In the former state of Ohio many factions fight to claim the land as their own. For one rebellious Wyld, she too battles internally in order to maintain some semblance of her previous life while struggling to adapt to what she had become. Can a negotiator from the Northwest do the impossible and peacefully resolve the conflicts on the battlefield and within this young Wyld's heart?

Author's Note: I have spent the last few days studying up on Muslim culture, hopefully making the story as authentic as possible. That being said, there are Muslim characters in this chapter and some of them do things that other Muslims may not approve of. That being said, I do this not because of any preconceptions, but rather to make the character seem as realistically human as possible. Some people morals are more strict than others, and ultimately, like any other character I create, they are all made in shades of grey. Nobody's perfect. Please keep that in mind.

Oh, and Sunday, Bloody Sunday, is from the U2 album War,  ©1983 Island Records.

The Heart of it All
A Wyld Universe Story
Part 5
By AoifeM

How long? How long must we sing this song?
How long? How long?
Tonight, we can be as one. Tonight.

I pulled the CD out from the Disc tray and tossed it aside. Must’ve been left in the car when we took it. Don’t get me wrong, I actually love U2, but I suppose you can call me a bit superstitious. A song called “Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” when ironically enough, here I am, about to head to battle, on a Sunday no less.

Of course, there are reasons I don’t want to hear it. “Tonight we can be as one,” and eerily enough, after 10 years I still feel like two different people. My female body versus my male mind. And as much as I try to hang on and cling to dear life, I fear my male mind is losing.

I barely can even remember what I looked like back when I was male. Sometimes I wonder how awkward I’d feel if by some miracle I gained my male body back. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be ecstatic, but I haven’t been a guy in so long I’d have to recommit to learning every little intricacy all over again. I wouldn’t even be surprised how weird it would feel to walk with my “third leg” intact.

And that thought pisses me off too.

Still, I put up with it, albeit reluctantly. Might be the reason I’m so busy, leading a group of ragtag rebels from behind the scenes. The more I work, the less I have to ponder about my gender dysphoria. Doesn’t help when you’re in a car, driving for an hour and a half in order to reach your destination. Marcus, Grond, the rest of my troops, and I are to provide a distraction, keeping the Confederates busy while Ian negotiates terms for an “Agreement of Mutual Cooperation” with the Doge of the Lake States. Hopefully, if all works out, the Laker troops will arrive from the back door, surprising the Confederate Army, and hopefully by attacking from both sides we’ll be able to defeat them and reclaim the city now turned fortress.

At least that’s the theory. A calculated risk to be sure. I just hope nothing bad happens to them. Particularly Ian, whom I still feel guilty when getting him involved in this. He’s taken it well though, so I can’t help but be impressed by that.

The Middleman in this operation is a man named Faried Al-Said. We contacted him a few weeks ago. Being Muslim, he, his family, and the rest of the Muslim populace have a stake in this operation as well. The Confederacy, being extremely theocratic, practically treats Muslims like us Wyld. Oh, and if you’re Muslim Wyld…good luck.

Anyway, after talking to his father, who apparently is highly respected amongst Muslim circles, they agreed to help stage this attack. As I said, they too have a stake in this. For one, the freedom to express their selves again, and two, being able to reunite with family across the border, which has a huge Muslim presence, particularly Wyld who had to abandon their homelands in the Middle East due to the growing intolerance in the region.

The Al-Said family claimed they could get Ian and Trish across the border without any trouble. Meanwhile we were to talk strategy with the head of the Al-Said household, Mohammed. Our army held back 20 miles south of the city limits. When the signal came, they would come out guns blazing.

As for Marcus and myself, we waited till nightfall came on the edge of town. It was there that Faried would rendezvous with us. Though, it sure took long enough.

“Damn,” I growled, arms locked around my body, shivering. “I sure wish he’d hurry up already. I’m freezing!”

“If you weren’t so defiant all the time I would’ve suggested to take a jacket,” Marcus replied. And there’s another disadvantage to being a girl. Seems way too easy to get cold anymore.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, shrugging him off. Suddenly I heard some rustling of leaves nearby.

“Did you hear that?”

We both turned to the direction of the sound, and a shadowy figure appeared from hiding. “I see you did come,” he replied.

“You must be Faried,” I declared, stating the obvious.

