Saif's Story

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Saif's Story Page 11

by Barbara G. Tarn

"You're not mad at me?" The tiny voice with the manly timbre sounded weird. Hakeem wasn't a child anymore, but sometimes still behaved like one.

  "Why should I be?" Saif replied. "What happened next? Leonel wasn't happy?"

  "No." Hakeem's shoulders slumped. "I kissed him. He slapped me and called me names and..." He hung his head, dejected.

  The little bastard made my son feel ashamed of himself. Saif wanted to go to the village and slap the blacksmith's son who had dared humiliate Hakeem. But he wasn't that rash anymore, besides, Hakeem clearly needed his support right now.

  "Hakeem, there will always be someone who will try to bring you down, to make you think you're wrong and they're right. There's no right or wrong. What is right for you might not be right for him."

  "So am I a pervert or not?" Hakeem asked, anguished.

  "I think your love is as pure as Corabella's for you," Saif answered gravely. "But as much as you can't return her feelings, understand that Lenoel is not the right person for you. Many societies don't like same-sex love. It was tolerated in Godwalkar, but I'm afraid the Blackmore Kingdom is much less lenient on that. This is the reason why Lenoel insulted you and called you a pervert."

  Hakeem nodded, sniffling again. He still looked worried and hurt.

  "I did the same when I was about your age," Saif said with a smile. "I told my best friend I loved him. He reacted differently because we were different. We did play together and experiment together, but neither of us had parents to look after us."

  "Are you an orphan?" Hakeem's green eyes widened in shock.

  "No, I had an abusive family and ran away from it when I was ten or so. With my best friend who was in the same situation. We lived off the streets for years, until Talwar walked into our lives."

  "Who is Talwar?" Hakeem's interest was piqued and his worries forgotten. Saif told him of the southerner who had found refuge in Godwalkar and how he and Aditya had convinced him to open an assassin's school.

  "You're an assassin?" Hakeem asked, awed.

  "That's why I'm called Saif the Sword." He smiled. "Although I'm not supposed to use this name outside of the Guild, but well... your mother heard Abhaya call me Acharya Saif, so it was useless to tell her any other name."

  "So that's why you have all those weapons in your pack," Hakeem said. "Will you teach me?"

  "I don't think you need to be an assassin." Saif patted his shoulder, amused. "And I'm sure your mother wouldn't approve. She's a healer, she wouldn't want you to learn to kill. Follow in her footsteps, Hakeem, my own life is actually quite a failure."

  "You don't look like a failure to me," Hakeem said.

  Saif hugged him. "You're sweet, Hakeem, but I have nothing to be proud of – except you."

  Hakeem squeezed him and chuckled against his chest. "I love you, Father."

  "I love you too, Hakeem," he answered, squeezing back.

  ***

  Neither ever mentioned the talk to Mirabella, but she seemed to know. A couple of years later, during a very harsh winter, she caught a bad cough by going out too often to assist the sick and ended up bedridden in the small cabin.

  She didn't see the spring and died wishing she could have seen her beautiful son married. Hakeem was heartbroken, but helped Saif to bury her mother like she had requested. She wanted her body to nourish the earth and allow for more medicinal plants to spring out of her mortal remains.

  Then father and son had to face another conversation. Nothing kept Saif in the northern village anymore. Hakeem was almost eighteen and could certainly start his own family or business. But Hakeem didn't want to be a woodcutter, so again they talked about him becoming an assassin.

  Saif thought his skills were rusty, but when he pulled out a brass wheel of his pack, everything came back. Except they lived in the wild, and Hakeem had no experience of life in towns. Saif decided to start the other way around. He'd train his son with weapons and martial arts in their private clearing, then he'd take Hakeem to town and teach him the rest.

  Hakeem was much like Karuna had been – an eager student willing to push himself to the limit to please his father. Of course there was no sex and no passion between them, even though he helped his son with his urges like Talwar had done with him – without touching him.

  They took less and less part in the village life although Corabella sometimes came to see them with a friend (it wasn't proper for a young woman to see a young man alone, hence she made sure she always had her best friend Shalira with her), still hoping to convince Hakeem to marry her.

