by E L Russell
Finna held her hand close above Yasmin’s body and felt the heat rising. Too hot. Feverish. “Can you drink more water?”
“Am proud.” Yasmin breathed, drifting off.
Thank the gods. She needed the comfort of sleep. Their water was running low and when it was dark, she would spy on the remaining men and return to the spring to fill the water bags, if she could leave the cave unnoticed. She reached across Yasmin’s legs and rearranged the thin blanket.
Yasmin groaned and slid her hand into Finna’s. “Jamal will help you. He is a good warrior.”
“I know that and you can tell him in the morning.”
“No. I must sleep. For a long . . . time.” She exhaled a long breath and Finna waited for her to inhale again.
She leaned closer. “Yasmin? Yasmin.”
Yasmin lived, but Finna could scarcely detect her shallow breaths. She sat next to her holding her hand as if she could transfer her life’s essence to this brave woman. Eventually, she lost her vigil and lapsed into a light sleep to be awakened by song. Jamal sat next to his mother, combing her hair with his fingers and humming a disjointed lullaby. Her heavy eyelids closed and she slept once more.
* * *
Finna woke with a start some time later and she saw Jamal was gone. Without a wasted motion, she threw her legs up and out and landed on her feet. She grabbed her fighting stick. “Yasmin.” Except for a slight rasping noise, she slept peacefully. Peacefully and alive.
Footsteps approached from the long, narrow passageway that led to the entrance and she crouched fighter-ready against the wall, aiming the metal tip of her fighting stick at the opening. Rhythmic soft taps on the rocks replaced the stealthy footsteps. Jamal.
He waited for the agreed on signal and entered, a large water bag on each shoulder and an arm full of wood. “No marauders out there,” he whispered. “My search was thorough. They must have thought the fire killed us all, and lazy dogs that they are, didn’t confirm it. The ship, too, is gone.”
“You’ve done well.”
He knelt next to his mother and took her hand. “Mother? How are you?”
Finna stooped next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not well, Jamal, but she’s lived longer than any man I’ve seen in battle with such burns.”
His mouth opened, but he made no sound.
Finna felt renewed hope. If the men were gone, they could get away and they would take Yasmin with them. “She’s tough. We will tend to her until she can walk out of here.”
Jamal was more pragmatic. He looked at his mother and shook his head. “I pray she is not in pain.” He squeezed her near lifeless hand. “Mother?” He waited for only a moment. “I fear she will not awaken.” He stood abruptly and picked up his sword. “I wish I could fight for her recovery.”
Finna felt the same. She wanted to kick someone’s ass and then kick it again . . . and again. She wanted to eviscerate Sabas, the prince and the queen all at once. Not for the first time, she wondered if the monarch had in fact taken the chalices, not realizing the consequences. She found herself hating the monarch for putting them in such danger. Jamal was a clever boy and from his comments earlier, it was plain that with what his mother had told him, he had sorted out the nuances of this quest.
Yasmin stirred and struggled for breath.
29
Loss
Manhood
Finna settled Yasmin, but she realized she and Jamal might be spending many years alone together. “You asked how I knew which cup the Queen gave the Abby. I witnessed the gift giving because my father thought to inspire me.”
“You? You were invited to the holy service?” Jamal folded his arms, his face a picture of disbelief, but also one of interest.
Finna grinned at him. They both needed a diversion and the story would serve. She felt years older than that girl who once peeked through that aperture in the ceiling. She was so young and impressionable back then. What was it, a year ago? Would she take on this journey if she had it to do again?
“How did that come about?”
She checked that Yasmin still breathed. “My father taught me many things, among them, his wisdom as a Mason. I learned many secrets of his Masonic traditions, but most of all, he trained me like a son, to be his squire and not his housemaid.”
The boy pulled his chin back and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He gave me no guidance on being a woman.”
“None?” The boy eyed widened in disbelief.
“Ah, I see. You know only the pampered women in a concubine, so you are surprised. But your mother is strong and brave.”
“Yes. She is a warrior skilled beyond most others.”
A fleeting smile crossed Finna’s face. Very fleeting. The chances that Yasmin would fight again, or even live, did not look good. “Yes, that’s true. She is the best.” She continued her story both to pass the time and to keep Jamal’s mind occupied. Sometimes she wondered if she’d missed something and thought of what her life might have been had her mother lived. But she hadn’t. “My father didn’t insist I dress like a girl. He let me wear rough clothing, especially when we fought with our wooden swords.”
“My mother told me you were the best fighter she’d ever seen.” His eyes dropped to his mother.
“We are a team, are we not? We protect each other.” She reached over and ruffled his hair. “You, too, Jamal. You are the worthy son of any man. I’ve watched you.”
Although he tried to hide it, he flushed with pride. “Your father is a knight?”
Finna got up to check the blankets over Yasmin and to rewet the cloth on her forehead. “My father was a knight. No longer. He became a Templar after the First Crusade because he wanted to protected pilgrims on their way to the Holy Lands, not fight for the sake of killing or plundering.”
“But then how is he a stone mason?”
“So many questions,” but she continued, wanting to keep both their minds from worrying about his mother.
