by Seja Majeed
Larsa’s breath quickened as she touched his head. This time, she tried to pull her hand away, but Jaquzan held it in place. With a gentle rhythmic motion, he drew her hand across the lion’s mane, down towards the wide bridge of its nose. Clots of blood caught beneath her fingernails as her hand slid across the royal beast’s face.
‘You will never be more alive than you are now,’ said Jaquzan, watching her. He began to walk back, leaving the princess alone with the lion. In a split second the creature reverted to instinct: he lifted his head and roared, revealing blood-stained teeth.
‘Can you see how he’s fighting his instincts? You are his gazelle, and if he so wished he could kill you in a moment.’
With no emotion, Jaquzan held out his hand. Larsa saw it from the corner of her eye and walked backwards very slowly; she knew she should not turn her back on the beast. Jaquzan stared into the lion’s eyes and raised his hand; a silent command to remain where he was, and not to attack. The lion lowered his head and obediently returned to the carcass, knowing that this was a battle he could not win.
‘If I was his gazelle, why didn’t you let him kill me?’ asked Larsa.
‘Because some things are meant to be saved,’ said Jaquzan, touching her cheek softly. He looked at her, feeling some distant relic of humanity stir within him. It was a strange sensation, and one that he knew, if left uncontrolled, would lead him to weakness.
Larsa turned her cheek away. Even though Jaquzan had spared her, she was disgusted by the act; she preferred it when he showed no emotion.
‘So be it, princess. I see you desire death more than life – now I shall offer it to you.’
Suddenly, Jaquzan grabbed the princess’s throat with great force. Larsa squirmed as he locked both hands around her neck, suffocating her.
58
‘Please …’ said Larsa, her voice coming in choking gasps. ‘Release … me!’
She smacked her hand against his arm, trying to stop him from suffocating her, but Jaquzan continued to hold her. He lifted her up until her legs dangled in the air. Larsa fought for breath. Her mouth was wide open and she tried to suck in air, but it was no use. Jaquzan’s hands were wrapped around her throat like an iron cord strung around her neck.
‘Give me a reason to spare you,’ said Jaquzan as he watched her consciousness slowly ebb away. Her rose-coloured lips turned blue. Her lungs were caving in inside her; it felt as if they were being beaten flat with a wooden mallet.
‘Don’t spare me. Spare … your … baby,’ rasped Larsa. The veins in her eyes exploded. This was her last chance to live: it was now or never. Jaquzan released her, throwing her to the floor. She collapsed on her back, her lungs bursting with the oxygen that came flooding through her open mouth. She had bitten her tongue and she coughed so intensely that the blood flowed out between her lips.
‘Love me as your god and I’ll reward you with continued life,’ Jaquzan whispered as he knelt beside the princess. He moved her dark hair away from her face, and raised her chin so that she could look into his eyes. ‘But if you should come to deny me again, then I shall rip out this infant that clings to your womb, and I will feed it to my cherished lions, for I fear this child may be as disobedient as its glorious mother.’
He rose from the floor and left her lying in overwhelming pain. Her eyes filled with tears, not because of the pain, but for the crime she had committed against Marmicus. Oh, my love, forgive me for this act of betrayal; it was the only way to save our infant.
59
‘Here it is,’ said the guide, hesitantly. He had taken Sulaf as far as his courage would allow him, and it was now up to her to make the rest of the journey alone. They both looked at the imposing mountain that lay in the distance. Sulaf noticed that all around the mountain there was vegetation, yet nothing seemed to grow on the mountain itself: perhaps the plants had either died in the harsh winter or were too afraid to blossom there.
‘Can’t you take me any closer?’ asked Sulaf, squinting; the afternoon sun was still strong.
‘My journey ends here.’
‘Just take me a little closer. I’ll give you this ring as extra payment; here, you can have it,’ she said, struggling to take the gold ring from her finger. It was worth more than the journey itself. She looked at it, wishing she had something less sentimental to trade, but it was the only thing she possessed that could tempt him to accept her proposition. Her mother had given it to her before she died, and Sulaf had never taken it off since. Under it there was a white band where her skin had been shielded from the sun.
