by Lia Lee
Raheem left her alone until an evening two nights later. It had been a strained day, and the house still echoed with his shouts. He had been more forceful than he had ever been, and though she refused to back down, she couldn’t stop herself from trembling like a leaf. Mid-tirade, Raheem had stopped, staring down at her before shaking his head and turning away.
As she watched, still shaking, he strode out of the house and into the forest. It was like the woods of the oasis had swallowed him up. He was gone for more than an hour. She started to wonder if he would come back. After a while, she wondered if he was injured.
It was too easy to see that happening. The oasis was beautiful, but it was isolated. If he had fallen unluckily, he might have broken something. He might be lying helpless and unable to reach the house again. He might even be…
With a soft gasp, she ran toward the door. Irene had no idea what she would do if he were seriously hurt; all she knew was that she could not stand the thought of him lost in the darkness, alone…
Just as she reached the door, however, it opened, and Raheem nearly walked into her. With a soft surprised sound, she started to fall, but he grabbed her, helping her to her feet. Instead of letting her go, however, he only pulled her close.
“Were you frightened for me, little American?” he asked softly. There was no trace of the anger in his voice from before, and she felt a shiver of relief go through her.
She nodded, looking down, and he dropped a gentle kiss on her head.
“I’m sorry to cause you such concern,” he said. “I am… sorry for many things. I am sorry we cannot be who we truly are with each other.”
She tensed, wondering if he were going to grow angry with her again, but instead, he lifted her into his arms.
“Let us see if we can give you something to distract you.”
He hadn’t touched her since their intense conversation about her brother. Now he carried her to the bedroom that they shared and undressed her with the quick gestures of an expert. A part of her wanted to protest this, knowing that the closer they got, the more it would hurt when the week ended. Instead, when he trailed hot kisses down her neck, she could only sigh with pleasure and tilt her head to give him more access.
That night, he brought her to the brink of climax over and over again. He used his hands and his mouth to raise the tides of pleasure higher and higher, stopping at the last moment to make her cry out with need. Then he began again, ignoring her begging sounds and the restless movements of her body.
When he finally brought her to her climax some hours later, she was drenched in sweat and begging for the mercy he refused to give her. Her pleasure exploded in her with the force of a supernova, lighting up every part of her soul, opening her up in ways that she didn’t even fully understand. She was split open, every part of her on fire, and she couldn’t stop herself from shouting his name over and over again.
At some point, Irene lost track of what she was saying or even who she was. There was nothing she could do but float on the powerful sensations that he gave her. When her eyes finally fluttered open, she was cradled against his chest as he murmured soothing words to her. She could feel his hard manhood pressed against her hip, but he did nothing to relieve himself.
“So beautiful,” he crooned. “So very perfect. Beautiful girl, won’t you stay?”
Despite the pleasure still buzzing through her limbs, she knew what her answer had to be. It took every bit of her strength to turn her face away, even as a hard lump appeared in her throat. She closed her eyes, praying that he would not continue. She wasn’t sure that her heart could take it.
She could feel his eyes on her. Finally, he sighed. He lay down behind her, curling an arm around her waist and kissing her sweetly on the shoulder, as if they had slept together every night of their lives.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” he said, his voice throbbing with compassion. “Sleep. This has been too much for you.”
In that moment, she came the closest she ever had to speaking with him. That kindness made her hopeful that he could be just as kind to his brother, that there might be some hope for Peter after all. Then she remembered that the man who slept behind her wasn’t the one who was going to be denying Peter’s fate. It was the one who had stared at her in the airport, his face twisted with shock and loathing as he realized what she had done.
If she wanted her brother safe, this was what she had to remember.
***
The next day dawned bright and clear. When she looked out over the oasis, Irene could see a breathtaking crystalline beauty to it. She sat with the cup of tea that Raheem had made her and wondered if she would ever see this place again after her week was up. The fact that she would not tore at her heart, but it was almost a welcome pain. It was not the pain of never seeing Raheem again, and because of that, it was a kind of relief.
Raheem came up behind her, dropping a kiss on her head.
“Finish your tea and put on some sturdy clothing,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
When she dressed, he led her to the rear of the house, where there was a jeep waiting for them. The tough little vehicle took them across the dunes, into the bright desert. The heat was just beginning to get to her when Raheem stopped at a rocky outcropping. Irene looked at it, puzzled. It looked to be no taller than her waist, and she wondered what Raheem had brought them into the desert for.
He grinned at her confusion, and he came around the jeep to help her get down.
“Trust me when I say that this is much more impressive from the inside,” he promised.
To her surprise, he led her around the stone outcropping to reveal a dark opening sheltered underneath it. Some trick of the wind and rock had created a doorway into the dunes, a place that was somehow clear of sand. Raheem grinned and handed her a miner’s hat, patiently showing her how to buckle it on and turn on the beam. She looked at him apprehensively, but he squeezed her hand.
