Bilal and the Mountain Queen

I am Bilal, son of Balam and I have been singing for my supper for nearly thirty five years now. I have sung song after song, told tale after tale, and smoked pipe after pipe. The bard's life has treated me well, mostly. As I feel my twilight years approaching, I am committing my tales to writing, so that there might be something left of me in the world after God calls me home.

They say that one doesn't become a bard because they're good at it. One becomes a bard because they're no good at anything else. I've been a soldier, a sailor, a farmer... and a thousand more. These are tales for other days.

All of this is being told by memory. I have never kept a journal. So the details I tell here will be imperfect. I always believed anyway that a good bard never let facts get in the way of a good story. But what will always be true is the feeling. The fear, the passion, the triumph, those will always be true.

If you can get by singing and wandering as long as I have, you learn a thing or two. Speed is better than strength. Always trust your gut. And tell tales for your audience. Let me explain. When I travel to a village, there are children, mothers, and worst of all, imams watching. I can get away with a bawdy song, but I have to watch myself to keep in the people's good graces. So I tell a story that all of them will like. Of course these, like all of my tales, are wonderful and amazing. But I can't tell them all.

In a shisha den, surrounded by stoned and sinful men I can tell another kind of tale. Village stories have shining heroes and daring escapes. Shisha den stories have cocks and tits and blood and booze.

This is one of those shisha den stories.

The Mountain Queen

This was many years ago, during the reign of Omar, Zeyk's grandfather. Omar was a learned and pious man, as Zeyk is, but that doesn't mean that he was a weak man. This was during the war with Duke Ghostface. That was not his real name of course, but his real name escapes me at this moment. We called him that because in battle he would charge in without a helmet and with his face painted like he was already dead. And that wasn't all. He never took men prisoner. If you were lucky he would kill you and butcher you for his army's provisions. If you were not lucky he would kill you the slow way. He roasted men alive or skinned them.

Like so many young men, I had enlisted and we were sent to Alyuna. It was part of the empire then too, and Ghostface's men were attacking the lands there. I had been on a ship for the first time, and I spent most of the time puking my guts out. When we reached Alyuna I thanked God and kissed the solid ground. Now if you've never been in it, you would think life in the army is all battles and glory. The truth is that it's sailing, marching, bad food or no food, and sleeping in cold tents smelling other poor bastards' farts. Even the battle isn't like the stories.

From the port we marched for two weeks. Ghostface's realm was in the north, beyond the Alyunan mountains. We were marching to meet his men at the border. Alyuna is a hot land, like Kashak. And like Kashak it was a rough and mountainous land. We marched and marched and when we couldn't march anymore then we kept marching. I had learned the qanun at this time, and I would play when we stopped. The other men would have likely killed me, were it not for my qanun, since I was weak and lazy. The army was not a good fit for me.

Finally we came to the northern Alps. It was early spring, but the ground was still thick with snow and after marching for several hours we couldn't feel our feet when we went to bed at night. Many of the men got frostbite. It was an ugly business. There were two thousand of us, including men at arms in heavy armor, mighty noble horsemen, and thick armed archers. I was none of these. I carried an iron-tipped spear, a dagger, and a shield. I wore a gambeson, which at least kept me warm. I also wore a leather cap. They called us the rank and file, and we were the ones meant to stop other rank and file while the cavalry terrorized them by attacking from behind. As I said, an ugly business.

We joined the main force of the padishah's men at the foot of the mountains on the other side of Alyuna's border. It was still cold and there was snow on the ground, but it was not the bitter cold of the mountains. Together we were ten thousand. It was quite a sight, seeing that many men of war in one place. In a few days, though most of us would be dead.

We were in Ghostface's lands at that time, and we marched together, all ten thousand of us, deeper in. An army of that size is a horrible thing to behold. We looted and pillaged villages in our path. I had learned the local language, but I wish I had not when I heard the screams and pleas of the people whose only crime was being in our way.