‘Nothing you have can make me take a single step closer to that mountain. This is where my journey ends – at this spot.’ He pointed downwards. Beside his left foot was a large stone which had been painted with a white cross.
Sulaf huffed, irritated by his stubbornness. He understood her frustration; everyone he brought out here reacted in the same way.
‘You don’t understand. I’ve come to see the oracle – she’s the reason I’m here, and she lives up in that mountain.’
‘Everyone who comes here is looking for her, and I always tell them the same thing: it’s better to go back to where you came from than climb that mountain and find her. This place offers no blessings. If you plant a seed of hope here, it’ll be eaten by the soil. And even if by some miracle it does manage to survive this place, it won’t offer you fruit; it’ll offer you poison. That mountain and that oracle are cursed. You should leave before you become part of the curse.’
‘I won’t turn back, not when I’ve come this far.’
‘Why do women never listen?’ the guide mumbled to himself. ‘Everyone who comes here regrets the day they did, but they never listen to me. Never.’ He returned to his camel, and unpacked the sack which carried Sulaf’s belongings. He placed it on the ground at Sulaf’s feet. ‘Now I must go before the light fades. I’m offering you one last chance to come back with me.’
‘I’ll take my chances here.’
‘Very well,’ he said, disappointed by her decision. ‘Then you should climb that mountain before the darkness falls. May the gods protect you – you’ll need their guidance more than anyone.’
60
I hope you were wrong about this place, Sulaf thought, following the path up the mountain. Night had fallen; the moon sporadically appeared from behind the thick clouds, its misty light pouring down. The air was cold and damp. The guide’s words resonated in her mind. She clutched the blazing torch above her head, raising it higher to guide herself through the rough wilderness of jagged stones and dead trees. She was not afraid of walking alone in the darkness – in fact, she was used to it – but this place was unlike anything she had encountered before. There was an unnatural silence; no birds sang, no trees rustled. It was as if nature itself was afraid to occupy this place. It occurred to Sulaf that if anything bad should happen to her, no one would know where to find her. She had hinted to Marmicus that she was embarking on a journey, but she had not told him precisely where she was going, or who she was intending to meet.
Sulaf sat down for a moment. The ground felt wet, but she needed a rest. Her feet were sore, so she took off her sandals and put them aside. Small blisters had appeared on her toes. She examined them, drawing the light closer, and warming her feet as she did so. Her shadow seemed to be her only companion in this forsaken place. Sulaf looked around. There was nothing but dead trees and stone ruins – or so she believed.
But her presence had not gone unnoticed. She was being watched. The sound of twigs cracking behind her startled Sulaf, but she thought it was probably a small animal of some kind. The sound stopped, only to be replaced by something stranger; a barely-audible tapping. Sulaf had no idea what it was, until she felt a blunt pain on her back. Someone had thrown something at her – a pebble perhaps.
‘Who’s there? Keep away!’ Sulaf exclaimed, straining her eyes to look among the trees. No one answered her. The trees began to move, though the wind had not grown any stronger. Sulaf heard
a whistling sound, and the sound of human voices, coming from all sides, and she grabbed her bag, quickly untying it and pulling out a knife. She waved it around, hoping that it would frighten off whatever it was that was lurking beyond the light of the torch. It worked: the voices hushed and the branches stopped moving. Whatever it was had gone. Sulaf sat back down and put on her sandals. She thought everything had returned to normal, until she felt another thud on her back – another pebble. In a rush of panic Sulaf grabbed her bag and ran, trying to follow the path between jagged rocks and dead trees. The fiery torch flickered as she sprinted. A large root poked out of the wet ground; missing her footing, Sulaf stumbled, gasping as she twisted her ankle. A pain shot up her leg. Sulaf dropped the fiery torch, which rolled several paces until the wet soil extinguished the flames. Her only source of light had disappeared before her very eyes. Now she was completely alone in the darkness …
61
It was virtually impossible to continue her journey without light. Sulaf could hardly see the back of her hand, let alone the stone path from which she had wandered. With no other option, Sulaf decided to stay where she was. She lay down on the uneven ground. It was damp, and her cotton shawl absorbed the moisture, making it extremely uncomfortable. She tried to sleep, but she kept thinking about everything the guide had said. He was clearly frightened by the mountain; she wondered what kind of stories he had heard. The more Sulaf thought about it, the more alarmed she became. She shook her head, trying to push out every scary thought. All she wanted was to fall asleep, but it was too cold. It was obvious that she was ill-prepared; if she had known that the guide would abandon her here, she would have thought twice about coming. Sulaf wished she had taken the sheepskin blanket, but it was too heavy so she had left it.