“Trust me,” he said, and because she did in all matters except one, she allowed him to lead her into the earth.
The ground beyond the dark opening was flat for a short while, but then, to her shock, there were stairs cut into the stone. Her heart beating faster, she followed Raheem down the steps as they wound deep into the ground. The air, so hot and dry above, became something damp and green below, and she wondered how many thousands of years had passed since this place was cut into the rock below the sand.
Finally, they came to level ground again, and after passing through a short tunnel, Raheem and Irene were in an enormous chamber that stretched up as high as a cathedral ceiling. When Irene gasped, looking up, she could see the distant arches carved above her, and she stood in awe of the determination and skill of the crafters who had risked their lives to make such a thing of beauty.
“There are many names for this place, but the one that is most common is the Quiet of the Rock. The story goes that once upon a time, the dangerous spirits and ghosts of the desert would come to this place when they needed to think. No speech was allowed, and more than one demon turned away from a life of evil in this place and resolved to do only good.”
Irene thought that she could understand it. There was something solemn about this place, about the darkness that vaulted so high above them. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to be noisy or contentious here. Something about this place stripped away all pretensions, all thoughts of conflict. She could feel the peace of it seep into her like water into bedrock, and she grasped Raheem’s hand, trying to convey her thanks through her touch alone.
He smiled at her, and she thought he understood what she meant.
“Come over here. This entire place is amazing, but there was something here I wanted to show you.”
He led her down along the edge of the walls, and some hundred paces from where they started, he showed her a mural. It took her eyes a short amount of time to adjust for the glare of her helmet, but when she saw what he was showing her, she gasped.
; The mural, deep underground and in one of the most remote spots in the country, was as breathtakingly vivid and beautiful as it had been when the artist touched his brush to the smooth stone walls. It was a lively piece painted in reds and golds, the scene of a menagerie and gardens in full bloom. She could see the orange-and-black stripes of a tiger, the white feathers of an egret, and the graceful backs and antlers of the deer. Each animal was rendered in vivid, loving detail, surrounded by lush green curls of ferns and trees.
It was a masterpiece, and all around the edge were words in the scrolling calligraphy of Arabic.
“It tells a story,” Raheem said quietly. He took a seat on the cold stone floor, and when Irene took his proffered hand, he guided her to sit down on his lap. It could have been a sexual thing, but she realized that there was nothing sexual about it. He merely wanted to give her a place to sit that was comfortable and close to him, and she warmed to him for it.
“There was once a great lord who kept a menagerie the likes of which the world had never seen,” he read softly. “He was a handsome man, blessed in every way. He was a notorious lover, a fearsome warrior, and a great statesman, but the only thing that could move his heart was his menagerie. His obsession was such that it had to have a fine sample of every animal in the world, and to that end, he sent his men scouring the ends of the earth. They brought back tall giraffes from Cush, enormous cold-blooded lizards from the tropics of distant oceans, deadly cats from the land called Fu Sang. With every animal that was brought to his menagerie, he only grew greedy for more, sending his men far away.
“One day, as he was wandering through his prized possession, he noticed a little roe deer in one of the cages. She was small and delicate, perfect in every way, but in a menagerie of gorgeous peacocks and mighty rhinoceros, there was little special about her. He started to go on his way, but to his shock, she called him back.
“‘Please stop and listen to me,’ she said, ‘for I suffer under a mighty curse. My father is a good sorcerer who has quarreled with an evil one, and in their battle, I was transformed and sent here. Please, if you help me, I will grant you wealth and victory the likes of which you have never seen.’
“The lord looked at her and shrugged. ‘I have wealth and victory already. I need not these things, but I do need a perfect roe deer in my menagerie.’
“At his words, the roe deer shook, but finally she made her last offer. ‘If you help me, I will love you as no man was ever loved.’
“The lord paused, thinking.”
Raheem stopped then, but Irene was so entranced by the story that she had to take a moment to realize that he had. Then she poked him without thinking about it. The story was captivating in a way. She had never heard it before, but someone had loved it so well, they had come all the way down to the Quiet in the Rock to paint it.
Raheem shook his head, a solemn expression on his face.
“My father brought me down to this place when I was only a boy,” he said, “and he showed me this mural. All my life, I have wanted to know how the story ends, what happened to the roe deer and the man she promised to love.”
Startled, Irene followed Raheem’s pointing finger to the mural panel that was slightly beyond where they sat. To her shock, there was an enormous chunk of the rock chipped away. Feeling slightly queasy, she got up to investigate. It wasn’t the work of erosion or an accident, she realized. It was a deliberate act of theft. Someone had wanted to take a portion of that mural back, probably to sell, and they had simply chipped it out of the rock on which it was painted. What was left was damage that was likely decades old, but there was an awful freshness to it, as if the wound would never heal.