Nodding, he quickly retorted, “Come this way and follow. Stand there and you’ll be noticed.”

Agreed we rushed over to him.

“It is not very far.” He affirmed. We followed him to his father’s house, using the alleyways and other nooks and crannies as our routes of travel. Obviously he knew this area well, and I could tell that he would be valuable in our fight. Still the way we travelled felt like a parkour course. If I wasn’t built for this we’d easily would’ve passed out of sheer exhaustion. Hell even I had to slow down for Marcus a little. He’s 44 years old, and has no Wyld in him. Guess being able to regenerate has its perks, sometimes.

Luckily it wasn’t very long until we reached our destination; we were at the back door of an apartment complex.

“We’ve arrived,” Faried stated. He opened the door, and just inside the house he went to a coat hanger and pull off a scarf. He walked over and handed it to me. “Please put this over your head. Forgive me, but my father is still conservative in his values.”

I was appalled. I don’t even want to think I’m a woman, now I’m being subjugated as one?! Marcus looked at me, concerned I might blow a gasket. Under normal circumstances, I would. But his eyes also reminded me, that this is a mission, and I can’t compromise it over something as silly as this.

I took the scarf, apparently called a hijab. And I thought put on a tie was hard enough, I’m not real familiar with tying things over my head, particularly pieces of cloth. I deferred to Faried. “If you could help me put this on.”

After this whole embarrassing incident was behind me, we proceeded to enter the house. We had a seat on their couch, Faried went to get his father. Meanwhile I couldn’t help but think this hijab is like a cast; all of a sudden I had an itch on my scalp that was driving me mad and tried frantically to scratch it.

Marcus seeing me fidgeting with the scarf on my head, chided me, “quit playing around with it.”

“Well, you wear this thing and see if you like it!” I snapped back. Finally getting that itch scratched, I finally felt at ease.

Finally Faried arrived alongside his father. We stood, and he glanced at me, then at Marcus. Seeing the cross around his neck, he commented, “I am surprised a Christian would be so inclined to help what you may consider a ‘backward’ people.”

“Be it Christian or Muslim, our God is the same,” Marcus said, “Those who would use their faith to claim superiority are truly backward.”

With a grin Mohammed shook his hand, putting his left hand under his right. He then treated himself to a seat, not willing to show me the same treatment. Maybe I was overreacting; after all I was practically forced to wear this scarf for his benefit. I wonder if this is how a feminist feels?

Mohammed began, “It has been so long since we have had contact with our relatives and friends across the border. Sadiq has done much for us giving news of their exploits across the border. Still, it saddens me I cannot see those I love face to face.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Marcus replied.

Taking that to heart, Mohammed continued, “The Lake States provide for those who prove their worth, Christian, Muslim, Human or Nasnas.” I assumed that’s what Muslim call Wyld. I later was told that in Arabian Mythology it was a “half human,” literally, as in sliced in half. I was half human too, in the rhetorical sense, but that other half, I’d rather not remind myself.

“I have no qualms overthrowing this regime,” Mohammed stated, “Our family has hidden under false identities long enough. There are many of our society who wishes the same. However, many have their doubts about trusting you. They fear that even though you are facing similar circumstances, that ultimately your ‘newly created state’ will be no different. You are, after all Christian, and even if my family, and others may share the fact we are Nasnas, the similarities end there. How can we trust your word in respect to our religion, our culture?”

I took the opportunity to respond, “Mister Al Said, I’ve been through and understand the tensions that divide people of many races and cultures. Being Wyld, I know firsthand the bigotry and hatred due to our differences, physical or otherwise.”

He looked at me in shock, then turned his head to Marcus, “Why is it that she talks in your place? Does she not know that this is business?”

Marcus, quickly apologize, “My apologies. In either event I am but a lowly human being, in a group of Wyld, fighting for a cause that is unpopular to the belief of the majority of humans. If we acquire this land as our own, you will have the freedom to worship as you see fit.”

I was pissed off. I so wanted to snap this guy’s neck. First I’m being forced to wear something that just screams “I am woman!” Now he has the gull to treat me is if I’m below him?!

Faried seemed to witness my rising anger, and intervened before I exploded, “Miss, perhaps I should lead you to your quarters? I assume you are tired from the long journey.”

I relented. I can see how much this matters to him, just as much it matters to me. I took him up on his offer and left the room. Marcus can handle it; after all, half the time he handed order out to my troops in my stead.

