Thick dust crept beneath her hijab and Laila bit back a curse. Cairo, she thought, had not been this bad last time she was here. No matter, it was infinitely better than the hell she’d left behind.

Not that she was totally convinced she was out of hell. Perhaps she was simply in a different circle? She wracked her heat-blasted mind for a moment before giving up that train of thought. It was just too hot for Dante.

That one brought a smile to her lips. Right now a frosty beer would totally hit the spot but finding that particular form of alcohol in today’s Cairo was next to impossible unless you had serious money. Other things… not so much. Beer wasn’t even a problem if you didn’t mind drinking it hot.

She detested even slightly warm beer, always had. Her years in the middle of wars and upheaval had also taught her to be circumspect and as a result she’d developed a liking for exactly the thing her hostess was currently preparing. She poured tea back and forth from one pitcher to another, holding the top one high and generating lots of foam. It looked showy and of course she added flourishes and curlicues to the procedure but the real purpose was to cool the tea by evaporation. The addition of grain alcohol helped that along and resulted in a drink that was… well, not exactly cool but certainly not quite so hot.

It had the added benefit of being strong enough to strip paint. Her hostess did not wear a head covering since Egypt was a more or less secular country but Laila didn’t stand out at all by wearing one. If anything it helped her to blend in and eased her access to the secret societies women formed in this part of the world. In many ways it had become a part of her identity after so long and she even found herself occasionally missing the complete cover provided by a burqa. You could hide an armory under those things!

“Look, Malia, you have to tone it down a bit, ok? This woman is not your servant and even if she was your father wouldn’t have approved of your tone!”

The young queen looked down and scuffed a toe in the furrow she’d already made.

“I know… I just miss him so much.” She scuffed her toe in the dirt again. “I’m sorry Samira, I should not have spoken to you that way.”

A cup of frothing semi cool tea appeared in front of her face and she followed the hands that held it to see the smiling face of the younger woman.

“I did not take offense Your Majesty.” She looked around at the subtle change in the courtyard. You wouldn’t see it if you didn’t know to look for it but if you did you knew the look of a team on the razor’s edge of a possible firefight, trying not to show it. A grin crept over her face.

“The Queen is known and welcomed here. There is no need for alarm in the home of a friend and you are indeed in such a place. Here you may rest from your labors in safety, at least for a time. Our sisters are more than capable of ensuring your safety. Your parents were much beloved among the sisterhoods.”

The air of the room immediately relaxed and Laila could just hear muttering from one of the other women.

“Well ain’t that a fuckin pip! Here we are trying to hide the brat and first place we go, they know exactly who she is within 5 minutes!”

Laila thought about saying something but just as she opened her mouth Malia cut in.

“So you’re blaming me for standing out, you overgrown She-Hulk? I’m not the one propping my size 14 combat boots up on a table and picking my teeth with a freakin sword! Goddamn redneck!”

“She Hulk? This skin is beautiful dark chocolate, not green! It is not a sword, it’s a tactical knife! And…” Aisha slipped her hijab back onto her shoulders and scrubbed at her close cropped hair with one hand “Being both black and from Queens I’m not even sure I can be a redneck. So there!”

The good natured banter flew for a moment and the tension level in the room decreased noticeably. Laila looked around at her team, noting with approval. The first few months had been tense, women from different traditions and backgrounds, none but herself from the Sisterhood of Umm ‘Ammara and trained in the art of protection. Oddly enough the Israelis were the most easily integrated component while there had been rather… vigorous friction between the various Islamic Sisterhoods.

Laila had her own opinions about what the Prophet might have thought of their group but she kept them to herself. The views of her Sisterhood were far more radical than they allowed outsiders to know, even trusted ones such as her team. Their view of faith was closer to Sufism than anything else despite their roots in the mountains of the Hindu Kush and they welcomed free women of all beliefs or none. Sexuality was no bar, nor was having come to womanhood by unusual routes and as a result there was a very high proportion of lesbian and trans women.

At least 4 of her team were trans, she knew that for a fact. She strongly suspected that the barbs between Aisha and the queen were sexual tension and wondered just how that was likely to play out before dismissing it from her mind and focusing on the next step. One night in Cairo before they had to get moving to be at Zafarana. Another day to lie low at the Sahara Inn before they snuck aboard the yacht that would get them out without being seen even if anyone had managed to trace their movements.

