much, she reminded herself. I could have—would have done it all. I lost my nerve when it counted most.

She lingered outside the tent, listening. It started with argument, the louder voice dominating like it was his right until the lower one snapped under the pressure and dared, for a few words, to match its volume. Dead silence, and then…

The tent’s hide only barely muffled the discordant sounds of pain that followed.

Yamna stared at empty space in the unforgiving night sky, thinking for the first time since the week started something other than the game. This was why she’d contented herself with witnessing only the humans’ fumbling, overdressed public selves; what lurked behind closed doors was too dark, too at odds with the fun she wanted to have, and not everything she found distasteful in this domain could be swiftly humbled with an explosive practical joke.

She came to a startling conclusion; she would not kill Hossam.

Neither would Jabbar, and certainly, nor would the sultan. None of them had earned the spoils of this particular hunt.

She looked to the sky. “Next sunrise,” she resolved, waiting every drawn out hour for the king’s sun to bestow upon her the strength she was going to need.

Finally, the time came.

The men filed out of tents to congregate for Fajr prayer, and Yamna wasted no time in bolting toward the tent. Fortunately enough, Malak was already outside, putting out a piece of dry meat for Hurairah.

“You aren’t praying?” she asked.

Malak jumped, surprised, but the relief on her face could have melted mountains. Yamna didn’t miss the difference in the way she wrapped her head covering, so it covered more of her face than it usually did. What she’d heard in the tent last night made it easy to guess why.

“It’s my… monthly exemption,” Malak said with a wry smile. Yamna thanked the skies above that Stars didn’t have to deal with the counterproductive mess of periods. “I suppose I’m impure in more ways than one now.”

“And all the better for it,” Yamna said. “I believe so, at least.”

“Your word is worth more than any other.” Then, the smile faded and she said, softer, “I told you to go. You likely get enough grief as is for existing, and I—”

“I will go,” she promised quickly. “But first…” From the folds of her outer coat, she produced a blowgun, handing it delicately to Malak. “Follow the hunt. Stay unseen, the way you’re so adept at doing so. There is only one… particularly potent pellet. Save it for the beast whose blood you know deep down you’re justified in spilling.”

Malak took it carefully, her expression unreadable, and Yamna wondered if this had been the wrong move after all. “Tell me,” Malak said slowly, stroking Hurairah, who was rubbing against her leg, “how something said to be impure has brought me nothing short of an angel.”

“I’m no angel,” Yamna said. “Merely a fellow woman who wants you free.”

“Stay?” It was no longer a desperate cry for company. Just a question. A request.

“You don’t need me to,” she said, pleased. “Not anymore.”

When the hunt left, Yamna trailed them from the sky. Naturally, she found her brother in the preserves without having to look too hard. His hair, frazzled, stuck out in every direction, and even the ready net in his hands was misshapen.

“You’re here!” he cried out. Yamna braced herself for the captain's reprimand. “Thank the skies… do you know how hard it is to keep these men preoccupied? I can do nothing without you, Yamna, I need you! I need your misfired weapons, and first resort to violence, and—”

The initial shock of the admission hit Yamna like a flood; it was so strikingly mirrored with her own innermost feelings. Once it faded, Yamna shot forward and enveloped Jabbar in a hug. “None of that will be necessary,” she promised. “The mission is over.”

“Wh—” He tried to break free of the hug to look around, but couldn’t shake Yamna’s iron grip. “What do you mean? What did you do?”

“Nothing!” she answered happily. “That’s the remarkable part.”

With impeccable timing, a bang resounded a few thickets back, followed by glorious, disgustingly familiar scream. Laughing, Yamna grabbed her brother by the hand and flew in the direction of the noise.

From the green canopy, they could make out a woman and a large cat, calmly and precisely smoothing over a patch of ground that was slightly off-color, like it had been dug up.

Crimson liquid mixed with the raging embers of Yamna’s magic, scattered throughout the scene as a lovely garnish. The gun had worked.

Malak turned her gaze to the sky, mouthing a silent yet treasured, “Thank you.”

That smile alone gave Yamna such immeasurable satisfaction, she didn't even care that she hadn't seen the man die herself.

“This was your new entertainment?” Jabbar said, his voice heavy with incredulity and awe. “You are truly unmatched.”

She gave him a half bow, proud. “Never underestimate the power of pleasure, brother,” she said. “Now, Orion’s hunt is at an end. What's our next game?”

#writing #fantasy writing #short story #original character #oc #stars collapse #en writes #historical fantasy #shout out to all the queers who made up unhinged plotlines with playing with barbie dolls #this miniseries might kill me actually #but i'll do it for the sapphics and only the sapphics

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