by Seja Majeed
‘Are you certain of this?’ said the young Priest of Xidrica above the shocked whispers. It was fair to say that he did not like the Grand Priest of Ursar very much, but he would never have expected him to be a traitor; it was an act of total defiance, punishable as treason.
‘I am as certain about it as I am that the sun will rise each day, and I shall have my vengeance before sunset!’
‘You have no power to judge me; only the gods can do so.’
‘Then call upon them now! Let them defend you, because tonight you will be judged by the weight of my sword.’
‘Marmicus, I urge you to be rational; think of what you’re saying,’ said the young Priest of Xidrica.
‘If you trust this man, then you too are a collaborator and a traitor to this kingdom,’ responded Marmicus coldly. Nothing anyone said could change his mind, even if it came from a friend. He had come for a purpose and he would not leave without achieving it.
‘What are you intending to do with him?’ asked one priest, while everyone else shifted nervously in their seats. Most of them had chosen to keep silent; they knew they were at the mercy of his sword, and right now there was no leverage to bargain with.
‘What every traitor deserves.’
‘Me, a traitor to this kingdom? It’s an absolute lie!’ yelled the Grand Priest of Ursar with anger. ‘I will not be treated in this manner!’
‘The only lies spoken here have been drawn from your lips, but not for much longer. From every curse there comes forth a blessing, and yours has been the chance to claim this kingdom’s throne. With our king dead and the princess buried, this kingdom has no divine ruler, no loyal heir to the throne, no progeny to pass on its sanctity and no power to oppose you. You wanted Larsa dead, and you sent word to Jaquzan, telling him everything he needed to know about her journey. Only this Counsel knew about it, and you were the one who proved where your allegiance truly lies.’
‘I am no traitor! The only treachery here is your wretched accusations. Will nobody speak up?’ declared the Grand Priest, rising to his feet. He had expected an outraged reaction from his comrades, but the Counsel remained silent.
‘Silence, old fool!’ roared the Gallant Warrior, unsheathing his mighty Sword of Allegiance. The air rang with a metallic hum: Marmicus had raised the heavy weapon to the priest’s neck in one deft and unforgiving movement; he could kill him at any second. ‘Nothing you say can change what you are; you are a traitor and you are a serpent. You are an enemy of our kingdom and a liar among men, and now you’ll pay for the wrongs you have committed against us all.’
‘Marmicus, be rational!’ said the young Priest of Xidrica. ‘You’ve fought for justice all these years, but what you’re doing at this moment is unjust. If you kill this man, you’ll be killing everything you’ve stood for all these years. Be sensible; put down your weapon and let’s discuss this as civilised men.’ His face became pale as he intervened; he had hoped that his words would somehow extinguish his friend’s fiery temper, but nothing the young priest could say or do would stop him from doing what he desperately needed to do, and that was to exact revenge.
‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’
‘No you don’t, you’re acting on impulse. As your friend, I urge you to restrain yourself. Violence is not the way to settle this battle; give this man a fair trial. Right now, you’re angry and you wish to blame him because it would ease the burden you’re carrying.’
‘Listen to his wise words: don’t do this, you’ll only regret it,’ said another priest, summoning the courage to speak up.
‘The only regret I will have is allowing this man to live when I’ve had the chance to kill him,’ Marmicus whispered as he peered into the eyes of the frail priest without pity.
‘Wait! He’s not the traitor – I am,’ cried King Nelaaz, jumping up, wanting to stop the madness before it got out of hand. If only he had known that by saving one man’s life, he was actually putting an end to another …
32
Hopelessness is the one enemy that can threaten the survival of a soul: for the desire to survive is bled from the veins, and optimism is slowly dissolved until nothing remains. Tonight Larsa’s hopelessness suffocated her like a pillow over her face. She lay on the stone floor, curled up in a ball and crying loudly; Jehan sat beside her trying her best to comfort her. With every breath Larsa remembered Jaquzan’s face; it frightened her to close her eyes and be left alone with him in her imagination. If she were not careful she would lose her mind, just like the Queen of Persia.
