A/N: For the YGO Fanfiction Contest Season 13 Round 3. The pairing: Sightshipping (Pegasus J. Crawford x Ishizu Ishtar). Medieval fantasy AU. Hoo boy, was this supposed to be three times the length it is right now...
Disclaimer: Kazuki Takahashi and all associated companies are the rightful owners of the Yuugiou! franchise and I claim no association with any of them. No copyright infringement intended with this and no money is being made from this. Please support the creator by purchasing the official releases.
Warnings: moderate amounts of violence, nothing overly graphic.
To Cross Across
There is a bridge in Deir El Amman which Ishizu knows she'll never cross. It's not meant for her because hers is a different destiny. Hers is the price her husband-to-be will pay for her. Hers are the children she will bear him, never once leaving the town where her ancient and almost-royal family's bloodline has set the tone for numerous generations. They are descendants of the kings of old and a kingly mahr is expected for her. She sees her destiny in the eyes of her mother when she does Ishizu's hair and adjusts her gown to underline her curves and the grace she moves with. She sees it in the eyes of her father when he studies her face and her manners during meal time and pets his own beard in satisfaction at what he sees. If she wishes to escape those looks and the knowledge they bring, she only has to close her eyes, though it never leaves her entirely.
If only she could close her eyes to escape the dreams that haunt her even when she's awake. The dreams that taunt her with another life – a different life where nothing is as predictable as the quotidian existence in this town. Alas! The dreams come just when she closes her eyes and bring no reprieve when she wakes from them; they linger just behind her eyelids. They show her on the other side of the bridge. They show danger. They show change. They show a world of myriad possibilities. They show her astride a bay Arabaya horse, they show her wielding a kilij of fine Damascus steel. They show gravel crunching under her steel-toed riding boots. They show a strange starlit sky above a campfire attended by eight, firelight flickering across their shrouded forms while the remains of a boar sizzle on a spit above the flames, and she sits in their midst, tall men around her with faces strange yet familiar.
That's how she knows it's all but a dream: they do not eat filthy pigs; she has never ridden a horse in her life, nor will she ever; though she has, on occasion, been a sparring partner for both her brothers, she is nowhere near being skilled enough to hold her own in a true fight; she is not supposed to uncover her face before strangers; and her only footwear is a variety of soft, dainty slippers fit for wearing only inside the house.
No, the other side of the bridge is for those who are free; for those who aren't bound by duty and honour.
Yet there is no duty and no honour in the patricide her youngest brother commits before fleeing the town and leaving everything their family has been up until that point in shambles. It places a stain upon them, dark and terrible, and never to be removed. Her beauty is worthless, her status – squandered. And while they do retain their name and their riches, it no longer holds any value in the eyes of the townspeople, nor those residing in the neighbouring settlements. However far their good reputation has been known before, so far the ill news mark them as avoidable now. It's in the blood, people whisper and draw protection signs before them, and begin to shun them.
It is not without her mother's wisdom and her uncle's aid and urging that, months later, a young merchant finds himself invited into their home during a time when most of their household attends a family feast in another town. He is a foreigner who has had some dealings with their more distant family offshoots before and who is renowned for his wealth. He also has a well-known taste for exquisite wine, and the Ishtar family can provide brews that would never be accessible to any outsider unless they married into the family.
So they keep the wine flowing, each new flask revealing a spirit more refined than the last, with an aroma and taste so delicately nuanced that it incites more delight than the remarkable and amusing stories connected with almost every one of them – and those hold just as much value for the young man. He is a collector of rarities at heart. For every word of praise he utters about the spirit he's currently sampling, his hosts grow more generous and pleased, regaling him with the tale of history and tradition behind its creation before bringing forth another rare jewel. Ishizu is one of them, and though he glimpses her for only the briefest of moments, he almost drops the cup in his hand when unbidden images flash through his mind. He finally sees, a dozen cups of wine too late, that he's been led into a trap. He can't back out now, not according to the rules of hospitality of this part of the world where declining a treat, particularly one as splendid as what he is being served, is considered an insult to the host and a shortcoming on their part. Though he tries to pace himself with the consumption of wine, it's far too late. He's been here for hours and the spirits have worked their magic on him slowly and steadily.
Once the inebriated young man tries to leave, already too far gone to even rise to his feet, he is half-led, half-carried to Ishizu's room by her uncle who disrobes him and places him in her bed. Her mother forces her to discard all of her garments as well and lie down next to him. Her protests are ignored and spoken over, and when she tries to resist, mortified at what they want her to do, mother strikes her.
"This is our only chance! Nobody honourable will take you as wife after what your brother did to us." Her mother's voice rises to a high, panicky wail. Her manicured nails dig into Ishizu's upper arms and her grip steadily tightens to painfully bruising. Her youngest son's betrayal has left a deep mark on her, twisting her mind in dangerous ways.
"Mother, please, you're hurting me," Ishizu whispers, humiliated and frightened, but it only earns her a rougher handling.
"Do this or we're ruined!" mother snarls in her face, her features contorted in uncharacteristic anger. She shakes her violently and drags her behind the ornate wooden screen. She tugs at her clothes insistently, ordering her to remove them, then turns around to dig through her drawers for a nightgown.
Overwhelmed and overpowered, Ishizu can only do as she is told. She feels cold and on the verge of tears when her mother pushes one of her nightdresses into her hands, but she doesn't cry. She is so overwhelmed she almost feels empty inside.
By the time her mother drags her out of the protection of the screen, her uncle has messed up her bed and spilled some blood on her pristine white sheets. Goosebumps cover her skin and she's trembling when he turns around to study her – nothing like her father used to study her with pride and satisfaction, but in a way that makes her feel like she's just an item her uncle considers buying. When he starts towards her, she tries to jerk back and shy away from him, having never been this exposed in front of any man, not even her brothers, but her mother keeps her in place.
"Hold her," her uncle rasps and spills some blood onto her shift as well. He unsheathes the dagger he's taken from the foreigner and grabs the front of her robe. She cries out in alarm and pain when he slices through it, making the tear jagged and uneven, nicking her skin every now and again – truly the work of a drunken man. When he is done and satisfied with her ruined clothing, he strikes her face, splitting the corner of her lip. She sucks in a sharp, pained breath, too shocked and frightened to do much else. His fingers tangle in her hair, dragging her over to the bed. What hurts more than that is how her mother is helping him.
"Get in," her uncle orders and shoves her towards the bed. He leaves her to her mother for the time being to walk around to the other side to place the knife into the unconscious man's hand as further incriminating evidence.
Her mother has to struggle with her a bit, but eventually Ishizu has no other option but to yield. Her mother reaches over to the puddle of blood on the sheets, wets her fingers and smears it on her daughter's thighs as well. Ishizu both wants and doesn't want to know whose blood it is.