“He swore to his lady love, that was his wife,” she said, “that he would return to France and resume his life as a master mason to take care of her and the baby she carried.” Finna looked away. If her mother had lived, her father’s life would have been different too. Maybe she and her father would not have been so close. “My father told me he had already made his decision to leave the Templars before I was born. His departure was honorable.” She looked away, realizing she had not thought of how empty those days without her mother must have been for him. “My mother died birthing me in 1122.”
A flush rose on Jamal’s dark face at her momentary silence. “I’m sorry. You are right. My mother says I ask too many questions.” He stood and did a thrust and parry in the air with the piece if firewood he’d been peeling. “You are nearly my mother’s equal as a warrior and I look forward to the day the three of us battle enemies together again.”
That was proper loyalty and she recognized the high praise from the boy. She coughed to hide her laugh and heard a second cough from Yasmin, who woke and tried to sit. They moved close to her. Waiting for her coughing to stop was agony and Finna lifted her shoulders to ease her. “Would you like some water?”
Yasmin moaned and turned her face away and when Finna lowered her to floor, she once more dropped off to sleep. Distraught, Finna dropped to the floor and shut her mind off to all thought and closed her eyes.
* * *
Yasmin coughed and her breath came in uneven rattles and Finna hurried to her side Supporting her burnt body, she gave her sips of water before gently easing her back down.
“Jamal?” Yasmin’s eyes darted about the small cavern. “Where is Jamal?”
“I am here, Mother.” He had been holding her hand.
“Good . . . boy.”
Finna gently brushed the hair from Yasmin’s face. “Shh, sleep.”
And she did, but gradually, she become eerily still and Finna grew alarmed. She leaned close and passed the back of her hand across her friend’s mouth and
nose. She felt no breath. Gently, she placed her hand on the woman’s abdomen. There was no movement. Her soothing words were no longer for Yasmin, but for herself. “Yes, Yasmin, sleeps in the arms of God.”
She said to Jamal, who still held his mother’s hand. “She no longer feels pain.” The boy rocked with silent tears, his body rising and falling with ragged breathing. Several moments passed and then he stood in anger and grabbed his mother’s sword. Without a word, he bolted for the exit.
Her reactions, dulled by sadness, were slow. “Jamal. Stop. The thieves may have returned.”
His response echoed from the narrow, twisted shaft leading to the entrance of their cave. “I’m counting on it.”
Finna picked up her spear and her deadly short sword and took off after him. If the cutthroats had returned, they would kill him or captured him. Either way, in the end, he would be returned to Zafir.
Breaking out of the dark cave into the bright morning sunlight, Finna shielded her eyes in frantic search of movement on the rocky surface directly below the cave. She expanded her search to the dense line of low trees and shrubs that separated the high cliffs from the flat rocky plateau. Not finding Jamal or anyone else, she switched her focus to the sandy beach. The distance was great, yet it was as if she was right there. She blinked, yet the images remained sharp, almost as if they were close.
The long distance viewing was astounding. How could that be? A small boat had been pulled up on the beach to her far right and in the hull lay a neglected red cap, two oars, and a small box. As clearly if it were right in front of her, she saw a royal insignia on the box. A Persian royal insignia. A much larger boat lay at anchor in the distant deeper water, yet she saw four men clearly at the bow.
Finna wondered at her strange ability to see things far away as if they were up close, but was too distraught over Jamal’s disappearance to dwell on it. The boats were there to capture them and take the treasure. She had to learn where the men who had come in on the small boat, were.
* * *
Blending in with the rocky ridge far above the entrance to Finna’s cave, Leeth steamed at the events unfolding below. Rules that he could not interfere tested his patience and he clutched the spear by his side while gnashing his teeth. Surely this was someone’s planned brand of hell.
The boy ran from the mouth of the cave and sprinted down toward the cover of the green scrub line. Finna called and Leeth knew she wouldn’t be far behind. All the main characters were present and he was forbidden to alter the tragic assault about to unfold.
The timeline must be preserved. How he hated that phrase.
While Finna studied the battlefield below, her hands constantly squeezed and rotated her grip on the weapon as she prepared for battle. Leeth congratulated himself on his choice. With her fighting skills and her understanding of strategic planning, she would make an excellent warrior for his cause. If he could get her out of here alive.
A flock of nesting birds suddenly exploded in flight from the dense line of low trees ahead, but the dense scrub held the secret of whether it was Jamal or foe. One way or another, they would all converge there. Searching left and right for signs of intruders, Finna slipped down the cliff as furtively as possible and made her way toward the trees.
Men approached in the distance. Hired hands sent by the merchant Sabas or the prince’s men? She couldn’t tell. They crossed the expanse of flat rock and she prayed to St. George that Jamal was aware of them. Within seconds her hopes were dashed.
Jamal emerged from the scrub and sprinted onto the open expanse. In a heartbeat, the men spotted him and took off in pursuit. The boy drew the men away from the cave and ran toward the trees and Finna recognized his ploy immediately.
He thinks like a worrier.