At last the scouts returned and told us that Ghostface's army was nearby, with Ghostface himself commanding the men. That night there was a stirring of terror in the army. And that morning Ghostface had arrived. There was no way for me to tell their numbers when we encountered them, but I later learned there were twenty thousand of them to our ten thousand.

My unit was in the front ranks, and our harsh sergeant pressed us on. We were almost as afraid of him as we were Ghostface. He was at least ten years my senior and his face was bisected by a scar that had cut off most of his lip. We stood facing the enemy.

I'm sure many of you have heard a bow firing at one time or another. It is a fairly soft twang and then the whoosh of an arrow. We heard a thousand of those sounds, all at once. Then what I can only describe as an immense flock of slender birds pounded down on us. We raised our shields, but wave after wave of arrows fell on us. Men fell one after another, screaming and crying and shitting on the ground. Some cried for their mothers, some cried for God, and some just cried.

"Forward, march!" the sergeant shouted. I picked up one foot, then the other. I heard prayers and sobs around me. At least we were leaving the dead and dying bodies behind us. But new bodies took their places. My shield looked like a porcupine by now, and the sergeant told us to brace. Ghostface's cavalry were upon us, and they crashed into the men in front of me. Their blades flashed. I thought the men being skewered by arrows was the worst thing I had seen in my life, but this had it beat.

Then I lost control. I dropped my shield, screamed like a woman, and ran like Shaitan himself was chasing me. The sergeant shouted my name a few times, but then he made a horrible gurgling sound and fell silent. I was exhausted but I still ran. I ran until I thought I would fall. I ran until I thought I would pass out. I ran until I thought I would die and yet I kept going. I had reached the hills behind our ranks and hoped I could lose the cavalry there. I found a large rock and sat down, putting it between me and the battlefield. I felt like I had used all the wind I would never have, and would breathe in ragged breaths for the rest of my life.

I rested my head against the back of the rock and closed my eyes. It seemed that I had actually escaped. But then I heard hoofbeats. Before I could even react, the horseman was upon me. He was a hulking giant of a man, but was covered from head to toe, including his face. He wore a wolf hide cloak which hid most of his body. I saw the glitter of some kind of mail under the cloak. His helmet was a design that I had never seen, and I saw his amber eyes and nothing else. He towered over me on his horse.

I wanted to get up, but my body was completely spent. I could only stare in terror as the man dismounted and approached me. He rested his metal boot on my chest. The boot pinned me firmly, but not enough to hurt. My breath came ragged and my heart thumped in my chest.

Then, a horrid voice came from the helmet. "What is your name?" It was higher than I expected, coming from such a large man. There was something strange about it I could not quite put my finger on. He spoke Kashaki, the language of the empire, but with an unfamiliar accent. I stared at the helmet, and the boot pressed harder on my chest. "Answer me! What is your name?"

"I am Bilal, son of Balam! Please, spare me!" He could have killed me just by pressing his foot down, as heavy as he was. His dark figure loomed over me. He must have been over six and a half feet tall.

"What do you do, Bilal son of Balam?"

I thought he was scolding me for retreating from battle. He couldn't have been one of ours with that accent and didn't sound like anyone from Ghostface's lands. Who was this? "I couldn't help it," I pleaded. "So many men had died! Fear gripped my heart."

"Stop your blathering, fool! I mean your... talents and profession. What do you do?"

Then it occurred to me why the voice sounded so strange. This was a woman's voice. I couldn't believe that this vision of hulking death before me was a woman. But as I listened, sure enough, it was a woman's voice. "I am a soldier. They pay me eight copper pieces a day. I lived on a farm before and my father raised goats."

"Have you no talents?" The female voice hissed.

"Well, I can play the qanun." What were these questions about? Feeling I could at least distract the warrior, I gently pushed her boot aside. She removed it and I took my qanun out of my pack. I played "My Swift Camel," not daring to try anything more complex in my frightened and exhausted state.

As I played the song, a change came over the warrior. Her shoulders untensed, and I could see her eyes widen behind the helmet. Music has charms, as they say. She allowed me to finish the song. When the song was done, she stood silently for what seemed to me like an eternity. What was she going to do? If she wanted to kill me, I supposed she would have done it by now.