She turned back to Raheem, who was watching her carefully.
“That happened in the 1920s,” he said, “when Khanour suffered under the boot of France. We did not have the money and the industry that we would, and France came in to take half of whatever it was we made and more if it could get away with it. It was a dark time for Khanour, made all the darker because the French took more than just our money. They also took our treasures. Sometimes they said it was because it wasn’t truly important, and the items in question could be bought, even if it was only for a pittance. Sometimes, they said it was because we did not know how to handle beautiful things, and they would keep it safe. All we knew was that by the end of France’s colonial rule, our country was culturally beggared. There is only so much that oral tradition can keep alive. This story was one thing that we lost.”
Irene felt sick when she thought of it. Every culture in the world had a legacy, and to see Khanour deprived of the one that Raheem was desperate to preserve was brutal. She felt too drained for tears. She felt as if she had been wrung out of any emotion.
For the rest of the afternoon, she and Raheem explored the church, marveling at the bits of history that had clung on in spite of raiders and thieves. Irene was constantly impressed by how much had survived even after so much was lost. Some pieces had been retouched and protected, while others had survived simply by dint of being made by people with an eye toward history and those that came after them.
Raheem was silent on the way back. As he drove with an assured confidence over the dunes, she couldn’t help but sneak covert glances at him. Even in repose, there was something deadly serious about his gaze. He was a man from a line of warriors. They had protected their country as if it were a sacred trust. Now that she had been in the Quiet of the Rock, she had an idea of what he was trying to protect.
She was lost in her thoughts when they returned to the house. She had a shower and changed into a light dress, needing to be away from the weight of the grit and the sand. He prepared a light meal for them, but when he placed it in front of her, she pushed it away.
“Raheem.”
He looked up, startled.
“Irene?”
“I have something I want to tell you.”
She took a deep breath and told him all of it. She told him how she had been recruited, and how they had threatened her brother. She told him where she had gone, and who she had talked to. Her excellent memory provided him with names, addresses, everything he would need. Irene talked until her voice was hoarse, but then, finally, she revealed everything to him, everything he needed to know.
Halfway through her speech, he had pulled out his phone, texting the information she gave him to his men. From the intent way he looked, she could tell he was absorbing every scrap of knowledge, taking everything she could give him and turning it into an action that would protect his country.
Irene deliberately did not think of her brother.
When she was done, she slumped back into the chair. She felt as if she had been fighting a hard battle for weeks. In a way, she had been.
“Thank you…” he began, but she cut him off.
“Don’t thank me,” she whispered. “Please don’t. Just… just let me be free of it. I cannot think of it tonight.”
He looked troubled at her speech, but he nodded. When she couldn’t eat her dinner, he did not protest, and only took it away.
That night, he left her in the main bedroom while he went to the smaller one. She could hear him talking to his men, strategizing what they wanted to do and how. Irene emptied her mind of all of it. All she knew was that the bed felt too large, too empty. When the voices from the other room had been quiet for a while, she stood and walked across the hall to find the man who was, by law and ancient right, her husband.
“Will you hurt my brother?” she asked, her voice naked and afraid.
He cared too much for her to lie to her.
“I don’t know,” he said.
They were silent. Irene had thought that she would weep, that she would scream, but after all this time, there was only a clean, gray emptiness. It was so silent inside her that she thought she would go mad if it were not filled.
“Make love to me.”
In any other situation, Raheem’s look of surprise would have been funny. He turned to look at
her, his eyes wide.
“Irene…”
Despite the concern there, she could see the heat rising in him as well. The night before, he had done nothing but give her pleasure. The memory of the last time that they had truly joined was vivid in his mind, and she could see his passion try to overtake his reason.
“I know what I want,” she breathed. “I need to… be away from myself. This is how I want to do it.”
Raheem licked his lips, his gaze roving up and down her even as she could see him fight himself over what was right for her.
“I don’t know if you are in your right mind…”
“I was in my right mind when I gave you what you wanted to know,” she said, her voice quiet. “Give me what I want now.”
A shudder went through him. She knew that in the war between his passion and his reason, his reason was going to lose. The air between them became heavy with the promise of sex. The space between them was so charged that a single spark would have caused it to ignite.
Irene could feel Raheem’s eyes on her, making her more aware of her body than she ever had been before. She was aware of the weight of her clothes, the way her hair brushed against her bare shoulders, the way her light skirts brushed against her naked legs. Despite being fully clothed, she wasn’t sure that she had ever felt so naked.
“If you don’t want what’s happening here, you should tell me now,” Raheem said, his voice low. There was a hint of menace there, something almost wild. It should have made her want to run, but instead, she was drawn to it. It was how it always seemed to be with Raheem. Everything about him only pulled her in deeper, made her want more.