Short Story: The Last Barrier

Aryam Alqasmi’s story explores themes of history, culture, resilience, and family bonds, set against a fantastical backdrop.

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The moon was shining beautifully that night. The streets were empty. The small shops were closed. People slept. A commotion was heard from outside. What was it? A question on everyone’s mind. They thought it was a petty squabble. But the night had other plans.

A frantic man with bloodshot eyes babbled something about the village chief. People crowded around him. An old man shook him. “Speak clearly, boy. What’s happened?” And there it was. The invaders had killed the chief. He explained how the chief, desperate to protect the village, had tried to poison their captain. But he hadn’t expected the healer- a magician with healing powers- to be nearby, disguised as a soldier. The healer traced the poison with his magical powers. It had been hidden in a scroll the chief had brought. The captain’s eyes flashed with fury. His jaw clenched. “Crush him,” he ordered. “Use the Kobold.” The air stilled. The crowd froze. Their eyes trembled, and some fell. The last silver line disappeared, and the flood of misery crawled toward them.

Gaitha and Maitha listened from a distance. Terrified, their eyes brimmed with tears. What would fall on their village now that the chief was dead? They ran home, gasping, stifling sobs. Fear lodged in their chests.

“What do we do, Maitha? If they come, they will kill everyone without mercy. We’ll be the first under the knife,” Gaitha said, trembling.

“Hold yourself, Gaitha. We’ll find a way,” Maitha replied, voice firm. “We have to. Many will die if we don’t.” Gaitha stared at her. She knew what her sister meant. But she wasn’t sure.

“But Maitha… Mom made us promise before she died. Not to use it. I can’t break that promise.” Gaitha’s voice cracked.

“I know. Me too. But… Mom would want us to help if she were alive.” Maitha stood firm.

It was decided. They would help. They would do it for their people. And they would do it while the night still covered them. They snuck through the village, searching for the magic stones they had hidden in secret spots as children. Years ago, their mother had taught them how to channel the stones’ power—though she had warned them never to use it, for it was dangerous and corrupting. They met behind the house. They started the work. In minutes, it was done. The sisters hugged, proud. They erased every trace of them into thin air.

At first light, the invaders came, believing they had the upper hand. Until they saw it—the wall. A massive barrier of shimmering light encircled the village, impenetrable and unyielding. The captain summoned his monsters—red goblins, kobolds, and orcs. They stomped toward it. The creatures clawed and bashed at the wall, but it stood unmoving. The villagers, previously silent, now cheered. A miracle had happened. The wall was a testament to magic, a secret gift, and the villagers’ new hope.

The sisters exchanged glances. Smiling at each other, they felt relief wash over them. They had broken their promise, but they had saved their people. They went back home, their hearts still pounding.

“I am still scared, Maitha. What if they find out? How will we protect ourselves?” Gaitha’s voice was barely a whisper, dread pooling in her stomach.

“As long as we lie low, no one will know,” Maitha reassured her. But before she could finish, a massive explosion shook the air. The sisters ran outside. People looked up. Smoke rose in the sky. Another explosion. A cannonball—yet it exploded in the air, far from the village. Some people panicked. Others cheered.

Maitha smirked at Gaitha.

“Nice job, sister. Your shields are stronger now,” she said, eyes gleaming with pride.

“Thank you. I learned from the best.” Gaitha winked, feeling a mixture of pride and fear.

“But we have to keep this quiet. No one must find out,” Gaitha insisted, still wary of the consequences.

The sisters returned home, but the fear didn’t subside. The invaders kept trying for days, launching attacks that seemed more desperate with each passing hour. The goblins, unruly as always, broke free and wreaked havoc on the invaders’ camp. The monsters attacked the invaders’ soldiers, and the rest of the army fled, unable to contain them.

The village, once hungry and hollow, now flourished. The people rejoiced, singing songs of victory, but the sisters could not join in. The chief was dead, and though the village was safe, they were alone. Gaitha and Maitha walked back to their house, the air thick with an ache they could not name. Silence stretched between them, and though the world seemed to be healing, they felt their loss.

Then came a voice. Low. “Good job, girls.” They knew that voice. The sisters turned. There, in the shadows, stood the chief. Blood dripped from him like ink on the floor.

“Father,” Gaitha said, rushing forward. “We thought you were gone.”

“Yes,” Maitha’s voice trembled. “We thought we were left alone.”

He smiled, his face bruised but proud. “My beautiful, brave daughters. I know. I barely escaped the Kobold. It almost killed me. I barely managed to drag myself out. But you…” His eyes softened. “You proved yourselves today. You are leaders. The shield… whose was it?”

Gaitha stepped forward. “Mine. I worked hard to make it strong.”

The chief laughed weakly; his pride unmistakable. “You have made me proud.”

The village prospered, and a new light shone, warm, flickering. The people were kinder and closer. The chief and his daughters were a secret, hidden in the shadows of the world. Together, they carried the weight of the village’s future. But whispers began to spread. The villagers, though grateful, grew uneasy. They spoke of the barrier in hushed tones, their eyes darting toward the sisters’ home. “Magic,” they said. “Witchcraft.” The word hung in the air like a curse.

Then, one day, the sisters were gone. The secret they had guarded with their lives had spilled like water. Afraid of the villagers, they left without leaving a trace. Some say they still walk the earth, unseen, just beyond the edges of the world.

Author’s Bio

Aryam Mohammed Al-qasmi is an Omani English literature graduate with a passion for writing that explores cultural resilience, identity, and emotional journeys. Their work often draws from Omani culture, personal experiences, and reflections.