  "I want to take you to the Guild as a fully accomplished assassin," Saif said one night. "Hence we'll have to go to a nearby town to practice some more. Can you tell me which is the closest?"

  Hakeem was still his interpreter with the locals and the next day he went to the village to ask the elders which was the closest town. Apparently it was Hurlevent, on the coast, which was good, since from there they could take a ship back south and spare their boots.

  Thus father and son packed clothes and their weapons and headed for the town. Hurlevent had long expanded beyond its walls. The harbor had grown in width and importance, and the ocean-faring ships showed off their masts and sails on the eastern side of the town, taller than most buildings.

  The war with the western neighbors didn't seem to reach the bustling coastal town. Merchants looked well-off and there weren't many beggars, although there was some movement of troops that jarred Saif. They'd have to be careful not to upset the locals.

  To earn some coins for a short stay, they had brought timber from the forest where they lived. That didn't give them much and they were considering what to do when someone slapped his hand on Saif's back.

  "I know you!" The tall man grinned. He had long blond hair and beard and didn't look familiar at all to Saif who stared stunned at him. "We met in Godwalkar!"

  "I'm sorry, but I have a very good memory for faces, and yours is totally unknown to me," Saif answered, wary.

  The other man chuckled. "Yes, well, I had a different face there," he admitted in a low voice. "But then, you did have two names, so... what do I call you here?"

  "Saif. And you were?"

  "You knew me as Tanveer... years and years and years ago. I believe you were in your twenties then."

  Saif frowned. He had slept with a Tanveer after Prem's death. But it was a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man who had declared himself to come from Argantael. He looked nothing like the blond northerner in front of him.

  "Yes, I understand your confusion," the blond man said, amused. "Please, allow me to offer you a drink. And you can call me Yann now."

  Saif exchanged a glance with puzzled Hakeem, then shrugged. The man did speak the southern language with no accent, therefore he must have lived in Godwalkar at some point in his life. It was worth hearing what he had to say.

  They followed the man to a tavern, the Fighting Centaur Inn, a medium sized, decently clean but overall shady establishment near the walls of the town. It had been built against them, on the outside, and the old town towers could be seen beyond it.

  It was very crowded at that time of the day, even though lunch time was over and it was early for dinner time. It must be a place where people went to do business, but the crowd had many shady characters, hence it couldn't be legal business.

  All dark corners were occupied and most patrons drunk and openly armed. Maybe mercenaries came here to be hired in the Blackmore army. Saif couldn't help noticing the heavily armed Human sitting near the entrance – either a nobleman's bodyguard or a mercenary captain.

  The scary-looking bartender missed a couple of fingers on his right hand but immediately greeted their host with a colorful insult.

  "Show me the color of your money, Yann, or you won't see a drink from me!"

  Yann replied with an even more colorful epithet and threw a silver coin on the counter.

  "And don't even think of serving us that aquamarine house special with lots of fizz that smells like arsenic! It might tas
te great, but I don't want you to knock out my guests with the first drink."

  The bartender smirked and pointed him to a table. Saif and Hakeem followed Yann and sat with him. The menu had no prices written on it, so Saif put it down, giving Hakeem a warning glance. The young man barely nodded and kept quiet.

  "So, when did you get to Hurlevent?" Yann asked as they waited for the drinks. "And where are you staying?"

  "At the first inn we found coming here. It has cheap rooms, but we haven't earned much, so we will probably leave tomorrow," Saif answered. "Now you better explain to me how you changed into this. Tanveer was a completely different man and he should be my age now, while you look what? Thirty?"

  He wasn't sure with the beard half-covering the man's face. Yann chuckled.

  "I don't know what I look like in Human years, but know that I am not Human," he said. "Hence I can pick any age and face I fancy, and when I was in Godwalkar I liked that face you saw – Tanveer. I helped you get over the death of the blind prince, I think. At least a little?"

  Saif stiffened. He didn't like to think of Prem as "the blind prince" but that was how he'd been known throughout Godwalkar anyway. Further prodding showed that the man knew things of that time that nobody else could know, so Saif asked, "Who are you really?"

