Mystic

Chapter 3; Amira

Amira trudged onwards with no end in sight. The hot sand burned her bare feet, since she had abandoned her uncomfortable high heels a long time ago. The endless sand only served to slowly dissolve her spirits. Ugh, the sand. It clung to her hair, embedded itself in her nails, and stung her face whenever there was a strong breeze. Amira whined her complaints out loud over the endless dunes.

The sweat and sand was taking its toll on her once-magnificent dress. That's all there was in this desert; sand, sweat and tears. The only company she had were her own thoughts, which she knew wouldn't end well.

Her mind kept circling back to how her reign had ended before it even began —her mother's frightened face as the crowd swarmed around her like angry wasps.

She kept thinking; if she hadn't worn the necklace, none of this would've happened. There must've been a reason why Grandma Maaria had given the necklace in the first place. Amira had the strong desire to rip it off her neck and throw it into the hungry sand, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Despite all of Amira's complaints, she kept going. She couldn't bear the thought of what might happen to her if she didn't keep heading away from the setting sun. Why even keep going? She had lost everything; her family, her home, and her throne. She didn't see any point in continuing. She could just feed herself to the dunes that were nipping at her feet. They would be happy for the bedtime snack.

Speaking of food, Amira was hungry. She had eaten very little breakfast that morning, since she was so nervous about her speech. She wished she had taken the time to finish her plate. Amira wondered what would kill her first; heat, dehydration, or starvation?

As night was falling, Amira could just see the glow of a bonfire over a few dunes. She thought she was hallucinating, but it was her best shot at survival.

The hot breeze gradually turned bitter cold as night approached. She heard people shouting to each other over the howling winds. After straining to hear the conversation, she realized it was a caravan of people having an argument over the outcome of a bet.

She slowly dragged herself up the dune, making sure that she wasn't in their field of vision. If her assumptions were correct and they were headed to Yamen, she could be in the eastern markets in a little over a day. She fixed her dress as much as she could and pulled her hijab over her head to cover her face. She carefully crept behind the wagon to stay out of sight.

One of the men from the caravan walked very close to where Amira had hid herself and she covered her face with a dirty sac lying on the ground. It took her awhile to convince herself to wear something so disgusting. I am already covered in sand, so what difference does it make? By now her rose gold gown blended with the color of the sacs. The man went around the back and Amira hoped for the best. Amira had heard him trip and fall while mumbling something under his breath. He was obviously drunk, but he and his fellow travelers didn't seem to care. He started laughing loudly and started muttering nonsensical words. She wasn't very concerned anymore. What could a hopeless drunk do to her? He watched him pass her and join the other men at the bonfire. She went over to one of the covered wagons and hopped on, hiding her face with her overly-long dress.

After an hour or so, she heard them check each wagon before they set out on their trip to Yamen.