‘Take a deep breath; it’s not right that you treat yourself like this. You have to be strong,’ said Jehan. She brushed the princess’s fringe from her eyes, and began to dab her fevered forehead with a wet cloth. Nothing the maid said could reassure her; the emperor’s punishment ran through her mind. Jaquzan was right, he had given her the worst sentence imaginable, and it had broken her in two.
‘I can’t fight him any more; I’m so tired, I want to die,’ sobbed Larsa, covering her face with her hands. Her lungs hurt and her head throbbed.
‘Don’t say such a thing! There’s still hope yet, you must believe it.’
‘Hope can’t change my fate, nothing can now.’
Larsa grabbed the maid’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she forced out her words. There was only one thing she needed from her; it would save her from all of this, offering her the salvation she needed.
‘You’ve been very kind to me, and I hate to ask anything else from you, but I need you to bring me something.’
‘I’ll try my best. What do you need?’
‘I need you to bring me the petals of the handiguk.’
‘But they’re poisonous, Your Highness, they’ll kill you in an instant,’ said the maid, removing her hand; she did not want to contemplate Larsa’s suicide. Larsa understood the gravity of what she was asking her, but her plan made sense: she needed Jehan to hear her out.
‘I’m not afraid of death, I’m afraid of living and what would become of me.’
‘There must be another way I can help you – I cannot bring you poison,’ said Jehan. She had seen so much death over the years, she did not want to be party to one.
‘We both know there really isn’t any other way. Your emperor wants me to bring forth an infant worthy of him; if I don’t kill myself my womb will carry his child. I can’t let that happen, you must understand that.’
‘I know the emperor’s your greatest enemy, Your Highness, but imagine if you were to give him an infant and raise him yourself – the child might become good like you and bring hope to those who so desperately need it.’
‘There’s more to it than that; we both need to die,’ wept Larsa. She pressed her hand against her stomach. ‘Only death can save us now.’
‘Who are you talking about, Your Highness? Who else needs to die?’
‘My baby,’ replied Larsa, turning her face away.
‘Are you with child, Your Highness?’ asked the maid. Larsa’s hands were clasped around her belly. She could feel her infant growing inside her, becoming stronger and more alive each day.
‘Yes,’ whispered Larsa. ‘Before I left my homeland I thought I might be, but I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to tell Marmicus in case I wasn’t. But now I’m certain of it: I can feel my womb growing; my baby is growing inside me and sharing my pain. That’s why I can’t let your emperor touch me. If he does, the baby I’m carrying inside me will be forever thought of as his, and that’s a lie I can’t allow the scribes of history to write. But if I don’t submit to him, then he’ll kill both of us.’
‘Does anyone else know?’
‘No.’
‘There must be another way I can help you. Ask anything else of me, except this,’ urged the maid. She had never imagined helping someone to take their life, let alone that of an unborn child; it was against everything she believed in.
‘I have no other choice. No mother wants to kill her own child, but you have to understand, there’s no pois
on deadlier than the infant that grows inside me right now; if he’s born here within this kingdom and raised by your emperor, then he’ll become the shadow of my enemy and the tyrant of all mankind. No child on earth deserves to be born with such a curse as his crown – even my own.’ Larsa shook her head; she had lost the faint light of hope that could once be seen in the sparkle of her eyes. She had been thinking about it for some time, and she knew it was the right decision, since motherhood had blessed and cursed her at the same time. ‘I’m begging you to bring me the petals; the poison must run through my veins and prevent the seed that grows inside me from blossoming. It’s the only way to protect the future of mankind. We both need to die, or my baby will belong to him.’
‘I can’t help you kill yourself. I’m sorry,’ whispered the maid, taking Larsa’s hand. She could feel the princess’s hand immediately tighten in response to her words. They were not what Larsa had wished to hear.