That night, she doesn't sleep. She quietly cries her shame into her down pillow, suffocating each sob and trembling each time she allows her mind to stop at her predicament. She would welcome her taunting dreams tonight, but they flee her as if in spite. She barely dares to move out of feat of waking the man softly snoring beside her. He reeks of wine, and several times she comes dangerously close to emptying the contents of her stomach onto the ornate rug that covers the entire floor of her room. She doesn't know what she would do if he were to wake up. She doesn't know anything anymore. She could get up, slip on her least conspicuous robes and sneak out of the house and run, but where would she go? And how far would she even make it, not knowing anything outside this town, not even knowing this town properly. She wishes for death, but it is a futile wish, even though the dagger in the stranger's hand taunts her with its closeness and sharpness. Some unknown force binds her limbs together and doesn't let her act upon that impulse.
She must have eventually drifted off to sleep at some early hour because her mother's shriek and the clatter of breaking dishes wake her. She jerks up in alarm. Her head is heavy and her eyes feel like they are full of sand, but last night's terror still has her spellbound. It twists her stomach when she looks at the man in her bed and how he slowly stirs. During the night he has turned and one his arm rests beside her hips now, slightly tangled in her torn shift. His sleepy and confused gaze rests on her, then clears almost immediately as he remembers. Before he can act in any way, Ishizu's mother has stepped over the broken tray of breakfast she has brought and has rushed to her daughter's side, dragging her out of the bed and pushing her across the room as if to shield her. She's screaming accusations non-stop.
As if on cue, her uncle appears in the doorway, expressing his concern about the clamour at such an early hour.
"That, that..." Ishizu's mother spits out a name the foreign merchant has never heard before, but the meaning of which is unmistakable, "has violated my daughter!" Her voice is almost breathless as she seethes in anger and trembles in fury. Though it's all in pretence, it's remarkably realistic. "Look!" She yanks Ishizu forward by the arm to gesture at her torn and blood-stained nightdress. "Ruined her for all honourable men! After we invited him into our home and treated him to what no other outsider has ever tasted! And for what?! To have our prize flower trodden into dirt and condemned as a thanks?"
While the young merchant knows enough of their language to understand most of what is being said, he still has to guess at the meaning of some of it. It doesn't matter though; the situation is crystal clear for him. He gingerly sits up in the bed, carefully dragging the soiled sheet closer to cover himself after realising the state of undress he's in. His face is grim and his eyes remain on Ishizu for the duration of her mother's outburst. She can't meet his gaze; she's shaking again and studying the intricate patterns of the rug as if she sees them for the first time.
Her uncle takes a moment to look around the room, gaze lingering on his niece, then their guest, then the state of the bed. He moves forward, reaches over the young man and pulls out the dagger by the ornate handle that's sticking out of the folds of the sheet. He weighs it in his palm, shifts it from one hand to the other and back before moving back to his post by the door. He sets the weapon down on a chest of drawers beside it.
"There is only one way to settle this," he says slowly, as if weighing each word carefully, though they've already been practiced to perfection. He regards their guest with a hard, disapproving gaze. "You are to marry our daughter."
"Oh, what disgrace! What disgrace!" Ishizu's mother wails, clutching at her robes, finally having let go of her daughter. "What are we to tell Ishizu's fiancée? How will we weather this stain upon our noble house?"
"Be still, woman," her brother-in-law sternly admonishes her. "This is the best way, the only way to spare us more disgrace. I'll deal with her betrothed and his family and see to it that we don't face any consequences for disregarding all warnings and being so friendly with a foreigner who violated our sacred laws when we trusted him and expected him to do better."
That seems to calm to elderly woman somewhat and she turns around to grab Ishizu by the shoulders and push her towards the door.
"Come, my darling, I'll take care of you." She sighs deeply and lowers her voice to a sympathetic coo. "Oh, my poor, poor child. What has he done to you?"
Tears spring to Ishizu's eyes at the injustice. As much as she wants to cry out her pain and humiliation, she cannot. She is bound to play out this farce the same way her soon-to-be-husband is. Neither of them has a way out of it. He hasn't said a word this entire time. She feels his gaze on her up until she turns a corner and he can no longer see her. Mother leads her to her chambers and orders to clean up, all pretence of gentleness instantly gone from her tone. Instead, there is now the satisfaction and joy of a plan well executed.
"Imam will be called here shortly," she says, needlessly rearranging the dress she'd laid out on her bed for Ishizu to wear as her impromptu wedding garment. Above all, she looks happy about taking proper care of at least one of her children after the other one has gone astray so badly. She sighs wistfully and searches through her jewellery box for a pure gold necklace. It's too plain for her tastes, but she deems it perfect for the modest wedding at hand. "We don't have the time to arrange a proper feast, you understand."
There's genuine regret in her voice and it sends shivers down Ishizu's spine. She shudders at the sight of her mother's genuinely happy smile when she changes into her mother's old auburn gown. She has to suppress more shivers when her mother places the golden piece of jewellery around her neck and proceeds to twist her hair into an intricate cascade of curls that start straightening out as soon as she is done with them. To finish off her look, her mother expertly conceals the bruises on her face to make her presentable and lines her eyes with kohl. She is so sincere with all this fussing as if last night means nothing at all. When she finally takes a step back to admire her work, there are tears in her eyes.
"I am so proud of you," she whispers, her throat tight. She is genuinely moved at the look of her daughter all dressed up and about to leave her home for that of her new husband's. To her, she has fulfilled her duty even in her husband's absence.
Ishizu's stomach twists. She swallows thickly. There isn't an answer she can think of. The bitter burn of betrayal binds her vocal chords and only a choked sound escapes her.
All wedding preparations are rushed through before breakfast. It is a modest feast, set only for the audience of four and far too poor for their status and wealth, but it doesn't matter. Her uncle bows to the imam when he arrives and apologises profusely for calling him out at such an early hour and without any prior notice.
"We would prefer to wait, as is modest and appropriate, but our new son-in-law is a busy man and has been summoned back to his homeland for he knows not how long, and he doesn't want to leave his intended behind when he doesn't know how many months he will spend away. Though it grieves us to part with our daughter so soon without giving them the proper time to court, we dare not impede him when he must abide by his obligations."
The imam expresses his understanding of the situation and while he, too, finds the sudden turn of events regrettable, he praises such a dutiful and honourable attitude. And so, Ishizu and the young foreigner whose name she still doesn't know are joined in a quick, solemn ceremony that lacks all the traditional flair and rituals to ensure the young couple's longevity, fertility, and happiness. After the scriptures and the blessings have been read, the imam departs, leaving them to attend an awkward wedding breakfast during which the newlyweds barely touch their food. Ishizu's uncle does most of the talking in a stern, somewhat disapproving tone, outlining everything that is expected of their newest family member in regards to his wife. They agree on – or rather, grudgingly accept – a mahr that is more of an insult to their family status out of the simple fact that the merchant isn't carrying the necessary amount of gold with him. After that, they are set to leave.
