Ysmir's Story

    Luck.

    Luck means everything in the desert.

   When the gods make your well dry up and you spend a week on a half-ration of water, it’s unlucky. When heartroot bursts from the ground in your camp and you have something to eat, it’s luck.

   When you become a witch doctor of your tribe, it’s luck.

   When you can heal a filly dying from a scorpion bite, it’s luck.

   It’s because you are blessed by the gods.

   So what if you’re about to get sacrificed to the same gods you’ve been serving for past four-and-ten summers?

   I spent my whole life tipping the balance of luck. Cooking potions to cure illnesses of my tribe, examining the wind currents to guess when we should move our tents so they don’t get buried in sand when the Storm comes. Telling the warriors they are blessed so their spirits don’t abandon them during the battle.

   And now, I’m to grant luck to one more group -

   - but it’s not my tribe today.

   It’s the ones from beyond the mountain. Their bodies flash with bright red color, their eyes seem to burn with a flame that’s so unlike the calm look of my tribe.

   My tribe...

   It was a dark night just after the equinox. All were sleeping, knowing that no zebra would dare to wage war against their brethren at the day when all the world seems to come to balance.

   It is forbidden by the oldest traditions.

   But still, when I woke up, I did so to the sound of my own people screaming. Shouts of terror filled the valley where we set down until the Storm was to come again.

   I jumped out of my bed, reaching for my pouch - I didn’t realize what has transpired at first. My intuition said that it must have been a wild animal - a lion or maybe a desperate hyena seeking a prey in the night.

   The sentries must have dealt with it by now, but the shouts meant there were wounded.

   I had to help.

   Bursting from my tent, I realized my mistake. I stood there, on the eve of the day where all the universe stands in tranquility and peace and saw the blood of my tribe painting the ground dark crimson.

   There was no remedy against hatred.

- - -

   I hear the witch doctor of their tribe chanting. I can hardly make up the words, but I recognize the incantations - they are the words of sacrifice.

   A ritual which gives a life to appeal to gods, to win their favor.

   A powerful life.

   Another witch doctor.

   Me.

   Last of my tribe.

   Hastily, I burrow my hoof in the soft sand of my cell. I feel the latent energies building around me as I crudely sketch the ritual symbols. My own father told me never to use this spell unless there was no going back.

   I see no way this night can be undone.

   I murmur the words and a cold shiver runs along my spine. Few drops of perspiration stain the sand and I blink.

   Am I going through with this?

   I close my eyes and steel my will against doubts. I remember the young Mirian I saved from red disease. I recall Fariah who called me his brother when I fixed his broken hoof. I remind myself of Lilian, who -

   Mirian, who lies in sand, gasping for air with an arrow in her chest.

   Fariah, pierced with a dozen spears and surrounded by two dozens fallen enemies.

   Lilian -

   My eyes fill with tears and instead of whispering, I shout the last piece of incantation.

   Their chanting dies down.

   I raise my head and a tear rolls down my cheek.

   They took my home, my tribe, my family.

   I will take their lives.

   A wave of sand rises from the desert and I hear their confused screams. The Storm. The witch doctor, his chest adorned with bones of fallen, gestures towards their tents, but it’s too late. The wave of sand hits them, making their eyes water at first, pinching their bodies like a thousand daggers then and finally -

   I don’t look.

   I know what the storm does.

   The only thing you can do for a victim is to grant him the release of death.

   Still, I am untouched. The wall of my cell breaks but not a single grain of sand touches my skin. I walk through the middle of their settlement, eyes closed, chanting the forbidden words.

   I try not to hear their screams.

   They took mine and I took theirs.

   They defiled the sacred night of equinox with blood and I will return the sentiment.

   There must be balance.

   The only thing is that there is the power of vengeful gods on my side.

   Am I lucky?

   Am I blessed?

   I do not know.

   I am just a witch doctor without a tribe to look after.