‘Why won’t you bring me the poison? It’s all I ask of you. There’s no need for you to watch me take it, or stay with me until the end.’
‘I’ll tell you why, and maybe then you’ll understand,’ replied the maid. It took a lot of courage to say what she was about to say. ‘I had a daughter once, who was brave and stubborn like you. In fact, when I look at you I am reminded of her. Just like yours, her fate was awful. When the Assyrians came, they rounded up all the women in our village. Anyone who was beautiful and young was picked out from the crowd, while older women like me were forced to watch as they were raped. I saw them rape my daughter, as so many mothers did that night. Watching my daughter being stripped of her dignity and beaten by men who laughed at her when she tried to fight them off was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. She may have been spared death, but on that day she died inside. I didn’t see her smile again – not until she gave birth to my grandson, Paross, nine months later. I cannot say which monster was the father, because she was raped by more than one. When she thought no good could ever come from what had happened to her, she was surprised to find that it did. After the greatest of hardship came her ease; she loved the baby so much. He healed her from within and gave her hope when before she had none. He was only two when his mother fell ill and died, but I try to remind him every day that his mother loved him. So, you see, my child, when the world seems so cruel and everything has turned to dust, all you need is one tiny drop of rain to make a seed of hope grow. So long as you’re alive, and you still believe in the goodness of others, even if there’s only one person left in the entire world they become that seed, and your tears become the rain that will nourish it. I’m always hopeful that life can change, Your Highness. After all, there’s nothing in this world that remains the same: night always turns into day, and oppression can always turn into freedom. The moment we give up is the moment we accept the world for what it has become.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. Thank you for telling me. When one feels hopeless, it’s easy to forget that others can be hopeful.’ Larsa hugged her tightly. She felt as though she was hugging her own mother; it felt beautiful and comforting. Larsa had grown up without her mother, but she had imagined her to be wise and kind, much like the maid. Larsa got up and walked towards the open balcony, wiping the tears from her eyes as if to make her appearance more beautiful for the setting sun. Her bare feet felt cold from the tiled floor. ‘Even so, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to change anything.’
‘There’s only one solution for you, Your Highness; you must let the Gallant Warrior know that he will be a father. I suggest you write to him tonight and let him know about the infant growing inside you. I’ll give your letter to my grandson, who will take it to your kingdom. Once Paross arrives in the Garden of the Gods, he’ll secretly deliver the papyrus to your Gallant Warrior; maybe it will force Marmicus to come to you. There must be a reason why he hasn’t come.’
‘I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.’
‘There’s no trouble.’
‘There’s one problem. The guards protecting my palace won’t let your grandson enter, and if my letter lands in the wrong hands it’ll be dangerous for both of us.’
‘Then it’s up to you to think of someone who can enter the palace gates without any trouble. Is there anyone who knows the Gallant Warrior intimately, someone who you can trust to bear such sacred news?’
‘I think so. There’s a woman Marmicus knows very well and speaks highly of; they’ve known each other since childhood, I’m sure we can trust her.’ Larsa had met Sulaf only once; she had seemed like an intelligent woman and Larsa trusted Marmicus’s judgement of character. He would never speak highly of someone unless they deserved his approval.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Sulaf, daughter of Nazzar,’ replied Larsa softly, remembering her face.
‘Then we’ll send your letter to Sulaf and she’ll deliver it to your beloved warrior. All our hopes rest on her now.’
33
‘How have you betrayed us?’ asked Marmicus. The confession had taken him aback. Marmicus was right – there was a traitor – but he had not expected it to be King Nelaaz of Aram; in fact, no one had. The short little king quivered like a child afraid of what his punishment might be. King Nelaaz had always had his friendship; now he would find out what it felt like to be an enemy.
