His nose was bleeding.
Ibrahim Nouri-Abbood stared at the clear blue sky and tried very hard to clear his thoughts. His entire body felt numb, detached, as if he was cut free of his meat and allowed to observe it from a distance. The world spun wildly and he knew he had done something wrong.
Noises echoed around him, buzzing and chattering unintelligibly. He groaned – the too loud sound was everywhere, echoing through his skull and growing louder with each moment. Something was wrong. Something was …
Ibrahim.
The noise faded away as a warm presence surrounded him, cushioning his thoughts with love and understanding. Mother was here. She would make things better. She always made things better. When Father was in a rage, she could soothe his fury with but a word. When Grandfather ranted about the other tribes finding the secrets of the Golden Sand while they dithered away, far from civilization, Mother could silence him with the same word. Even the other women of the Tribe feared her … and why should they not? She towered over them, a giant with flashing black eyes among children and fools.
Ibrahim.
Mother drew closer, her warmth driving away the chill, but he could not shake a growing fear. Something was wrong. He tasted blood. There had been … another boy? Yes. His brother, Jahanzeb who was nothing like the beauty his name spoke of. He was not Mother’s child – she bore only Ibrahim to Father but none of the other women chastised her for that – and was a bully who had been taunting little Thaminah who only wanted to be liked. She was such a pretty girl with black hair and big eyes. Ibrahim had once thought to marry her until Mother said it was not possible, that he was to find someone more suitable, more … genetically compatible though Ibrahim knew not what she meant. Jahanzeb had struck little Thaminah. Ibrahim had tasted rage then, rage and madness and …
Jahanzeb had died. How was that possible? He’d died and people screamed. Mother was there and … and they stopped screaming. The sand stunk of blood. Father had shouted but Mother’s warmth turned cold and Father fell silent. It was so cold. He felt like he was floating. No, he was floating. Mother turned her black eyes on him
Wake up. He heard her order and tried to obey. Blood still dripped from his nose. He could smell it. There was so much blood. It reeked and covered his body. He could smell…
With a gasp, his eyes snapped open.
“Wake up!” The captain was leaning over him, smelling salts in hand. The dream – memory? – splintered and fell apart, washed away by the crippling pain in his head. Noise suddenly hammered at him, dragging him back into the now. Through the pain, he remembered: there were people who needed his help.
He had work to do.
