Sandstorms (On Hold)

Chapter 3: Invites

Smoke clouded the room filled with men and women from all walks of life. They sat cross-legged on the Persian rugs adorning the floor—loud drums and singing filled Amani's ears with words of an ancient tongue. The people were chanting, moving their bodies to an unknown rhythm. Her feet took her from room to room, as if familiar with the place. Each one displayed the same scene as the previous one. The atmosphere filled with hysteria as the beat of the music went from slow to fast. Oud strings were played and the drums were beating as loud. Shrieks and moans composed a macabre melody. Hands were clawing at the woman's back, and crowds of people circled her as she was brought to their leader.

Amira was sitting next to an old man dressed in a white turban and jalabiya. He was tall and thin like a palm tree. His hollow face had sunken eyes filled with a devilish light. Next to her was a hooded figure. Nothing gave away their identity, they were a mere shadow.

She was dragged to a stop. Amira grinned like a Cheshire Cat and cackled. Her once beautiful pale face resembled that of an afreet, her dark eyes held a manic glee.

"Amani, don't look so sour, aren't you enjoying my hospitality?"

"What is this?"

"Good fortune. Now let the show begin ladies and gentlemen!"

"No!"

Fingers latched into Amani's arm and she jolted forward. Curls clinging to her sweaty brow as she sat up in bed. The adhan blared from the minaret. It was time for the dawn prayer.

******

The hot Cairo sun added heat to the pair's already-drenched skin.

Omar held back, grunting in exertion. He searched for signs of his joyful, passionate younger sister in the woman before him. Something had changed in her. Her attacks once playful, uncontrolled and impulsive became cold and calculated. There was an almost eerie calmness to her that wasn't present before.

She lunged forward striking him with a barrage of attacks that gave Omar no time to recover as he expertly maneuvered out of danger. Pure instinct and muscle memory guided his defence. His sister was ferocious but methodical. No movement was wasted, she had all the grace of a dancer as she attacked her brother.

Done observing her newfound technique, Omar began his offence. Her aggression had seemingly infected him, as he parried her, matching her pace.

He swung his sword in an arc, causing Amani to jump backwards, the blade narrowly missing her chin. His movements were strong and steady, a jab to the left, aiming for her ribs before moving his sword to her hands. Succeeding in prying her sword from her hand, he pointed his blade at her neck.

"Yield sister," he stated calmly.

She only grinned in response before turning and kicking his sword out of his hand. She swept her leg in an arc while catching his sword as Omar fell to the ground. His handsome features contorted in pain. It was strange how much he had grown to resemble their father. He had the same brown almond-shaped eyes framed with long lashes, thick eyebrows, a sharp aquiline nose and a wide jaw. He got his lips from his mother and sported a patchy beard, compared to his father's full beard.

"It's your turn to yield, Omar." She smirked, before holding a hand out to her brother.

"You've improved in these past years." he reached for her hand, clasping it before pulling himself off the ground and standing to his full stature.

"What did you expect?"

"I hoped you would surpass me one day."

"I still haven't."

"Of course not, it's me we're talking of," Omar said cockily while puffing out his chest.

"Who are you trying to impress by getting beat by your sister?" Amani rolled her eyes before looking around the courtyard.

"I don't need to try to impress people, I just do. More importantly, how have things been at home?"

"You'd have written if you cared."

"I was busy."

"Clearly. You were too busy to watch out for your younger brother." Omar clenched his jaw.

"I did what I could Amani. You don't even know the half of it." He replied acidly.

"Well then tell me how despite you doing everything you could, Amira is my sister-in-law." She hissed, eyes flashing.

"Now is not the time." He warned, before painting a smile on his face and waving at someone across the courtyard. Zayn.

The irritating man strode across the empty courtyard with an almost jovial expression. She didn't understand what he had to be so happy about, considering it was his fault they were going on a wild goose chase.

He greeted her brother before giving her a polite nod.

"I bear good news," Zayn stated before pausing.

"Well go on with it. I don't know why you must do this every time." Omar replied unimpressed with his friend's antics.

"I'm not doing anything." He said innocently.

"Whatever just get on with it."

"The Caliph has invited you to join his hunting party. As you know only trusted members of his court may participate."

"And?"

"Tomorrow at sunrise. The invitation is extended to both of you of course." Zayn's eyes met with Amani's as if he was challenging her.

"We'll be there," Omar replied breaking the pair's silent standoff.

"Good."