She raced for a point in the scrubby growth where she would be in position to ambush the marauders as they ran past. Hiding behind a thick shrub next to a single moss encrusted bolder, she waited. Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth toward her and her heart thumped hard in her chest. Her muscles tensed as she gripped her sword and fighting stick. These men killed Yasmin. They would not kill Jamal.
Realizing the thick brush and short trees forced the men to run in a jagged line, she changed her strategy and stealthily circled behind them. She counted five. From twenty feet, she dispatched the last man in line to a quick silent death with a spear thrown through his neck. Leaping over his falling body, she retrieved her spear and smashed the skull of the next man in line with her short sword. Two steps later she faced the third, who had turned to counter. He was too slow. Before he could lift his arm, she ran her spear through his heart.
Gone, however, was the element of surprise and the remaining two readied their weapons in a rage. They parted slowly, stretching her fighting space. Finna released her spear, dispatching one and evening the odds. Although any observer would swear her chances were poor, she crouched low and faced the last cutthroat.
The remaining man’s muscled arms were bigger than her waist and his long sword could loop her head off before Finna could got close enough to swing. She backed away and and the growling anger in front of her changed to a self-satisfied leer. All too soon, the reason for his satisfaction became clear. Footsteps behind her.
They alerted her just before pain unlike any she’d ever felt crashed through the back of her skull.
30
Leeth Intervenes
A Bond is Forged
A sixth undetected marauder bashed Finna so hard on the head, Leeth wondered if she lived. He jumped to his feet and cursed the Time Overlords. He’d so wanted to warn her, but he needed witnesses to her death. Time was growing short. This might be his opportunity. The witness thing was driving him nuts. He could have taken the three of them from the cave if anyone was watching. When the tall one, the head basher, carelessly dragged Finna’s limp form toward the beach, he wanted to kill him. With the strength the man so obviously possessed, he could have just as easily picked her up. The other man pulled the unconscious Jamal by his feet through the sand. Hells bells. He’d been so focused on Finna he’d missed Jamal’s capture.
This look at a real Finna ‘dead or alive’ situation rattled him and angered him beyond bearing. He made a vow to find total redemption for her even if it took a thousand years. He said a short prayer that she and the boy remain alive until they were taken to the large off shore ship where he could treat them in secret where they were locked up below deck. Please God, don’t make me repeat the events of today.
* * *
The raiders’ double-sail merchant ship had no forecastle. Fortunately, the small crew preferred the air on the upper deck to the stuffy hold, allowing Leeth to hide there among the bundles of cargo near the prisoners.
Although Finna and Jamal remained unconscious, they lived. He suspected the pirates had been bribed by Prince Zafir with extra money if they returned his son alive. Thank god. Although the man had many wives, he had only one son. Probably for proof of death, they’d retrieved Yasmin’s body from the cave and stowed in the heavy cloth bag, away from the living prisoners.
From his hiding place, Leeth examined Finna’s body with remote viewing. She thrashed about as if having a nightmare, no doubt due to the pain in her head. Through experience on the battlefield, he knew a head wound could kill someone days after, even when they had seemed to recover. As long as he maintained contact with her, Leeth could treat her and delay any medical calamity until it was safe to move her, but what about Jamal?
The boy was not part of the original plan, yet the crew had witnessed both the boy and Finna being placed on the ship. That had possibilities. He had to figure out a scenario where Finna and Jamal appeared to die before he could snatch them away in a dual redemption. Again, he cursed the observation rule. It would be so much easier to just reposition them to where he needed them . . . and he did need them. Jamal had proved to be a good fighter. He would be a nice addition to his fighting force. Leeth cringed inadvertently. He hoped the Time Ove
rlords didn’t castigate him for bringing the boy along.
Meanwhile, until he knew Finna would survive, nothing else mattered. With a quiet pop of displaced air, Leeth repositioned to the boat’s locked-in area where Finna and Jamal were held. He worked quickly examining them and was relieved to find no sign of internal bleeding or other life-threatening injuries.
Both had huge knots on their heads that would ache when they woke, but they would wake. He dug deep inside his large leather shoulder bag for the small yellow ceramic jar. Opening it, he dabbed his little finger through the green salve and kneeling next to Finna, carefully lifted her head and opened her soft lips with his index finger. With the utmost care, he rubbed the medicine on the inside of her pale cheeks and gums. Although she was unconscious, he whispered, “The medicine will ease your pain and remove the anguish of all memory of this day. You will sleep.”
Gently, he brushed the hair from her pale, lifeless face. Its ghostly appearance frightened him and he bent low over her mouth to feel her breath. He touched his lips to hers, but did not linger. His objective was not passion, but to share his healing microbiome with her. Moreover it was a way known to Seekers to hasten the Awakening of others. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched her. He’d held her hand in Patmos and supported her shoulders in Germany.
He forced the thoughts of the pleasure touching her gave him to the very back of his brain and cupped her face with both hands. She had a pretty face with a strong stubborn chin. He used his thumbs to brush away the tears that glistened on her long lashes and lingered at the corners of her now open eyes. They were blue, the deep blue of the cold arctic skies of his home world toward the end of the day.