Page 202 of War

At the sight of it, my apprehension heightens. I can’t say what exactly is bothering me—that War might kill as he’s always done … or that he might do something else entirely, something that could have its own set of consequences.

War must see the terrible possibilities playing themselves out on my face because he strides over to me and kneels down next to the pallet.

He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “There is nothing to fear, Miriam. Whatever your worries are, banish them.”

I nod, trying to believe him.

The horseman gives me a kiss, and then he leaves.

The entire camp—or what’s left of it—empties. War is gone, his riders are gone—even most of the horses are gone.

I’m utterly alone, save for the few skeletal guards War brought back to life to guard me. I feel like I’m the last human on earth, my surroundings abandoned, the living nothing but memories.

My surroundings aren’t helping. This part of Sudan is all baked earth and sky. And aside from a few ruins and a handful of buildings I caught sight of during our ride in, there’s nothing to indicate that people have ever lived here.

But it’s not the loneliness that is painful so much as it’s the boredom. I’ve reread my romance novel so many times I could quote entire sections of the book by now. I’ve stared at the photo of my family until my eyes have nearly bled. And the idea of working on another arrow makes me want to pull out my hair.

Maybe that’s what drives me to start snooping around camp.

I’ve never been in any of the phobos riders’ tents. There’s never really been the opportunity or the desire. But now that there’s literally no one to stop me, curiosity gets the better of me.

I step out of War’s tent and cut across the camp, a hot breeze stirring my hair.

The closest tent to me is roughly ten meters away. I head over to it, pausing for only a split second at the tent flaps.

This is rude and invasive. It’s also not the worst thing I’ve done.

I pull the flaps back and step inside.

The place is an absolute mess. There’s already a day’s worth of dirty dishes stacked in a corner of the room, and another pile of bloodstained clothing. Flies buzz around inside the tent, and shit, that should be incentive enough to clean the place up.

The next tent couldn’t be more different. It’s Spartan, and what few possessions its owner has, they are arranged in a nice, orderly fashion. Even the blankets on the rider’s pallet are tucked in.

My brows knit at that. They were all in such a mad scramble to meet their foes, I wouldn’t have thought there’d be time to make the bed …

The next rider’s tent belongs to a woman, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at her things. My only clue is the framed photo next to her bed. I recognize her face immediately. It’s hard not to when there are so few female phobos riders. In the photo with her is a man—her husband?

All at once I feel some unwanted emotion towards this woman who’s undoubtedly slaughtered dozens of innocents. But I can’t help it. She once had a family, just like the rest of us, and somewhere along the way, she lost them—most likely to War himself.

For the millionth time I wonder what motivated these riders to not just fight for the horsemen, but to become his most trusted and lethal soldiers. Was it survival? Was it a love of bloodsport? Something else?

I leave the woman’s tent then, slipping out like a ghost.

Snooping is starting to lose its appeal. Reluctantly, I head into a fourth tent.

My last one, I promise myself.

This home looks like it’s a shared space; there are two pallets pushed together, the sheets mussed from sleep.

Looks like me and War aren’t the only two people in camp who are shacking up.

These riders have the unusual luxury of having a wicker chest in their room. Not many do since furniture is hard to travel with.

I head over to it.

Kneeling in front of the chest, I open the lid. Inside, I notice a hookah, tobacco, a spare set of clothes, and a Turkish coffee set. Amongst it all is a folded piece of paper.

I pull out the piece of paper and unfold it. On it is a hand drawn map of the area we’re currently in, right down to the Nile River we’ve been following, the road we’ve been traveling on, our temporary settlement, and the city of Karima, the latter which is situated in the top, right corner of the map. Certain areas on the paper have X’s on them, alongside the names of various phobos riders.