From there they would make their way out into the Arabian Sea and onward to Adelaide. They had a week to make it over 8,000 miles in complete secrecy and she wondered, not for the first time, about the wisdom of taking the sea route. Still, it was what they had and even that had been unexpected.

They had encountered a group of women and children on the way to Cairo and had assisted them to their destination, protecting them on the way. At the end of their journey it transpired that one of the women was the daughter of a very wealthy man, a man who had gained entry to the EU but could not risk leaving even for a day trip in a yacht once there. When he realized who they were guarding he made a gift of his yacht, telling them where it was moored and providing access codes to the boat.

Still, they had to get there along a hundred miles of lawless road and she had nearly reached the end of her resources.

Another woman ghosted into the room, seeming to almost dwell within shadows. Her eyes flicked toward the young woman who was serving the team with the fiery beverage in a gesture clear to Laila and she nodded imperceptibly, almost chuckling as the other woman’s eyes widened in surprise.

“We must leave now Kwaja! The direct route is already blocked so we will have to detour up the river to Sawl and then travel cross country. I have already arranged for 2 cars in Sawl but we have to leave right now! The city will be locked down within half an hour.”

For Nasrin that was a regular speech. The woman rarely spoke more than a few words at a time and always covered her face. She had come to the Sisterhood after the man who bought her as a child tired of her and cut her nose and ears off. She had taken to the life of a warrior with alacrity and become the most devastating fighter Laila had ever seen. She moved like smoke, struck from the shadows and vanished before her target even realized they were dead.

Nasrin had made an exception for the man who disfigured her. Laila shuddered a little as she recalled the week it had taken for him to die. Finally grateful to gasp his last, a flayed skinless wreck shuddered to oblivion, accompanied by a shrilling warble of hate. It wasn’t as though she didn’t understand after all, she had been brutally beaten before escaping to the streets of Miami and being kidnapped to become a sexual toy for a wealthy Sheikh.

He had her remade from the dysphoric boy she had been to the woman she became, something she had dreamed about. She had not dreamed of being enslaved, property to be used and abused and that had fueled her hatred until one night she had enough and simply snapped, drawing his ceremonial dagger with slow caution and carefully hovering the tip over his heart before throwing every ounce of her strength and weight onto him, driving the dagger through his heart and into the mattress beneath.

He never awoke, dying with a weird rattling sigh beneath her and leaving her terrified. She had no idea where in the world she was, just that it wasn’t in the US and there were mountains all around. She escaped from the compound in the silence of predawn and made her way into those mountains, poorly dressed and prepared but free. Her second night freezing in the merciless crags was so desperate she thought about going back down to the town to seek some sort of shelter but fear and common sense prevailed and she shivered on, falling into a fitful sleep just before dawn, hidden in a gully.

When she awoke it had warmed considerably but she had something new to worry about. She had looked up in fear at the group of veiled figures surrounding her, unable to understand their speech. They had taken her in, brought her to the sisterhood of Umm Ammara’ and given her purpose. She trained with them in mountain fastness, learned to be a warrior instead of a frightened young girl and grew to become a leader of other women, always the protector she had determined to be.

She was fluent in… she didn’t even know how many languages and dialects. She had bounced all over parts of Asia, North Africa, most of the Middle East but never back to North America. There was nothing left for her there. Her life was to protect other women, avenge them if necessary, free them when possible and in her own quiet way do honor to Allah.

While she’d been woolgathering her team had reacted with practiced efficiency and were ready to move, waiting for her signal. Nasrin ghosted back out and a moment later a quiet click signaled the others to follow. The young woman who had been serving them fell in with them, pulling out a hijab of her own and donning it.

They slipped out and through dark alleys, nearly silent forms moving with practiced ease. Within a half hour they were slipping aboard a darkened boat whose motor purred quietly, propelling them up the sluggishly moving river at a walking pace. It took them nearly an hour to clear the city proper and another before they were able to safely add speed, their pilot strange looking in her old light amplification goggles.

Soon they were back ashore, the lights of Sawl glimmering off the Nile as their pilot hugged Samira and then shooed her gently off the boat before backing away and vanishing into blackness. The young woman came over and gestured for her attention.

“Mother Halima says I am to go with you. She says I belong with Umm Ammara’.”

“You belong with loving parents, child.”