I just can’t believe Mohammed. He’s worried about being treated fairly- what about me?

Faried and I started to walk into the bedroom in which I was staying for the night. He started to apologize for his dad, “Forgive him. Even in the Qu’ran, women should be treated with respect, what he did was not adab.”

“Huh?”

“Not polite.”

At least I felt respected by Faried, which felt good, but didn’t help make the situation any better. The worst part of this was the constant realization I am a girl. That I’ll never be able to act like I used to, and every time my gender impacts something it’s just another smack in the face, forcing me to accept reality.

As I entered the room I was met by a girl, around my physical age, 19, wearing relaxed muslim garb. Faried introduced me, “This is my twin sister, Fatima. She will assist you in everything you require. It might put your mind at rest knowing you aren’t the only female in the house. Please, have a good night.”

He walked off, leaving me in the hands of his sister. The room was overly decorative, somewhat girly, to say the least. Oh, how it gets better.

As she shut the door I immediately ridded myself of the hijab and began to stroke my fingers across my fiery red hair. Oh God how I needed to do that.

“You’re hair is very beautiful,” Fatima stated, breaking me from my trance, “Like a Huriyah.”

Again with these foreign words. I turned back to her.

“Sorry, I don’t know your name,” she realized.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Obviously she was kind of disappointed by my response. What was I supposed to say? Scott Ryan? And I never thought of a female name for myself, hopefully I never will.

Her frown turned into a grin. She retorted, “Then I will just call you Huriyah then!” She seemed to be a little hyper, jumping up in down. She seemed to be rather excited by my presence.

She plopped down on her bed. “My father never allowed me friends to visit,” she admitted. “I’ve never had the opportunity to be friends with another woman. This will be an enjoyable experience.”

This is gonna be hell, I thought in response. I sat down on a chair and began to take off my boots. With all the walking normal human beings would probably have corns and blisters on their feet. Mine still look as smooth and delicate as they always do.

“You have beautiful feet too,” Fatima said with a tinge of jealousy. “Definitely a Huriyah.”

Whatever. Let her call her what she wants. This is just for one night anyway.

“Hold on! Let me get something to help wash them for you!” she exclaim. And as frantically as possible she rushed out the door.

Oh, no…what is she up to? I wondered.

She came back in with a tub of warm water. “Put your feet into this.”

Well…I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I stuck my feet in the warm water. The feeling it had on my feet was absolutely amazing.

Taking a washrag she began to rub the arch of my foot. The state of ecstasy I was in quickly reached its peak as I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and let go of all my thoughts.

She was really thorough, rubbing my heels, ankles, and even the balls of my feet. She really took her time with my toes, running through every crevice. I could get used to this.

Unfortunately everything has its end. “Alright! I’m done!” She cried.

Opening my eyes I immediately took a look at my feet. My mood swung right back to anger as soon as I saw what she did.

“I hope you liked it. I thought green would be the perfect color, seeing it matches your
eyes.”

She painted my toe nails. I was shocked I even let her get away with that. I stood straight up.

“What? Fatima asked, sort of distraught, “You don’t like it?”

Not knowing how to reply I stammered, “J-just…don’t worry about it. It’s fine!”

Obviously she didn’t believe me. With some tears in her eyes she cried, “I’m so sorry!” and rushed out the room.

Great, I thought to myself. I lied down on her sofa, too tired to even chase her down. This day was a disaster. I just wanted it to end. Tomorrow was a big day.

I woke up to the beams of morning light hitting directly over my eyes. Stretching out, I felt a little better. I hadn’t a lot of time, so I quickly got a shower, disappointed that not even that could take the polish off my newly pedicured toes. If I had more time I’d figure out how, but for now I suppose my boots can hide it.

With everything in order I head downstairs. Apparently Marcus, Faried and Mohammed had already left. They must believe I’ll meet up with them.

Without so much as breakfast I quickly made my way to the door. Opening it I headed outside.

...Or I was supposed to, anyhow.

Something impeded my progress, like a barrier, and launched me back down the hallway. Annoyed, but not hurt, I looked at other exits, including the back door. Those too, were blocked.

Fatima, seeing what the commotion was about, came downstairs. Seeing what I was up to, she spoke. “You aren’t allowed to go out there. My father forbids us.”