It was so cold. The chill winds climbed up the mountain, becoming stronger as the night passed. Her muscles tensed up; they felt hard, like blocks of ice, and she was shivering uncontrollably. Sulaf placed her goatskin bag beneath her head, using it as a pillow. ‘Even love can turn to poison,’ she murmured to herself. The words of her dead father echoed in her mind, for reasons she could not understand. Each word he spoke was like a knot in her throat being untangled and tugged at by her reason. Her only source of comfort was the knowledge that Marmicus would fall in love with her, thanks to the oracle’s powers. Just as she drifted into the realm of sleep, a faint noise came from behind her – the sound of leaves being crushed underfoot. Sulaf wanted to turn around; she knew she should, but in the dark she lacked the courage. Instead she shut her eyes, closing them so tightly that it was painful. She hoped that, by ignoring the noise, it would disappear.
***
Sulaf remained still, every muscle in her body clenched like a rope being twisted to breaking point. She heard another movement, this time louder. And closer. Sulaf felt helpless. She could see nothing: even if she plucked up the courage to turn her head, she would not be able to see what was behind her. Her instincts were telling her to remain still; perhaps the presence would not see her and would disappear. Then she felt a warm tingling sensation that seemed to brush against her neck. It was someone’s – or something’s – breath.
Sulaf slowly turned her head, her heart pounding so violently that she felt a cramp in her chest. It was the last thing she had expected to see: standing next to her was a child no older than eight, watching her intently. Her skin was white, almost glowing, as if illuminated by the purest light. The child smiled as she got up, and held out her hand. Oddly, her bare feet appeared clean, as if the soil could not stain her skin. Whoever she was, she did not belong in the wilderness.
‘Come,’ the young girl whispered as she held out her hand. ‘The oracle awaits your presence.’
***
The child guided Sulaf up through the Black Mountain, passing large stones that resembled the figures of men, women and children. The final steps, the little girl told her, were to be walked alone. Sulaf crossed a small stream, walking slowly towards a wooden shack that stood alone in the wilderness. A dim light coming from the windows guided her towards it. Finally she reached it. She pressed her hands against the wooden door and it creaked open. She had been surrounded by darkness for so long that the rush of colour from the light instantly burned her eyes. She entered the shack, and the wooden door shut behind her with a loud thud.
‘Is anyone here?’
There was no answer. A tight feeling gripped her; she felt claustrophobic and scared. It was the kind of feeling a child has when they enter a new place alone. Sulaf looked up at the ceiling. There were small straw dolls hanging from hooks let into the timber roof beams. They were tied by the necks with horse hair and an all-seeing eye had been painted on their heads, and words stitched into their bodies. They twisted eerily in slow spirals. Sulaf looked at them closely. They were each a different shape and size; it looked as though they were in pain, from the way they hung by their necks, each one glaring at her with its painted eye. Sulaf crouched down, trying her best to avoid hitting them. They covered the entire ceiling, and crouching seemed to make no difference at all; they were everywhere, clawing at her head and catching her hair as she walked below them.