  "I am a member of the Magical Races," Yann answered, pouring ale into the three goblets the maid had brought to their tables. "There aren't just the Genn, you know." He lowered his voice. "Although the Blackmore are afraid of the Genn, so you better not mention that name here."

  "The Sorceress Queen Shania fears the Magical Races," Hakeem whispered.

  "I know." Yann shrugged. "But unless you tell her, she'll never know I'm not Human."

  "What are you?" Saif insisted.

  "I'm Fajrulo. My mother took Talwar and Khanda to Godwalkar forty-one years ago."

  Saif gaped at Yann. Who knew that maybe, after more than forty years, he'd finally discover how Talwar had actually reached his hometown? Except Yann seemed to like talking in riddles. Saif might have lost his youthful shyness, but he couldn't figure out what was the real shape of Fajrulo.

  Yann said his mother had flown Talwar and Khanda from Argantael to Godwalkar. Had she grown wings? How had she carried two people? But the blond man kept giving elusive and mysterious answers, clearly amused by the game. Saif gave up in frustration.

  "So this is your son?" Yann asked then. "How come you moved north?"

  "His mother was a northerner," Saif grumbled. "I'm considering taking him back to Godwalkar. At least the Guild would provide me with food and shelter at no cost."

  "Ah, yes, it's not easy to make ends meet in town if you don't have a job. Although your job would probably be appreciated at the Blackmore court. But you don't want to be involved in a war, do you?"

  "No, we do not wish to fight for this country," Saif answered.

  "And you don't have to." Yann was serious now. "Come to my house tonight. Tomorrow morning you can head back for Godwalkar."

  ***

  Saif had no idea who had started it. Maybe the heavily armed man near the door, maybe someone else in the crowded room. Like most tavern brawls, it had spread quickly, involving everyone. Yann had quickly unsheathed a dagger and Saif and Hakeem had done the same, if only to defend themselves.

  In the heat of the brawl, Saif met never forgotten ice-blue eyes. The face had aged, but the smirk was the same. He felt his chest burn and realized he had been cut, but not stabbed.

  "I wish you a slow and painful death, my former acharya," a voice whispered in his ear as he collapsed on the tavern floor.

  Lights went out. They came and went through fever, and he tried in vain to regain control of his body.

  Eventually he came back to his senses. He was in the cabin, with Hakeem and Yann by his side.

  "Father!" Hakeem squeezed his hand. "I have blocked the action of the poison with herbs, but it would be better if Yann went to fetch a Genn healer! He said he can go to Godwalkar and back in a few hours!"

  Saif was weak and dazed, but tried to focus on the blond man. "Can you?" he wheezed.

  Yann nodded, serious. "Your son is very good with herbs and wounds, but that poisoned blade will be your end if you don't have it tended."

  "Fetch... Kilig." Pain shot through him and he winced. "He must finish the training... of Hakeem."

  And he wanted to see him one last time. He hoped Kilig didn't hate him and would come. If his end was close, he wanted Hakeem with the only person that really mattered.

  "Will do." Yann's voice was already out of the small cabin.

  Hakeem's cool hand touched his burning forehead. "Father, did you know that man? The one who cut you with a poisoned blade?"

  "Yes." Saif kept his eyes closed. He was so tired... "Abhaya the Fearless, my former apprentice... didn't complete training..." He drifted off again.

  Dreams chased each other in his troubled sleep. He saw Prem, Kilig, Nimdja, Francisca, Talwar, Abhaya moving in and out of his consciousness at various stages of their lives. Mostly Kilig, though. And like in a dream, Kilig's voice reached him.

  "Acharya Saif, I'm here."

  Saif slowly opened his eyes and focused on him. It was indeed Kilig, fifteen years older, but still beautiful. The oval face was pale, but the black eyes shone with the same intensity they'd had fifteen years earlier.

  "Kilig." Saif sighed. "Glad you made it. That poisoned blade..."

  "Hush," Kilig chided. "Tell me who did it, and I'll avenge you."

  "No, Kilig, that's not why I sent for you," Saif replied.

