Yes, yet another new story...well not particularly new, we've been working on it for sometime. ANyways, like all our stories, this is yaoi/slash/male on male, you don't like, you don't read. Flamers will be ignored. Read. Enjoy. Review.

The History of the Sahissans

In the beginning, the Sahissans lived in the mother land. They never fought and there was only one tribe, the Yessja'hi. They were taught to hunt by the gods and they wandered the same deserts as the immortals. There was peace and happiness.

But time changed. The mother land was invaded by strange people with strange ideas, ukaiuh devils from the west. They tried to make the Sahissans change their ways. They tried to make the Sahissans as they were not.

But the gods were merciful to the people who lived with the desert as mother and father, and soon they spirited the Sahissans away to a new land, pure and untainted. The Sahissans went to sleep one night under the Single Orb and awoke in a different land, with four moons above them and new stars.

They were happy then. They settled and they multiplied, man and wife and children and kin, several tribes united – for a time. They bred horses that never faltered as they raced over the dunes, hawks with sharp eyes, and loyal dogs; and their children were born fearless and proud. Daughters and sons survived their Desert Walkings and came of age. Babies were born. There was peace.

It could not last. The fights between the tribes began. They were never too bloody, and always there was honour. The gods gave their favour to whoever they wished, and there was a true balance present. Blood fell on the sand dunes, and forgotten weapons glistened under the starlight as they lay alone. There was never true war.

But then… The strangers arrived, the ukaiuh, in their ships of silver. They built their ugly camps where the desert met the green, and they made machines which tortured world with their smoke and noise. They came again to deny the Sahissan their home. They disgraced the sacred places under the Pointing Stars, the dancing squares of the gods, with mines and tools unknown to the Sahissan.

For a while, the desert people retreated. None can live in the wilderness like a Sahissan. Only they know the life of the desert. They could not be followed by the ukaiuh with their sticks that made noise and then killed, by the spirits who were so devoid of honour that they would shoot an innocent, or kill someone who cannot match them.

But the Sahissans would not lose this home. They struck out, and once again reclaimed the land under the Pointing Stars, returning its holiness. The blood of the ukaiuh washed over the sand and was purified.

The devils struck back, murdering children and families with their cruel magic. War was declared, though not yet enacted.

This was fourteen turnings of the moon ago. Enough time for a boy to become a man, a warrior, and a father. Enough time for an army to prepare itself to fight for its homeland.



We have a last Dance before we go, to make our spirits stronger and to remind us of our duty to return. The fire burns bright and tall, visible for many miles over the flat plains, and the drums are loud as god-thunder. The beat takes over my soul and my body. I can see the light of the flames licking over my skin, glittering over the twisting patterns of the body-paint, shining over my hair. At my wrists and ankles bells chatter to the rhythm of my twisting body, the music of me and my kin weaving together to make some great magic that captures us all and takes us beyond where mortals walk. I'm not aware of my tiredness, and my feet naturally compensate for the shifting sands. Above us the largest moon watches, pregnant with fullness, and the stars shine brighter for our dancing.

I can see my family as I whirl past: my mother and her husband, my father and his wife, my siblings and half-siblings. There's Ikkre, my present lover, spinning fast with his arms outstretched, bright face vibrant with joy. Over his body I can see the paint of a warrior, the same as mine: vibrant blue from the mqay plant in delicate signs bestowing luck and courage. There's Poulsma, mother of my only child, dancing with her husband.

I wish it could be this way forever.


I'm not a child any more – a man of fifteen years, with a baby son, a lover, training and skill – but it's still hard to leave home. I'm nearly shaking as I dress – hair plaited neatly and twisted tight to the back of my head, veil covering all but my eyes, all fabric the perfect black for the night. My feet are bare – bell-hung anklets from the Dance removed, as is the body paint. I tighten the trousers, held as they are with bands of dark fabric wrapped about my legs, so they remain close to me, and slip my daggers into the small sheaths tied by my thighs. My 'shirt' is made in the same style as my trousers, and using the two hanging ribbons I tightly secure my quarterstaff to my back.


I darken my eyes with thick lines of kohl till they are deep and mysterious as a godling's. I look like a warrior in the rippling surface of the water held in the jar before me; some man from long ago who died for his people, who achieved such immortal honour.

I would that I should meet my own death in such a way, and have my spirit become one of the trelí angels.

I step out from my family's tent briskly, running my eyes over their sleeping bodies as if it will be for the last time. Outside it is dark and Yslo and Leaniis, the two smaller moons, are barely showing. A perfect night. My quick eyes pick out the shapes of two dozen or so horses, all mostly still. They know as well as us what they are to do. Most of them have riders atop them, and closest to me I see Ikkre, mounted on his mare and with mine beside him.

'K'yalice!' he calls. Hurry!

I mount my mare at a run, hands clenching at her mane to pull myself up. Her bare back is warm between my thighs, a sturdy and reliable form in the face of new oppertunities.

I scan my eyes over the other warriors who are to ride tonight. They are all young and in their prime: aged from fourteen years to thirty, more men than women, well-prepared and with the glint of revenge sweet in their eyes.

We shall be silent. We shall leave no trace of where we have been. We shall be invisible. The camp of the ukaiu shall have no knowledge of us till we arrive.

The desert will hide the people who know and love her best.