‘What is this place?’ Sulaf whispered. She pushed aside some of the dolls, trying to make a path for herself, and it was then she realised that what appeared to be horse hair tied around their necks was altogether finer. Human hair? Sulaf looked at another doll – one which caught her attention. Unlike the rest, its hair was blonde, and unlike the rest, upon its chest were the words ‘jealous soul’. It was staring into Sulaf’s eyes, as though it was a reflection of her inner self.
‘You must learn to control your curiosity, Sulaf; it has always led you into trouble,’ croaked a voice. Sulaf turned around, her spirit almost escaping from her body as she looked at the hideous creature hiding in the shadows. Lying on the floor was what Sulaf assumed to be the oracle; no amount of darkness could conceal her ghastliness. Her back was hunched, like the crescent moon. Sulaf tried to control her reaction; she tried to keep her eyes on the oracle’s face but they naturally slipped to the rest of her body. Her legs were most frightening of all: they were long and deformed, appearing as the twisted roots of an oak tree, flowing free from her body in either direction.
‘How do you know my name?’
‘I know much more than that, my child …’
62
The oracle neared Sulaf, dragging her body across the floor like an animal that had lost the use of its hind legs. Her sharp nails scraped against the ground, making a dreadful splintering sound. Sulaf tried her best not to be frightened by her ghastly appearance, but it was hopeless; she could not conceal her fear. The oracle’s eyes were a clouded white, with neither pupil nor iris. Sulaf thought she must be blind, but oddly, the oracle appeared to be glaring at her, as if she could see her clearly. The oracle dragged her body further into the light, her hideousness becoming more apparent. Her lips drooled with thick saliva and the muscles of her eyes seemed to be in spasm. She had no trace of beauty; instead, there was only ghastliness to shy away from. Her fingers were deformed. They were long and thin, curling round, like her feet, the joints bulging out like the stumps of withered limbs.
‘Will you help me to my seat, dear child?’ the oracle croaked. Her breath poisoned the stale air. Sulaf clutched the old woman’s hands; she felt the oracle’s long, dirty nails dig into her skin as she did so.
‘Who told you I was coming?’
‘Why, it was you! Or have you forgotten all that was said between us?’
‘You’re mistaken. This is the first time I’ve ever met you,’ Sulaf said, lifting the old crone from the floor and helping her to sit on a wooden log that had been carved into a seat.
‘That may be, but I’ve met you many times before this moment – in spirit.’ The oracle whispered the words, almost in a hiss. She directed Sulaf to sit beside her on the floor.
‘I’ve no memory of our encounters.’
‘No memory?’ the ora
cle shrieked excitedly. The muscles of her eyes flickered madly; her spit burst out of her mouth. ‘Do you remember your infancy?’
Her question seemed bizarre. Perhaps she is mad …
‘No, of course I don’t. Few do.’
‘Then how do you know you’ve lived through it, if you can’t remember all of it? Memories mean nothing; we only remember what we choose to, and never the whole journey of our lives.’
‘That doesn’t explain how you know my name, or that I was coming.’
‘I heard your voice in my dreams, just like all the others who call out to me,’ the oracle whispered as she traced her dirty nail over Sulaf’s cheek. ‘You see, my dearest, when a mortal sleeps, he does not die, nor does he live; instead, his spirit wanders across the earth, looking for something that will guide it to its destiny. Some spirits wander into peaceful sanctuaries, thinking of places they’ve seen or lost; they find comfort in these petty things. But other souls, like yours, wander further, into places that call out to their desires. I call them the wanderers of the night, for they are lost, and the only power that can bring them back home is the fulfilment of their desires. So you see, my child, I know everything about you. I summoned you to come to me so that I may free you.’
As Sulaf listened intently, she understood what the oracle had meant: she had become so consumed by Marmicus that she depended on him entirely, needing his love simply to survive. Every day she yearned for him, both awake and asleep. As long as the princess remains alive in his memories, she will drag his heart to the bottom of the sea and he shall never come to know the pleasures that lie upon the shore.