Her uncle has arranged a carriage for Ishizu and her dowry – an expense her new husband has to cover on top of everything else – and her mother dresses her in the traditional abaya right before she crosses the threshold of the house to, hopefully, never set foot in it again.
Ishizu has started shaking again and the loose robe helps her conceal that. When she steps into the yard, her stomach churns and she has to suppress the wave of bile that surges up into her throat. Her new husband helps her into the carriage and it takes her every last bit of self-control to not jerk away from his touch. To her relief, he closes the door behind her and mounts his horse. They haven't spoken a single word to each other and for that, Ishizu is glad. She leans back into the cushions, closes her eyes and tries to steady herself. Her head is spinning from all the sudden changes and the humiliation she went through to be thrown from the reasonable comfort of her predictable life.
And so, sitting in a carriage with her husband riding his horse ahead of it, she crosses the bridge that takes her away from Deir El Amman into a new world she never thought she'd see and now wishes she wouldn't have to. She is quite relieved she doesn't need to share the carriage with her new husband. She doesn't think she has it in her to face him – not quite yet. If at all possible, she would gladly put it off infinitely, but that is not to be. She doesn't even know what to call him. Though she did hear his name once during the ceremony, at the time she was too preoccupied with keeping calm and not breaking down to focus on it, much less memorise it. She knows that, as soon as they pause for a meal, they'll come face to face and will have to attempt communication for the sake of the years still ahead of them. And then... she doesn't know what then.
When they do stop, it is far too soon for her liking. While the coachman unyokes the horse, her husband helps her out of the carriage and gestures towards a dense thicket a short distance away.
"For taking care of your needs," he explains in a clipped tone, then leaves her side to set up a blanket beneath a nearby acacia tree for their meal.
She has to cross an almost dry creek bed to reach the protective shade of the shrubs. Walking hurts her feet. The ground is littered with sharp rocks of all sizes and their edges press painfully through the thin soles of her shoes. Though she has yearned for adventures before, now that she is in one, the mundane details are quite sobering; she almost wishes she were back in her cage of predictability.
When she returns to join her husband who has his back propped against the old, gnarly acacia tree and sees the food laid out before him, she realises how hungry she actually is. She takes the vacant pillow across from him and he straightens up, nodding a stiff and awkward greeting. He offers standard, polite phrases while she settles in as comfortably as she can and looks over the modest offering. He is too polite, she realises almost instantly. He's forcing himself to interact with her, but there's no sincerity behind it. Nor should there be, considering the circumstances. She keeps stealing glances at him while they eat, studying his face, getting to know him better, and trying to read his emotions. He barely even looks at her, as if she disgusts him – which, she reasons, might not be too farfetched a possibility. She's afraid to name what she sees on his face, what she thinks he feels because she's afraid of what it will do to them. Still, the uneasy silence is slowly suffocating them both.
"I never meant to..." she blurts out when it becomes too much for her to bear, but the words are already dying on her lips. Her thoughts tangle as her heart speeds up. She tries again, but it doesn't go any better. "I didn't know they..."
Startled, he looks up at her and studies her for a long, awkward moment.
"What you're trying to say is that you had no part in this..." he pauses for a moment, considering the best word, "..arrangement."
Her cheeks are burning red, her voice is gone for the time being, and she can only nod in agreement.
He releases a low sigh, studying her more closely now. A ghost of a smile touches his lips and it's the first time when his guard slips regarding her and he seems somewhat sincere, if bitter.
He ventures to state instead of asking, "And you weren't truly betrothed to anyone."
She shakes her head, still trying to find her voice.
His rueful smile grows slightly wider.
"We've gotten ourselves into quite the predicament here."
Ishizu isn't sure how to respond to that, so she offers a shy smile in return. She's glad he hasn't asked her about the reason why yet.
He considers something for a while, then poses a question, "Might I be honest with you?"
Hearing this both exhilarates and scares her. Whatever he's about to say will change everything. She swallows nervously, hands tangling in her robe, and voices a breathless, "Please."
He gives her a small nod of gratefulness and with that, turns gravely serious.
"This has left me in quite the tangle, I'll say. You see, I already have a bride. We've been arranged since early childhood and grew up with the thought of marriage. We've been waiting until we both come of age and that is this year. The circumstances have made it so that, if I set her aside, she will have no future."
Ishizu feels cold inside. She doesn't know how to react to this or what even would be an appropriate reaction. Yes, she is married to this man, but they were both forcefully tricked into it with no way to back out before it was too late. Before she can think of anything to say, however, he continues.
"Likewise with you."
Those three words give her hope. Those three words kill her. They are everything and nothing at all. She knows the laws; he doesn't. She knows a way out of this situation and as much as she wishes to speak her mind, she's afraid of what it'll bring. She keeps her silence for a little while longer, wrestling with herself and the possible consequences she'll have to face, regardless of which choice she makes.
"There is talāq."
"Talāq?" The word sounds odd in his mouth.
She nods, avoiding eye contact once again. She is proud of herself when her voice wavers only slightly. She clenches the folds of her robe to hide the fact that her hands are shaking.
"If our marriage isn't consummated, after a period of waiting you can pronounce me three times divorced."
He's looking at her with something remarkably like hope, but she doesn't see it. Her heart beats heavy and slow, and painful in her chest. If he does this, and she is returned home as is expected, she is as good as dead. In fact, her mother will most likely force her to kill herself to wash the shame away, though she knows she wouldn't be the first and neither the last divorced woman. But by her family's standards divorce is only for low class plebeians with no honour. She doesn't want this marriage, but she also doesn't want to return home.
When he prompts her for more information, she shakes her head dismally. She never knew hope could feel so heavy.
"We need to speak with an imam concerning the details."
It takes them one full day and a half to reach the next settlement and find an imam. When he hears the case, he nods in understanding and turns to question them to make sure that both sides willingly agree to terminate their marriage. This is when the merchant learns that his new wife is only fourteen years old. When the imam asks about the night they spent in one bed, Ishizu answers with a firm no before her husband can say anything. Though her cheeks burn red when she says this, she is willing to be examined if necessary to prove that she is still intact.
Imam nods along with their answers and then falls silent for a long while, considering how to rule in this case.
"Since neither of you have appointed representatives..." he starts thoughtfully, then turns to address only the merchant. "Your wife will come of age in four years. If the marriage is not consummated by then and you still wish to divorce her, it will be made final. Until then, you are to care for her and provide for her to the best of your ability." He pauses to study them both. "Then, if this is your true heart's wish, I have heard your first alāq and declare a four-years-long iddah. Go now and live as your soul directs you."