“Allah lm fa'innah…”(Allah did not will it.)

“He did not take your parents from you child. Men did that. Allah wills no evil to the innocent, Peace be upon Him.”

“I do not want peace. My way is clear now. I will serve with the Sisterhood of Umm Ammara’. I will fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I will prove myself worthy to carry that name, Inshallah.”

She glared up into Laila’s face, hijab down around her neck again.

“Khoonee gandagee!” Laila swore under her breath in frustration.

“What?”

“Nothing… get in the car already.”

The cars were old Mercedes diesels, large and heavy but In seemingly good repair as they only rattled a little on the equally well maintained Al-Kurimat/ Al-Zafrana highway. They met almost no traffic on the 3 hour drive and soon were in Zafrana. Plans had changed along the way since there were yet 2 hours before dawn and there was no reason to risk staying in a country that was rapidly disintegrating into warfare.

Laila used a laser aiming device to signal the boat’s crew and was rewarded by a silent launch ghosting over the water on trolling motors. They quickly and quietly boarded leaving the cars at the water’s edge, metal ticking as the desert night stole their heat. The launch slotted into its position in a notch in the fantail and was lifted out of the water to bring the gunwhales level with the decking.

They disembarked and were quietly ushered belowdecks before subdued red lighting came up, illuminating a man who gave new meaning to hook nosed. She was a little nonplussed when he bowed deeply before introducing himself in a highly accented mixture of Arabic and English.

“Hānim …” He bowed again. “I am your servant for as long as you will have me. This vessel and others owned by my employer are now yours to do with as you will. May the wisdom of the Prophet aid you always, Peace be upon Him.”

“Raban alssafina, kunt takrim 'akhwati.” (ShipMaster, you honor my sisters.)

His careworn face broke into a broad toothy grin and his eyes glittered. “Kunt al'akhwat sharaf 'ajdadi.” (Your sisters honor my ancestors.)

The ancient words spoken, their bona fides established, he switched back to English. “May I know what is our destination, Lady?”

“For now, the ocean. Once we are well away I will provide you with a heading. It would be better if no one noticed our departure.”

“As you wish. The tide is still running strong so with your permission I will weigh anchor and allow the current to carry us. We will need to either hoist sail or use the engines by dawn.”

“Engines once we are far enough away to be unnoticed. It would be nice to feel your lovely ship take the wind in her teeth Captain… but time is not our friend.”

“As you command Lady.” He disappeared toward the bow.

Her team was already sorting out accommodations with a sharply uniformed steward and within a few minutes they all had their gear stowed, each keeping a favored weapon or few on their persons. If their boarding hadn’t been noticed they wanted to make sure their presence remained hidden so they all stayed belowdecks.

Hours later the deep rumble of engines began to vibrate the hull and for a minute or two the rush of water under the keels could be felt before the craft rose up on its hydroplanes and went skating over the waves. The team set a watch and sacked out long before Laila found her way to the bridge.

The captain looked around at her near noiseless tread and flashed that smile again. “Your team may move freely belowdecks without being seen. All glass is mirrored and armored and there are armored shutters built in. Yarada is quite safe.”

“Flying Fish? What an appropriate name. I have seen boats of her class but none so large or so… well equipped.” Her eyes swept over consoles, noting state of the art instrumentation and control systems… and a few spaces where instrument panels could go but which were covered with rich wood panel.

“You may have seen similar vessels but Yarada has no peer. It is my hope that you will not have cause to discover her full capability this day. Have you eaten Lady?”

“Your steward provided a delicious meal to my team, thank you.”

“And the Queen?”

“You know?” From fairly relaxed to humming nerves, ready for the need to do violence.

“She is… distinctive. As much so as yourself, Lady Death.”

His words should have pushed her even closer to the edge of violence, instead she found herself taking an empty seat, one of the ones with an instrument panel but no instruments.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Al'iikhwat albahr(Sea Brothers) all know of you. The American woman who was once a boy, then a slave. Who took her vengeance and vanished into the arms of the Sisters. Who became Mother and went on to destroy the Taliban, root and branch. It is said that one day a righteous woman will arise who shall cleanse the world with her fury and bring justice to the downtrodden.” He didn’t look at her while speaking, his attention on the screens in front of him and on the greyness of dawn outside.

“I am no righteous woman, captain.”