"Stand up!" she commanded.

It was an effort to get up, but the music had calmed me as well as her and I had only fatigue to fight with. She looked me up and down. As I said, I was but a young man at this time, and not the fat graybeard I am today.

"Remove your armor!" What game was she playing at? I stood and removed my gambeson. I had a long tunic and pantaloons and nothing else. There was snow on the ground and it was too cold for this. I shivered. "All of it!" I guessed that she meant the rest of my clothes, so I stripped down to my skivvies. I had never felt such cold.

"All of it, I said!" she shouted. Now, a God fearing man is not vain, but I must say that I was a handsome man in my day. I was slim and muscular despite being lazy and a coward. I had a mustache that even at that age, barely more than a boy, I was proud of. My ram also was out, and she seemed particularly focused on it. As I said, I am a God fearing man, but I had lain with a few of the girls in my village and none of them had complained about my ram. That said, I was getting embarrassed as my fear of the battle subsided. She stepped closer, and slapped my hands away when I tried to cover my freezing ram.

To my amazement, she took my ram in her hand, and seemed to be weighing it. Her gauntlet was freezing cold, and I gasped when she touched me. It was so cold it hurt my ram. All the same, I felt myself getting hard. She removed her gauntlet, revealing a soft, thin leather glove underneath. She muttered something in a language I had never even heard. The soft leather glove felt much better, and I felt myself getting truly hard in her hands. She held it in her hand, then looked me straight in the eyes. This close I could see her eyes were yellow, not amber. I wondered what she looked like underneath her armor and soon I was as hard as the wooden spear I had dropped.

"Turn around," she growled. I turned and showed her my skinny arse. I jumped when I felt her leather gloved hand on it. She ran around the outside and even spread it a bit. I was still hard as a tree trunk and felt her reach under and gently cup my marbles.

Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was back on her horse. I stood there, naked, stunned, and hard. "We shall meet again Bilal, son of Balam!" she shouted and she galloped off into the snow.

---

I didn't look for the rest of my unit. I found out later that most of them had died and the rest just scattered across the countryside. I was still in Ghostface's country, and this was the first time I really had to live by my wits. I stayed off the main roads and went back in a completely different direction from the way our army had come. The last thing I wanted to do was run into one of the survivors of the villages we had passed through.

The snow was melting, and I was fortunate that the air was thick with fog and mist. I foraged where I could, but the pickings were very slim in the snow and I had to steal. I tried not to take too much. I would find a scrap of bread here, a slice of cheese there. These people lived in a war-torn land, and I was not the only one experiencing hardship. Still, I went to bed each night with my stomach gnawing at my back.

One morning when I woke I heard hoofbeats. I had found a copse of trees off the main road that was thick with evergreens. I waited silently for the horse to pass on the road, but nothing came and I heard nothing for several minutes. I felt in my gut that something was wrong. I skirted the edge of the copse, sticking my head just outside of the trees. The road was empty both ways as far down as I could see. Then I could just barely make out a shape in the fog. There was a rider, way off the main road. In the distance it was hard to tell, but the rider looked large. I felt a chill go down my spine.

I didn't see the rider again for the rest of the day and found a farm's out building to stay for the night. It was sturdy enough, and kept me out of the snow and rain. The next day I would have to journey into the foothills and then the mountains to get back to Alyuna. Feeling safer than I had in several days, I dozed off.

The morning sun woke me, and outside it was foggy and cold. I almost tripped as I approached the door. On the ground were two cloth-wrapped packages. My body awoke fully and my senses went on alert. Who had been here in the night? Of course if someone had wished to do me harm, they had ample chance while I slept. I was dismayed, however, that it had been so easy for someone to just sneak in here.

I unwrapped the packages and inside both there were ample portions of roasted meat. My mouth watered and I fell on my knees and thanked God for this blessing. Not wasting any time I bit into the meat. It was a kind of meat I had never had and I later learned that it was venison. Despite the odd taste, I ate what felt like a feast. I had to hold off. It would not do to be overfull on my journey, so I packed the meat and continued.