Four years is a long time, Ishizu thinks as they return to their carriage, and many things can yet change. For four years she is bound to this man as he is bound to her. Even now she lists off in her head all the ways she could have this marriage consummated; all the ways she could softly and quietly worm her way into his life if she so wishes. She has heard the whispered stories about the prowess of her kinswomen and how far superior they are in these deeds when compared to women from other lands. She's not sure if she wants to try, however. She doesn't know if she'll have it in her to betray the tentative trust this man, whose name she still doesn't know, has begun to feel towards her.
That evening, when they sit down for a meal, most of the tension between them has lifted. He sees a way out of this predicament and it delights him, but she still wrestles with the concerns for her future. Trying to push those thoughts aside for the time being, she finally gathers the courage to ask for his name. He's taken aback by that. He burned her name into his memory the very morning he woke up beside her, feeling the noose of unwanted marriage drawn tight around his neck. It hadn't occurred to him that she wouldn't know his name.
"Pegasus," she pronounces it carefully as if trying to taste each foreign syllable.
He smiles at her, feeling freer around her now.
"I will take care of you for as long as you stay with me," he promises in all earnest. "Anything you wish to learn. Anything you wish to do. I will find a husband for you if you want me to. Or I'll leave that up to you if that suits you better."
She smiles gratefully at him and after a moment of deliberation asks, "I'd rather not be returned to my family afterwards, if that is all right with you." Seeing his look of surprise, she hastens to elaborate, "They'll see me as a stain on their reputation, especially after my..." She catches herself in time, but it's already a little too late.
"Especially after what?" he prompts and there's something entrancing about his gaze that drags the truth right out of her.
"After my brother murdered our father in a fit of madness and left." She drops her gaze to the surface of the table. Her hands twist together under it. "My mother thought I would never get a good match because of that."
His two-pronged fork dances across his dish, picking out the choicest parts of the sautéed veal they are having. In an attempt to keep the air casual he arches an eyebrow and his tone turns lightly teasing.
"And your mother decided I would be a good enough match? Or far enough removed from it all?"
"That, and you would remove me far enough from the family."
There is something about her dry wit that makes him chuckle. He gestures at the food and encourages her to dig in.
"If you don't mind me asking," he says after a moment of comfortable silence, "could you tell me more about your brother?" His interest is piqued. He has heard about such instances of sudden madness before, but he needs to learn more to makes his final judgement on it. "Was he always prone to... violent outbursts?"
She shakes her head. "No. He was always the sweetest child, but on the night of his tenth birthday... He changed. He became... different. Often angry without a good reason."
Pegasus nods. It sounds exactly like all the previous cases he's heard of.
"Do you know where he might be now?"
Ishizu shakes her head. "He's only ten years old. He doesn't know anyone outside of Deir El Amman. Only a few of our relatives from the surrounding towns, but he hasn't visited them often enough to know the roads well."
He nods again, considering the information and how much of his knowledge and suspicion he is willing to divulge at the present time. He has certain business deals to attend to and he's being delayed with the speed the carriage travels at already. If she decides to search for her missing brother, he will be delayed even further. He opts to keep his silence for the time being, but makes a note to himself to inquire around for a stray child of ten when he has the chance.
To take her mind off the sad topic, Ishizu turns her attention to something he'd said earlier. She sets her fork aside and focuses on him intently.
"Did you mean it when you said you'd teach me anything I want to learn?"
He's in the process of reaching for a cup of strong tea to wash the rich and savoury meal down and that question takes him somewhat by surprise. He makes a sound of agreement and nods his head for emphasis.
"If I can. Or I will find you a teacher." He studies her eager expression and swallows a mouthful of tea. "What is it that you want to learn?"
"To ride a horse." She can barely believe her own daring. She has only ridden a camel twice when going to attend the wedding of her nieces and somebody had always held the camel by the reins and guided it along at a slow walk.
"Have you ever done it before?"
She shakes her head. Her fists clench instinctively as she braces for his answer. She fears rejection, but a voice at the back of her mind tells her that she won't hear it. The voice is right.
"It would be a faster way to travel," he admits, but seeing her hopeful expression, hastens to sober her up with the less glorious part of it. "It would be foolish to do it now. First you'll have to learn to handle a horse, then slowly build stamina for riding – especially for extended periods of time. It is a painful experience, though I can't deny it is absolutely worth it." He smiles a little, to soften the blow. "Once we're not in such a hurry, I'll find you a good teacher," he promises.
Ishizu accepts that condition, though she feels slightly dismayed at being unable to start learning instantly. She can be patient. She can wait. She has four years of new experiences to accumulate. Surely a few weeks one way or another won't make much of a difference.
Pegasus finishes his tea with slow sips, savouring the rich and bitter taste of the drink. He can foresee himself growing comfortable around her and decides to take a step forward that.
"Tell you what," he says after setting his cup down, "while we wait for a better time to teach you how to ride, I could teach you my language. It will shorten the otherwise dull trip ahead of us."
She agrees to it without much deliberation, seeing the benefit.
The very next day, before they set out to travel, he provides her with paper and ink so that she could write down the most difficult to remember words. He finds with delight that she is a quick study. After the first week, she can already strike up a limited conversation with him, and though she occasionally gets a word or a tense wrong and keeps stumbling and searching for words she doesn't yet know, she makes a fair progress. In return, she helps him improve with his own language skills. Every now and again he takes the time to ride in the carriage with her instead of beside it so he can show how each word is written. He watches in amazement at the even and almost artful way she writes in her own language. The letters of his alphabet gain the same rounded edges and smooth curves when she pens them out. It's quite mesmerising for him to watch.
He is no less surprised when they finally get around to teaching her to ride. She insists on men's saddle instead of the less stable women's and mounts the calmest filly Pegasus has been able to find for the task with almost practiced ease. The riding instructor he has hired for her stares in disbelief when his supposed student reaches for the reins with a practiced gesture, and he can't find a single thing to fix in either her posture or her grip. The instructor turns to his likewise surprised employer.
"Is this an elaborate mockery, my lord?" he asks with apprehension. "You mean to tell me that this young lady has never sat on a horse before?"
"Unless the lady is playing a joke on us both," Pegasus replies and quirks a questioning eyebrow in Ishizu's direction.
Her cheeks are flushed in excitement. Conforming to the Western way, she has discarded her abaya, and, if not for her exotic looks, she could easily be mistaken for a Westerner. She shakes her head.
"I can assure you; this is the first time, though I've often dreamed about doing this."
"Young lady has uncannily powerful dreams then," the instructor mutters and takes the leash attached to the horse's bridle to begin the first lesson. It turns out that she learns riding as fast as she had acquired the language, though it's a great and dismal surprise for her when she falls for the first time. Almost instantly this makes her instructor less suspicious and more earnest in the way he teaches her. During all the lessons he oversees, he gives her great and proven tips for how to build her endurance for lengthy riding.