  "Why then?" Kilig asked, puzzled, squeezing Saif's fingers.

  "My son." Saif gasped for breath. "Take care of him." He winced in pain. "Gods, it burns! Kilig, train my son like I trained you."

  "But Acharya Saif!" Kilig protested.

  Saif was panting now, and had to force himself to speak again. "Kilig... you're acharya too now. Promise... you'll take care... of my son!"

  Kilig closed his eyes and hung his head.

  "I will," he promised, squeezing Saif's hand with both his.

  The door opened and Saif felt, more than saw, Hakeem coming in with a bundle of wood. He gasped at the sight of Kilig, dropped the wood on the embers of the fireplace and rushed to the pallet.

  "Father!"

  "He's here, Hakeem." Saif was breathless, but smiled. "He'll take care of you."

  "Father, no!" The young man dropped to his knees and grabbed Saif's other hand since Kilig wouldn't let go.

  "Are you hurting much?" Kilig asked with a shaky voice. "Do you want me to ease your pain?"

  "Not... in front of... my son." Saif focused on Hakeem. His son wasn't ready to watch him die. "Hakeem, I love you. Wait outside."

  "No, Father. You want me to follow in your footsteps, I will have to get used to this." Hakeem sounded determined.

  Kilig smiled ruefully. Saif gathered his last strength to sit and glare at both. "Out. Both of you. Let a man die in peace." He freed his hands and put Hakeem's fingers in Kilig's palm. "Out," he repeated after entrusting his son to his former lover.

  Kilig slowly rose, still holding Hakeem's hand. Saif lay back, panting, and closed his eyes. He heard the two men he loved the most exit together. From the cabin and from his life. Now he could rest in peace.

  He shed years and facial hair as he moved to another plane. Prem welcomed him with his impish smile, his blue eyes staring straight at him.

  ***

  Author's Note

  Some of this overlaps with Saif and Kilig, but Saif's youth is seen here for the first time. A special thanks to Tori for her advice on Prem's character, whom I wrote for her. And thank you to Mighty Editor Zoe Markham for her proofreading.

  ***

  About the Author

  Barbara G.Tarn had an intense life in the Middle Ages that stuck to her through the centuries. She prefers swords to guns, long gowns to mini-skirts, and even though she buried the warrior woman, she deplores the death of knights in
shining chainmail. She likes to think her condo apartment is a medieval castle, unfortunately lacking a dungeon to throw noisy neighbors and naughty colleagues in. Also known as the Lady with the Unicorns, these days she prefers to add a touch of fantasy to all her stories, past and present – when she’s not wandering on her fantasy world of Silvery Earth or in her science fantasy Star Minds Universe. She dabbles into historical fantasy with her Vampires Through the Centuries series and has started post-apocalyptic/steampunk series called Future Earth Chronicles. She’s a writer, sometimes artist, mostly a world-creator and story-teller. Two of her stories received an Honorable Mention at the Writers of the Future contest and one was published in Pulphouse Magazine #5 (March 2019). She writes, draws, ignores her day job and blogs at: http://creativebarbwire.wordpress.com.

  For more info on the series or other titles go to Unicorn Productions.

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on your retailer of choice, thank you.

  Did you love Saif's Story? Then you should read Saif & Kilig by Barbara G.Tarn!

  Assassins are not all the same, someone prefers the old school from the far south to Godwalkar's rules. But not Karuna the Sorrowful, who's been waiting for his savior to take him on as apprentice, so he can become Kilig the Sword.

  Read more at Barbara G.Tarn’s site.

  Also by Barbara G.Tarn

  Future Earth Chronicles

  Brainwaves (Future Earth Chronicles Book 1)

  Wanderlust (Future Earth Chronicles Book 2)

  Across Continents (Future Earth Chronicles Book 3)

  Himalayas (Future Earth Chronicles Book 4)

  Airships (Future Earth Chronicles Book 5)

  Silvery Earth

  Books of the Immortals - Air

  Books of the Immortals - Earth

  Books of the Immortals - Ether

  Books of the Immortals - Fire

  Books of the Immortals - Water

 

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