clydestinkybeef

A Desert Rose

I hadn’t decided what was worse, the tears budding at my eyes, the lashing of the sand, my parched throat, or perhaps the stinging in my heart. While I find wondering about these things futile, complaining in my head helps me ignore the real aspects of these pains. Sand filled my boots with every step, I wondered how often my boots had been emptied and refilled. Three days we, I, had walked. I knew the edge of this sweltering, barren waste was on the horizon. The prospect of salvation taunted me as the salt laden tear on my face did to my thirst.

It had been 4 days since we had received the orders. A routine escort and delivery, or supposedly. My handful of comrades and my commander had been hired to escort the daughter of a very powerful politician to her betrothed, a prince of sorts as I was told. We were also accompanied by the royal guards of said prince. Admittedly, I was confused and curious as to why such a guard was required. Not until later, did I find out that the prince, as well as the politician, had slighted another band of mercenaries that were to do my job. The other band was a rival band of ours and we had a fierce competition. A dangerous competition.

The daughter, whose name I never learned, was said to be the most beautiful woman in the entire city. I now know that to be true. Her weight on my back was a burden, though I would never say it out loud, nor would I ever opt for her to walk. I barely noticed the wound I had suffered even though it was only getting worse. The most beautiful woman on my back, the most beautiful city lay a day ahead of me, the past was behind me.

It was a days camel ride into the desert we had to cross when it happened. The woman, of a much higher social class than us soldiers, was tucked away in her covered caravan. We, the soldiers, were on the outside of the caravan. We saw what was coming. Over the dunes they came, us of the mercenary company recognized them. Why were they here? Why our rivals? That day they turned from rivals to villains. They outnumbered us, and fell upon us with their swords and their scimitars.
The gleam of vindication in their eyes crushed my soul, as I watched my friends, my leader, my allies be brutally massacred. Eventually it was my turn. The screaming had of course alerted the lady, whom had stumbled out of the caravan to see for herself. As I caught the visage of her aura and her beauty, the sword bit into my side. I dismounted, not by choice, and landed against the sand, motionless.
The raucous laughter that proceeded the killings hurt far more than the sword did. I had only one hope, close my eyes and pray that I be taken away swiftly. Then it flashed, the sight of her. It clouded my closed eyes, and I caught my breath. A conversation now struck up between whom I recognized to be the leader of the villainous mercenaries and the most angelic voice to ever grace my ears. The angel asked why; the reply was curt. They did because they could. They have now showed her father and husband that they are as strong as they boast, and not a gold less. They bid the angel farewell, and I heard the camels baying. Only until I heard the angel cry, did I will myself to move. Everything was gone, save for the angel and myself. She gasped as I rose from the sand, and through pure instinct, threw the somber pink veil back across her face. Her similarly colored clothes billowed in the wind. She appeared to me as a rose, a solemn desert rose. I immediately bowed my head, to avert my undeserving eyes.
The rose demanded of me that we must return home. Even had I not wanted to go home, I would have done anything this rose had wished. The water we had, was merely my canteen. The transportation we had, was merely my legs. It was beneath her to walk, if she had another means of transportation. Many things were beneath her, as though the desert, or God, cared. I secretly enjoyed her touch however. Soft as a rose petal, and as light to bear. I obediently trudged through the sand, following as much of a trail we had previously made as I could.
The first day was grueling, yet we were alone and I liked it. As night fell upon us, the stars made navigating a much easier task. The angel never forgot her place, or mine for that matter. I only spoke when I was spoken too, and the water we had was used disproportionately. I was a camel to her, but I relished in the thought of being needed by her. For without me, she would surely die. She must recognize that, and with that recognition comes my payment and fulfillment. In time, status became less and less of a concern to her. She spoken openly with me, and let me share in as well. My heart warmed far faster from her soft words than from any desert sun. She stripped many of her clothes, and I was ashamed of myself for letting my mind stray. She kept her veil about her at all times, and used many of her torn clothes to adorn herself in a crude cloak to help stave off the heat. If she had desired me too, I would have fanned her with my own tired arms.
My cut was growing, but so was my hope. My hope, that this angel, this desert rose, might be my desert rose. She was closer than she let on, she had to be. She must be. I was a savior, a hero, a soldier. She clung to me as though I were life itself. I was life itself, how could she spurn me come end of our journey? She couldn’t. That knowledge and hope kept me moving through the ever sinking sand. As I moved, and looked back on my thoughts, a poem I knew as a adolescent pervaded my mind as well…
“Was it for naught I bled for thee
Defying omnipotent powers?

The blood was mine; the battle, thine
To smother in bright-blooming flowers…” With the poem on my mouth, her image in my eyes, and her words in my ears, I would carry us back to our city.

The past was behind me now. No longer would I be a mercenary, no longer would I have to fight for what I wanted. This was my last fight. One more fight, even though my greatest of battles I have already won. I won the heart of an angel. I had to have. With the water now gone, the angels voice grew hoarse and she refrained from speaking. That was when I began to falter. Her presence on my back and her fleeting face in my eyes, rose me up again. Not too much farther, she whispered every so often, and she was right. She directed me towards a very steep dune upwards, where we might get a better vantage point. The climb was exceedingly difficult, and my legs almost complete refusal to cooperate was angering. My eyes squinted harder than I thought I was squinting, seeing became a very difficult task as well. Determination, and another force, however, were the only things I needed. That force was love, and love I had. I loved this desert rose, my desert rose. Determination found my way to the top, when I heard a gasp. The angel on my back stirred, and struggled out of my grip. Her force knocked me to my knees, as she left me and ran towards a caravan. Even though my vision blurred, I could make out the colors, and crest of the caravan. It was of her prince. Her betrothed. I could hear her shouting his name, I could her hear cries of joy. Cries of joy that would never be shared upon me, a soldier. My arms fell to my sides as my heart fell farther. I looked down, upon the reddening sand. I saw what must have been my heart bleeding on the sand, for I know my heart is no longer with me. My leathery throat could not rasp any more cries. As I collapsed onto my face, my lasting thoughts were of her. She never forgot her place, nor did she forget mine. I was a soldier, and I did what a soldier must do. She was a maiden, an angel, a rose, and she did what she must do. She must be happy, and I knew she was going to be happy with where she was going. I smiled a chapped lip grin as my face buried itself in the sand. I have fulfilled my duty my angel, and now I will rest.




Any feedback would be appreciated. I know I'm a shitty editor, so expect mistakes

The poem in the story i recieved from a book, Steven Grast I think the mans name was, I'd have to go digging for it. I figured it was a very appropriate thing for the soldier to know.