Inspired by her success with horse riding, she tests the limits of her allowance by asking for sword fighting lessons.
"Have you dreamt of those too?" Pegasus asks, slightly amused by the eager gleam in her eyes, but doesn't refuse.
The fighting style she is taught is different from what her brothers learned, but it is no less effective. She faces the most difficulty here, not having the physical strength. Even her speed doesn't help her. If anything, she makes more mistakes because of that. Upon nothing her dismay, Pegasus goes to great lengths to find someone from her homeland who would be willing to teach a woman in this art. When he finally does, her improvement is almost imminent.
Their four years of iddah are slowly drawing to a close when Ishizu first tells him about her dreams; how realistic they feel, always more like a true life experience than mere imagination.
He considers her carefully before asking, "Have any of those dreams come true for you?"
She tilts her head slightly, considering her answer just as carefully. There have been things she had known before they even happened. Some of those had occurred during their trip from her homeland to his. Small things at first; ones that brought on a sense of déjà vu, ones that made her pause and think that she'd been there already or that she'd seen it before somewhere only to realise that she'd dreamt fragments of it at one point or another. She looks ahead at the willowy blonde woman sitting in a distant arbour with an open book in her hands, utterly lost to this world. They are slowly making her way towards her to invite her for a picnic while the weather is still keeping good. She ponders how best to put in words the extent of their truthfulness without needing long explanations.
"I knew what your bride looked like before I saw her."
Pegasus is taken aback for a moment. He is quite certain he hadn't mentioned her much during their trip, not wanting to upset Ishizu and further dismay himself. Neither had he carried any picture of her on his persona or amid his belongings for her to accidentally come across it.
"I knew she would accept me without question, regardless of what you would tell her," she continues.
He turns slightly grim. His beloved woman is exactly that kind of person: gentle and accepting, without a single bad bone in her body, and with a firm belief in the goodwill of all the people she meets.
"I would never..."
"...hurt her," Ishizu finishes for him with a rueful smile at the startled look he gives her. "I know."
He composes himself quickly enough and wags a playful finger at her.
"You seem to know an uncanny lot of things, young lady."
She smirks, working the moment up for a cocky remark. "Blame my dreams."
He laughs out loud, wondering when and where she'd learned to smile like that. Then he turns serious.
"There is something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a while. Shall we have a little chat tonight over a friendly game of chess?"
"In which you'll try to cheat your way to victory again?" Ishizu teases with a grin.
"I do not cheat!" he defends with offended flair, though he's not entirely sincere there. He has always been able to see things slightly ahead of their time and the older he gets, the easier it becomes for him. Predicting her moves before she's even thought to make them is one of the easiest things in his book. It's also one of the main subjects of their planned conversation, the other being her youngest brother and the possible malady that ails him.
They never get around to that conversation. Ishizu sways on her feet and grips Pegasus's sleeve to steady herself as a flash of black fills her field of vision. Her ears are ringing and she feels like she's about to throw up. Images flash before her eyes, unwelcome, unbidden. She doesn't know what she's seeing and yet it's crystal clear for her. She hears her name being called and it brings her back to her senses. Her throat constricts painfully and tears spring to her eyes.
"Cyndia," she manages to choke out.
The agitation that has her in thrall passes over to Pegasus. He yanks his arm free from her grip, leaving her stumbling for balance, and rushes to the arbour, calling the name of his beloved. He arrives too late. He knows what he'll find seconds before he sees her, but he finds it impossible to accept it for the harsh reality that it is.
Cyndia's gaze is transfixed on nothing, eyes glassy and void of any expression. Her face is an unmoving porcelain mask of terror. Her hands still hold the book she'd been reading slightly raised, but they have become marble white and just as cold to the touch. From the distance, the shade of the ivy-covered arbour had hidden all true colours, but now that he stands right next to her it's easy to see that wind no longer ruffles her hair that was once warm, luscious gold; that it no longer shifts the folds of her aquamarine dress. From head to toe, she has turned into a mottled stone statue. The only thing that is starkly, insultingly rich in colour is the leather-bound book in her arms.
Pegasus sinks onto his knees in front of her, calling her name out in vain. She can no longer respond to him.
Ishizu, having finally gathered her wind, approaches the arbour in time to see him reach for the book.
"No!" she shouts in alarm. "Don't touch it!"
He yanks his hand back, startled by her tone, and looks back at her over his shoulder. He has never heard her speak like that, nor has he seen that stricken look on her face.
"I..." She stumbles over her words again because it's hard even for her to believe what she's about to say, but she has to voice it nevertheless. "The book is cursed. It's best not to touch it. I... saw what it does," she finishes awkwardly. She saw it in a what – dream? Vision? She doesn't know what to name it.
Pegasus reaches for the black cloth on the floor by Cyndia's feet, which the book had been wrapped in at the time he procured it. He gingerly picks it up, drapes it over the book and carefully pries the tome from his beloved's stiff fingers. Memories come unbidden, but with stark clarity of how the book came into his possession. Of how it had lain on a table laden with assorted scrolls, knick-knacks, and odd jewellery, artfully nestled onto a piece of dark cloth. The man behind the table had claimed it was a rare treasure saved from the flames that ravaged the great library of Alexandria. Pegasus hadn't entirely believed the story, but the book had undeniably caught his attention. At the time, he'd assumed the cloth was there to protect the leather binding and the intricate metal embellishments adorning the old and well-worn cover with writing on it that resembled Ancient Greek. And protect it it had. With astounding clarity he now recalls how the seller had expertly wrapped the book up in the cloth, not once touching any part of it before passing it into the hands of its new owner; how he himself had never unwrapped the book during his trip home, not even upon presenting it to his dear Cyndia, preferring to see the joy of discovery when she undid the knots of the parcel and saw what hid inside. And now he thinks he never will see another expression on her face except the one of twisted terror forever carved into marble.
He tosses the book none too gently onto the table in the centre of the arbour, wishing it would disintegrate, wishing he'd never seen it, whishing he hadn't been persuaded to purchase it, – even if he knew how much Cyndia enjoyed old books and how much she liked Ancient Greek writings – wishing he knew how to turn things around and make it so that his beloved never lay a hand on it.
He slumps forward, clutching at her stone knees and leaning over them heavily. He's shaking without knowing it and he feels like crying, but his eyes are dry and burning.
Ishizu carefully steps forward and around his feet to study the book where it slid across the table, partially hidden under the thick black cloth. Daintily she lifts the cloth to study the lettering on the open pages which Cyndia had been reading, then slowly manoeuvres it so that she could safely lift the book to take a look at the cover. She returns her attention back to the aged parchment and the partially faded ink work on it. She carefully leafs through the pages forwards and back, soon pausing to read a section more carefully, soon skimming over the paragraphs before turning to the next page, and frowns.