‘I’ve … I’ve …’ gulped the king, staring at the Sword of Allegiance. He wished he had not said anything now, but of course it was too late to go back on his words. He had openly made the confession, and unfortunately for him there was no one standing beside him to whom he could shift the blame.
‘Answer me, or move aside so I can finish what I’ve started.’
‘I would, if only I knew how to tell you …’ he mumbled. He stepped back, trying to keep some distance between himself and the blade. The more he looked at it, the harder it became for him to whisper a word.
‘The gravest mistake you could make right now is remaining silent when I’ve commanded you to speak, so either tell me what you’ve done or regret the day you chose to remain silent.’
‘Believe me, if I could go back, I would. My wretched advisors made me do it; they’re to be blamed, not me, I just followed them. Really I did,’ gulped King Nelaaz. He wanted to make sure that Marmicus understood the full picture first. He could see the anger on Marmicus’s face – his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. Whatever friendship they once shared had been thrown out of the window.
‘What have you done?’
‘Well, the woman you buried … how do I put it … well, she wasn’t really the princess …’ said King Nelaaz reluctantly.
The news was bewildering, stupefying; it made no sense at all. Everyone had seen Larsa’s body lying on the royal burial chariot, her lifeless body dressed in the robes of the afterlife; each priest had conducted the sacred rituals of death over her and none had suspected that it might not be the princess. Could they all have been so blind?
‘He’s lying! It was the princess; we saw her with our own eyes. He’s trying to conceal something else he’s done,’ declared a priest, his nose twitching with suspicion as he thought of what it could be.
‘I’ve got no reason to deceive any of you. I’m telling you it wasn’t her – I swear on my people’s lives.’
‘You would swear on any life as long as it wasn’t your own,’ yelled another angry priest.
Marmicus felt confused. What if the king was telling the truth? What if it hadn’t been Larsa lying lifeless before him? He remembered noticing the unfamiliar birthmark on her hand. Could this really be happening to him? It made no sense; he had mourned his wife and now he was asked to believe that his grief was a sham of some kind. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly.
‘If I believe you, then where’s Larsa now? Is she in hiding? Doesn’t she want me to find her?’ asked Marmicus, his heart pounding. He felt alive again. The prospect of seeing her face, kissing her soft lips and embracing her made him burst with energy
and happiness. Since Larsa had died, he had been battered by emotions that would have destroyed a lesser person.
‘No, she isn’t in hiding, I wish she was,’ King Nelaaz said, not knowing how to break the news to him. He could not bear to look into the Gallant Warrior’s eyes; for a brief moment they had gleamed with restored hope. He looked down at the floor in shame, suddenly noticing his swollen feet – all this standing up in the hot sun had made them swell like goat sacks filled with water.
‘Then where is she? What have you done with her?’
‘I haven’t done anything. There wasn’t much we could do, you see …’ replied King Nelaaz, wheezing. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if he were about to have a heart attack.
‘Just a moment ago you said she was alive,’ said Marmicus, lowering his weapon.
‘I didn’t say that exactly. Let me explain. After your messenger came to my kingdom, I commanded my soldiers to look for her – I hadn’t heard from the princess either. My soldiers went to the desert only to find the Royal Caravan attacked, as you know, but what you don’t know is that the princess wasn’t alive when they found her, and she wasn’t intact. I mean to say – how do I put it? – her beauty was scattered on the desert floor. My soldiers buried her the moment they found her; they couldn’t bear to bring you her headless body, so they lied, and I only found out about what they had done when it was too late.’
‘See? I was never the traitor here. It was him all along,’ interrupted the Grand Priest of Ursar. He pulled himself up to his full height once more. Thanks to Nelaaz’s confession, he was no longer in the line of attack.
‘Do you mean to tell this Counsel,’ said the Priest of Xidrica, ‘that you secretly knew that the body we prayed over belonged to someone else? And, even so, you went ahead with these lies, this manipulation, to save yourself?’