He didn’t respond for a while. “And I am no righteous man. Not in the eyes of the mullahs and I fear not even in the eyes of the Prophet, peace be upon him. Still, I do the will of Allah as I understand it and you do the same. I cannot think this would be considered evil.”

It was almost an hour before she spoke again, simply sitting there watching the grey turn to sunrise as the boat flew through the straight and into the Red Sea. Land quickly dropped away and they were surrounded by a glittering expanse, steering occasionally around merchant ships.

“If I were this woman, would you stand with me?”

“I am your servant, Lady.” The ancient words of fealty fell into the humming silence of the bridge.

“I did not ask if you would stand behind me and I do not want a servant, ever!” Laila realized she was almost shouting and lowered her voice to a normal speaking tone. “I asked if you would stand with me. If your Brothers would stand with me.”

He was clearly amused at her reaction but quickly sobered under her glare.

“I will stand beside you, as will my brothers. Our ancestors swore this long ago and we have kept our oath. As long as any Sister draws breath we are your faithful…” he trailed off.

“I was going to say faithful servants but the original oath uses a different word… aldaaem(Support). So… As long as any Sister draws breath we are your support. We stand with Lady Death, Inshallah.”

“Inshallah” she responded automatically. They sat there in silence until the Captain rose from his seat, to be replaced by a sharply uniformed crewman.

He offered her a hand and she took it, finding herself pulled effortlessly to her feet.

“I am informed you did not eat with your team. Will you do me the honor of sharing my table?”

For some reason she couldn’t define Laila found herself looking into his deep brown eyes and couldn’t manage to tear her gaze away. It seemed like an eternity before she was able to reply.

“I will be honored to share your table. Thank you Captain.”

He led the way and she followed him down into a very cozy stateroom, large enough to contain both a seating and dining area in a separate compartment from his bunk. Laila couldn’t help noticing his broadly muscled back and shoulders or the firm globes below them and wondered at the unfamiliar feelings they generated within her.

Once seated covered plates were quickly put in front of them and the steward withdrew. A barely remembered smell wafted from the plate as the captain removed both covers and her mouth watered, hard.

“This is not Halal.”

His eyes danced as he took a bite of the succulent pork. “I think we have already established that neither of us are particularly righteous and I am certain you have not had this particular dish for many years. I thought you might like a taste of your childhood.”

Laila slowly took a small shred in her right hand and inhaled as she brought it to her lips, lost in memory. She popped it in her mouth and was overwhelmed by the sweet spicy mustard sauce, the way it accentuated the flavor of slow smoked pork , the crispiness of the outer bark.

“How…?”

“Our galley is quite well equipped.” He reached into a hidden refrigerator compartment and pulled out 2 bottles, working the wires holding the cork in place until it came free with a pop. “I am informed that this goes well with beer and I just happen to have some good Czech brew.” He took another bite and chewed for a moment, then chased it with a sip of beer before he sighed in pleasure.

“It appears I was informed correctly!” He noticed that she had yet to move, slowly chewing on her morsel, eyes closed and tears running down her face. “Lady?”

She heard him but didn’t. Memories swelled over her… memories of childhood, carefree playing in the sunlight and cooling evening, the smell of marsh permeating everything. Later, the same smells but no longer carefree, no longer playing. Beatings and torment, outcast, friendless. The reasons she had fled to the streets… The reason she was here, now.

Part of her wondered if somehow this had been her fate all along. Was she destined to truly be the Lady Death of the old prophecies? The question itself unlocked a determination within her, that she would follow her destiny, embrace it.

If she was to be the incarnation of Death then she would make the world quail before her. She did not know if her fury could even cleanse her own soul, much less the world, but she swore an oath to herself right then.

“If this is my destiny, I accept it. Lady Death I shall be, Inshallah.”

Laila didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until the captain replied. “Inshallah.”

He proffered a napkin and she wiped at her face before looking up into his eyes again.

She took another bite of pork and a swallow of beer before sighing in pleasure of her own and relaxing, tension she hadn’t realized existed draining out of her muscles.

Through the porthole they could see another merchant ship, looking like it stood still in the water as Yarada flew past. Food and light conversation were as always a superb social lubricant and she found herself liking this man more and more. As they took their leave and she fell into her own bunk, lightly inebriated she wondered…

“What the hell am I doing?”