"Where did you get this book?" she asks, her gaze still glued to the open pages, but Pegasus is beyond answering. She gives him a long moment to answer, but only silence greets her question. "It's written in an early form of Aramaic," she continues, now speaking more to herself as if in an attempt to sort through her own thoughts. "I've heard about scrolls like this. Powerful scrolls that bend the owner's mind into darkness with the forbidden knowledge they contain. I've never heard of one doing what it did here though." She glances over at Cyndia – at the perfectly chiselled marble statue she has turned into.
Pegasus doesn't react to anything she says. It doesn't seem like he even hears her anymore. He is lost in a world of agony he has never known before.
Casting one more lingering look at the heart-breaking scene before her, Ishizu carefully collects the book and departs to her room to give Pegasus the solitude he needs right now, as well as to study the ancient tome more closely. She knows her father owned some items of great value and with attested magical powers. At one time, together with her brothers she snuck into his room to try and unlock the chest which they knew held the items, but they never found the key. There was a certain odd aura about that piece of furniture that thrilled them. Where her older brother had felt fear, she had experienced a bout of curiosity and awe, but their little brother had been exceptionally drawn to the contents of the locked chest – up to a point where he'd thrown a tantrum when they didn't manage to pry the lid open. He'd been willing to break it apart just to get his hands on whatever hid inside. She ponders the magic and the ways it had affected them at such a young age – each of them reacting so differently to it.
This makes Ishizu wonder if that had been the first sign of what her brother did just two years later; if maybe the madness had begun its work long before his tenth birthday. This makes her ponder one more thing – she doesn't remember if anybody examined the contents of her father's room to make sure nothing was missing, or, if they did, she hasn't heard anything about it. She also pities the fact that her great-grandmother is no longer alive; she was said to have been wise and skilled in some form of magic. She might have been able to, if not tell them what had happened to Cyndia, at least know something about the magic involved in it. She regrets not knowing more. Her mother had shunned those practices and so her father had never talked much about them. Most of Ishizu's own knowledge on the topic comes from overheard conversations and silent whispers of their servants when they thought nobody was listening in on their chatting.
Once she is back in her room, she places the book on her bed and sets to examine it thoroughly, trying to deduce from the Aramaic lettering the name of the book or at least a hint at its purpose. She isn't skilled in the language, though she spots a familiar word every now and again. She studies each page carefully, every so often checking herself to make sure no visible changes are occurring to her body. She is wary of ending up the same way Pegasus's betrothed did. Even thought the vision showed her what happened, it revealed nothing about how or what, precisely, triggered it. When the thought of the book's magic shifting her mind occurs to her, she moves away from the book, withdrawing her hand and focusing on herself for a long moment. She can't tell if the text has taken any effect on her. If it has, it might be too small yet for her to notice. Her hands start shaking at the prospect of spending the rest of her life as a statue, but there's a voice at the back of her mind that whispers to her that the same malady won't befall her.
Calming her racing heart, she hesitantly returns to the book, trying to discern as much information about it as she possibly can while not getting too deeply involved with the text on its pages, just to be on the safe side. The old tome just seems to draw her in. After a while, she notices that it starts to react to her presence. It seems to be breathing, faint waves of energy emanating from its pages with the same slightly dizzying effect she experienced upon seeing the sea for the first time. The rhythmic undulation of waves, their continuous crashing against the shore in an endless, relentless, maddening dance had left her breathless and feeling like she was walking several feet above the ground. It had taken Pegasus firm and guiding hand to keep her from fainting.
With each page she turns, that odd feeling grows stronger and stronger until she yanks her hand away from the yellowing parchment. Her heart is hammering away in her chest again, her breathing is laboured, and the text is slowly starting to swim before her eyes in a slightly pulsating way, too reminiscent of the sea to be comfortable for her. She grips the edge of the black cloth and yanks it over the book, slamming it shut, not caring about the damage that might do to it. She just wants those letters away. The sensation doesn't stop instantly. Its ebb and flow continues for quite a while, only gradually losing intensity, and the undeniable pull, which insistently tugs at her mind and beckons her to reach out against her will and touch the warm leather cover, trace that intricate metalwork around the edges and the spine, is suddenly obvious.
She sits on her bed, her hands firmly on the mattress in an effort to remain upright, and focuses on her breathing. Now that she's no longer so immersed in studying the writing, Ishizu slowly realises that she doesn't feel welcome in her own room anymore. After a prolonged moment of pondering that feeling, she gets up and hastily leaves for one of the unused, but recently cleaned guest bedrooms on the far end of the corridor, trying to put as much distance between herself and the book as possible. When she closes the door behind herself, she suddenly feels exhausted, as if an incredible weight has dropped onto her shoulders. She drags herself to the adjacent bathroom in search of a pitcher of water and is lucky to find one half-empty. She pours it into a plain white porcelain basin and just stares at its rippling surface and her own bleak and distorted reflection before reaching in and splashing her face with it. She feels better almost instantly. She pours in some more water and washes her face and hands repeatedly, and feels the odd sensation from before slowly fall away. She straightens up, takes a deep breath, then another one, not caring that the water drips down her face and onto her dress and on the floor. She relishes the feeling of slipping free from whatever trance held her in its grip before reaching for a neatly folded linen towel that rest beside the basin to wipe herself dry.
It's almost a shame to leave the peacefulness of the bathroom and walk over to the bed, but she feels as if a leaden weight has fallen onto her shoulders, almost as if it's trying to press her into the ground. On top of that, she feels overwhelmingly sleepy. She opts to only remove her shoes before curling up under the thick brown cover of the bed. Remembering Cyndia's fate after reading the book makes falling asleep suddenly terrifying and she tries to fight it for as long as she can, but it is a lost fight.
She doesn't really sleep though. Her night is full of garish visions that bring no rest and no refuge to her until she wakes with the first light of the morning and the distant crow of a rooster. Opening her eyes and seeing the details of the room slowly come into focus, feeling her body move in response to her thoughts is an undeniable relief, though she feels physically broken. Every last detail about yesterday is bright and clear in her mind; as real as the nightmares whose grip she just escaped.
She feels different. Like something has changed. Like she has changed. But everything seems to be in order with her. She takes a trip to the bathroom to check herself over in the mirror. There are no visible changes to her outer appearance. The change seems to be rooted much deeper. In her perception or perhaps at the very core of her. She cannot quite tell, but she knows that something has shifted.
When she reaches for the basin to empty it, she stops in her tracks. At the bottom of the water is a layer of murky fog-like sediment. She takes a moment to study it, then, gripped by a sudden rush, she grabs the basin and empties it into a chamber pot. Some of that fog clings to the basin, streaking it with odd patterns and, if she looks closer, it seems to have affected the colour of the porcelain as well.