I knew who had brought me the meat, but was confused at her purpose. Why had she approached me and stripped me down? Now that our encounter had ended I laughed whenever it entered my mind. But then my mind wandered to more carnal thoughts. I have always been a passionate man and love all kinds of women. At my home village there had been tall women, small women, fat women, thin women, old women, young women. I loved them all and I still do. I wondered what this giantess looked like under all that armor. I had never seen a woman so big, and I could tell by her shape that much of it was muscle. There was a man, Ahmed, in my unit who was almost as tall as she was. Last I saw him he was down and twitching, pierced by arrows. I felt my ram grow hard as I walked and wished that instead of leaving her gift she had stayed.

Night was falling and the land was growing steep. I would have to take the pass, which hopefully would not be busy, but at the same time it would be difficult to hide there. And though the snow was clearing, it would be much heavier high in the mountains. I didn't see what choice I had. That night I found an outcropping of rock and ate some more of the venison, then slept like a dead man.

It took me three days to clear the mountain pass, and I felt much more at ease in Alyuna. There had been a small caravan coming down the mountain, but I was able to hide behind some of the rocks on the roadside. I wondered if my pursuer had made it across. She stood out much more than I did, though I doubt any travelers would want to stop and question the dark giant.

I came to a village. I spoke the Alyunan language poorly, but Kashaki was common here, since it had been part of the empire for more than a hundred years. I sang for my supper as I always did. I spoke to the village chief. We managed to get by with my poor Alyunan and his poor Kashaki. The army had not come through here, and he had seen no other soldiers. I began to realize how complete our defeat had been, and I felt for my fallen and captured comrades.

The village chief let me stay in his hut for the night on a bed of straw. The next morning the villagers filled my pack with bread, olive oil, and dried beans. There was a true city, Kromini, a two day's journey down the road. The chief said they were fairly friendly to outsiders and I might be able to take a boat down the river to a port. Though it had almost been a week, the battle was fresh in my mind and fear's icy hand gripped my heart whenever I thought about it. I was eager to get back home.

Now that I was truly down the mountains, Spring was in bloom here. The road was lined with blue and white flowers and I heard the sound of insects and birds all around. The venison was long gone, and I had some of the bread with olive oil for my dinner. My thoughts drifted back to the magnificent women warrior. I was frightened of her, but I was a little sad that I had not run into her again. I wondered again what she looked like under her armor. Where did a woman like that come from? That night I gripped my ram and thought about her. In my mind she was like one of the white-skinned women of the north, with golden braided hair and covered with freckles. It was said that in the White Islands the women were big and were warriors along with the men and I had supposed she had been one of them. My rain was hard and plentiful, even in my exhausted state. I fell asleep instantly.

I came upon Kromini as the sun set on that second day. As the village chief had said, it was a proper city. When you were in a real city you knew it. The noisome streets bursted with life, even in the twilight. There was an inn next to the market square. The sign was a carving of a fat man pouring two tankards of Shaitan's water into his greedy mouth. The people here in Alyuna were of the Faith, but they had some disagreements about the details regarding alcohol. I just hoped I could find some hashish inside.

The Alyunan people are not all that different from us Kashakis in their look. They tended to be a little lighter of skin and have a tendency toward curls. Unfortunately, my clothing was what made me stand out. The men here preferred togas that wrapped around their bodies and went bare headed as opposed to the turbans, vests, and pantaloons my people wore. The inn was dark and smoky, and I smelled a thousand smells inside, chief among them being hashish, alcohol, and men's sweat. It was crowded and noisy, and men rolled dice at the tables. There was a pig roasting on a spit, and my mouth watered at the thought of a proper meal after the gruel they had served us in the army.

My Alyunan was not quite enough to explain to the innkeeper that I wished to play a song, so after a few frustrating minutes, I just started playing. I knew a few Alyunan songs, and I decided to go with "The Endless Groves." You can't go wrong with a patriotic song in a foreign land. By the third verse, the patrons were singing along, and my cup clinked with their coppers.