Ishizu shivers and sets the basin down, choosing to leave the room and find a different place to wash the sleep from her eyes. She doesn't stop by her room even though her dress is ruffled and she ought to change into something else; she doesn't stop until she is outside in the backyard where she makes a beeline for the rain barrel on the corner of the stables. It's almost empty, but she reaches in with a cup that sits on a bench beside it, leans over and splashes the water on her face with one hand, letting it drip onto the mud. The water is cold and it shakes her up. Deciding that an early morning ride will clear her mind even further, she borrows the spare riding clothes from a stable boy who is approximately her size, slips inside a vacant stall to change into them, and then goes to saddle her horse.
It's so early that none of the servants are yet awake and none of the stable boys sleeping in the hay above the stalls even stir when she leads the horse outside. She guides it towards the fields, making sure the gardens and the arbour stay out of sight to keep her mind off yesterday's events for as long as she can. She allows her horse to move along the fences in a slow trot, giving her time to warm up before she loosens the reins and lets her bay Arabaya horse with an impressive pedigree to break into the full gallop she's been itching for since the moment Ishizu placed the saddle on her back. She's been itching for it herself as well.
Wind whistles around her ears and whips her hair away from her face and she relishes the feeling. The sense of freedom she experiences during the ride is intoxicating. She feels as weightless as a leaf drifting along in its fall and as powerless as if blown away by a gale. She leans low over her horse's neck, guiding her towards a low stone wall spearing through a meadow and feels the thrill when the mare crosses it with a leap as smooth and effortless as grass bending under a breeze. Ishizu feels as free as a scream loosed across mountains to echo until it whispers into nothingness. In fact, there is one building in her chest. It bubbles up through exhilaration, tickles the back of her throat while her mare jumps across a narrow river that winds its path through the Crawford property, and finally breaks free when she sails over a wide hedge without even brushing its top.
Unfortunately, the elation only lasts for as long as the wild ride. When she turns the horse around and heads back several hours later with the morning sun already poking through the distant treetops along the horizon and gently brushing the tiled red roof of the manor, she is greeted by the first still very sleepy servants in the yard. If they find it odd, seeing her in men's clothing, they make no comment. They greet her as usual and scurry along with their tasks.
Ishizu gives her mare time to cool down from the wild ride, though any exhaustion on the bay beauty is hardly noticeable. She takes her time with walking her around before unsaddling her and rubbing her down. She takes extra time with it this morning, partially just to put off the inevitable, though she knows she can't avoid it forever. She doesn't change into her dress now that the stable boys are starting to wake up and anyone could peer down at her. Instead, she collects it from the door of the empty stall which she draped it over and takes it up to her room. There she forces herself to spare only a cursory glance at the book still on her bed before focusing entirely on picking out that day's dress. She has never been this fussy about it: the colour of one is a shade too dark, the cut of another is too inappropriate for the middle of the week, the skirt of a third one falls all wrong for the wind of today, the fourth one is too light in its every aspect... She knows she's stalling for more time and she knows it's because of the magic of the book and whatever mess she will step into the moment she leaves her room, and she hates herself for it. But a different kind of magic holds her in its grip and she hasn't yet worked up enough courage to face it and dispel it.
In the end, she picks a light autumn dress in the colour of warm off-white sand with modest golden embellishments. She foregoes doing her hair up, not wanting to spend more time in the same room as the book, and leaves for the kitchens. On the way there, she overhears two servants whispering about their master not spending the night in his bedroom. She changes course and, though feeling famished, walks to the great entrance and crosses the front yard. It's hard to tell from a distance whether Pegasus is still in the arbour, but she feels and it soon becomes apparent that he's not. The statue of Cyndia sits there all alone. Ishizu spends some time looking at it without attempting to map out any distinctive details and letting her gaze blur a little. And with that she gains clarity.
She sees beyond the statue, beyond her own predicament, beyond the grief and suffering that is yet to come. She sees the road – and it is endless. And she knows where she'll find Pegasus. She smiles to herself ruefully, bows respectfully to the unresponsive stone girl, and goes to chase the wind.
She finds Pegasus in his room. He's packing for a trip. Or at least trying to, judging by the overall chaos that rules there.
"I'm going with you," Ishizu says in lieu of greeting without even crossing the threshold of his room. She reaches out to rest her hand on the doorjamb just to centre herself, to feel the sturdiness of the oak wood that it's made of and let that silent strength seep into her limbs.
He doesn't even spare a glance her way as he shakes his head.
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible." His voice is dull and lifeless, and scratchy. He's moving around the room with jerky, hasty movements, doing every other motion twice because he picks something up, carries it over to his travel bag only to realise he doesn't need the item he's holding and put it aside only to change his mind a moment later and pack it in anyway.
Her fingers grip the wood harder. She refuses to be waylaid or denied.
"Our iddah ends soon," she calmly reminds him. "I need to be there for talāq to count. Besides," she plays her strongest card; one that she knows he can't refuse, and she hates herself a little for it. "Don't you want to return to Cyndia a free man?"
He stops in his tracks. Her words have touched a string or a sore spot inside him that resonates.
"I can ride, I can hold my own in a swordfight. I will not be a hindrance to you the way I was on our way here," she barrels on in a calm and rational tone.
He sighs deeply and still refuses to turn around and look at her, almost as if the very sight of her pains him. And really, it might. Ishizu doesn't doubt that at some point during last night his mind stopped on the great injustice of Cyndia being the one affected instead of her. She can see that thought flicker to the forefront of his thoughts even now. If only she had been the one to turn into stone, he would've been a free man now.
"This isn't..."
"..going to be a joyride," she finishes for him and already feels the bitter taste of victory at the back of her throat. She lets go of the doorjamb and straightens herself. "Believe me, I know that."
He jerks as if her words hit him. They might have, because she knew what he was going to say and how he was going to try and dissuade her from this endeavour. But it's already too late. She knows she will have her way. There is no argument he can give her that she wouldn't be able to shoot down.
"Very well, then," he reluctantly concedes before setting a – to his mind – unrealistic time constraint. "We're leaving in an hour."
Though his back is still turned to her, she hides the smile that makes her lips twitch.
"I'll meet you at the gate."
With those parting words she heads straight for her room to pack only the things she knows she'll need for this adventure. Yes, she is being selfish; yes, she is using him to her benefit; yes, she knows that only one of them will find what they're looking for. Yet there is one thing that never changes – the road is endless. The possibilities are limitless. Whatever happens, there's always one more step to take.
She keeps her word and in exactly one hour she is waiting for him at the gate. He's the one who is late, as she'd expected him to be.
He scowls when he sees her, though he tries to mask his annoyance. And something else that flickers across his expression, but it's too fleeting for her to catch its meaning.
"I believe you'll want this." A slightly sardonic smile plays on her lips when she holds out the accursed book, safely bundled up in the black cloth and tied securely with a piece of hempen rope which she'd borrowed from the stables.
He takes it from her hands and if she wouldn't know better, she'd think he's sulking. As soon as he tucks it into his saddlebag, he kicks his horse to a swift trot past her. She lets him have it and follows at a similar pace, keeping a slight distance for the time being. He's surprised that she doesn't ask about their destination. He wonders if she has seen another one of her dreams, but doesn't ask about it. He has too many questions swarming his mind already and not enough answers. He doesn't feel like adding several more to the mix.
The first day they spend travelling in complete silence. The second – they exchange polite, non-descript phrases like two complete strangers who've only just met. The ice starts breaking only around the fourth or fifth day when Ishizu's timely warning saves their horses from being stolen. When he outright asks her about it, she lets her gaze drift off into distance.
"I can see things more clearly now. I don't have to be asleep for it." Her voice is quiet when she says this. After a moment of silence during which he doesn't inquire for any further details, she adds, "Ever since that day... that one time in the garden right before... Something changed."
She is only too glad that he doesn't ask any more questions. She doesn't know how she would answer them. She's still unsure about it herself.
It takes them the best part of a month to reach the town where Pegasus purchased the ancient book. When they head for the marketplace, he finds the stall quickly enough, but it's occupied by someone he doesn't recognise. Someone selling figs and pomegranates. When they ask around, nobody even remembers a person like that; nobody remembers anyone selling such items at that particular stall, or anywhere nearby.
"He must have seen a ghost," mutters one of the stray children mulling about the marketplace in constant search of something to pocket after Ishizu treats him to a handful of sweet dried dates.
She relies that answer to Pegasus, but he doesn't want to accept it. The book in his saddlebag is all too real. She doesn't try to convince him otherwise. For some people, words never work. They need to run headlong into walls repeatedly to finally realise where they've been going wrong. This, she knows is exactly the case. She is, however, very curious about the origins of the book and the power it holds, so she doesn't have any complaints and is more than glad to accompany him on his search for its source. They keep searching for the best half of a year and manage to find little and less, though they've gathered some interesting company along the way, their faces ever changing, but their life stories remaining mostly the same – one misfortune or another pushed them onto the endless roads and they try to claw their way back to some sort of stability and order. Except for one companion who has stayed with them for most of their travels.
They met him on the outskirts of Gallia and he has been with them since. He claims he has nowhere to go, no family left to return to. They are certainly grateful for his presence, especially during winter when the cold bites hard and the flora and fauna thins out to a bare minimum. He is a great archer and he has felled many and more centrepieces of their mealtimes. Without him, they would have gone starving weeks ago. His physical strength is another benefit. A gaunt aristocrat like Pegasus, thinned by his grief and constant failures when it seems like the goal is almost at hand, and a slender and distinctly exotic-looking young girl travelling together are prime targets of solitary thieves and brigands alike. But the added bulk of their third companion makes everyone think twice before aiming a shot at them.
They weather the winter and grow to rely on each other a lot. When the spring comes, it's hard for them to think of travelling any other way but together. Still, with the first early blooms after the thaw comes the time to head for Ishizu's homeland. Their companion has heard most of the story and is eager to go with them, having never seen her land before, though having heard stray tales with fantastic details. He wants to know how much of that is true.
Ishizu laughs when he tells her so one night over a campfire, but it's not a mocking laugh. It's a happy, amused one. She could spoil him with how mundane the reality he's about to witness is, how every story he has heard is loosely based on one happening or another with those who've been permitted into their society and accepted as kin. He is unlikely to experience much of the luxuries of lush lifestyle of the rich and powerful rulers whose harems most of those stories come from. She is drawn to the blond man, to his solemn strength and the world-weary look in his eyes. She doesn't need her awakened ability to see into the future to know that he is similarly drawn to her as well. She isn't yet sure whether that is only due to her distinctly different look when compared to his kinswomen and further aided by all the rich stories of her culture, or something more genuine. She trusts she will see it when the right time comes.
The sea voyage takes longer than anticipated and they arrive two weeks after Ishizu comes of age. They find an imam and after he has heard the story, questioned both parties and received the confirmation that, even after the iddah set for them, they still wish to divorce, he accepts Pegasus's talāq three times and proclaims them as divorced.
Ishizu finds that she doesn't feel any different afterwards. She'd partially expected it to change something. She vaguely recalls the fears she experienced in the beginning: the doubts, the constant battling with herself, the urge to break her own commitment out of fear for her future, but now she can't see what had scared her so much back then. Four years have been a long time. Four years changed many things. Four years changed her. And she is happy. She is finally free... but she feels less free now than she did on the morning all those months ago when she demanded that Pegasus take her with him on his trip for answers and a cure for his beloved. A rueful smile passes her lips to fade out soon. A cure he'll probably never find. In that instant she wishes she could do something to help him. The only thing she knows is that she'll meet him again. Years and devastations later, but for now...
"I need to find my brother," she tells Pegasus that night over a meal she hasn't tasted in years; a meal that brings back memories of her childhood and not all of those are unwelcome. She savours every bite she takes.
He makes a noncommittal sound and though he tries to appear impassive, she can see the disappointment on his face.
"I know I can't ask you to come with me and I'm unlikely to learn anything about him if I continue on together with you."
"I understand." His voice is low and slightly rough. He truly does. Over the years he has forgotten all about her missing brother and he hadn't even remembered, hadn't considered him when they set out on this journey, but it all comes back to him now and he deems it a good time to finally tell her everything he has ever heard of similarly afflicted people. Though it pains him to let her go and it worries him a great deal to know she would be alone on this path, he knows why she has to do it. Because he, too, would go to the end of the world if only it meant bringing Cyndia back. He plans to do it, in fact. He will not stop searching until he finds a way to reverse the curse placed on her. It doesn't matter if he will have to spend his entire life for it.
"Tell me whatever you need for it and I will provide it for you," he repeats his old promise, though they are no longer legally bound by marriage. He has grown to consider her a part of his family nevertheless and that isn't about to change even now.
She thanks him from the bottom of her heart, knowing that there is no longer such an obligation between them. She thinks of him as an older brother and she relies on him as if he is one.
When their companion volunteers to go with Ishizu and protect her to the best of his ability, it lessens Pegasus's worry a significant amount. He has grown truly fond of her over the years, more so than he ever expected. When the morning comes, he lets them both go with a heavy heart and focuses his full attention back on seeking out the source of the book.
Elated and eager to see where the road takes her, now that she is free, Ishizu rides to the edge of the town where a small river feeds into the sea. She stops on the riverbank and gazes upstream. If her eyes do not deceive her, there's a small bridge a good distance away.
"Where to?" her companion asks gruffly, stopping his horse next to hers. "East, west, or south?"
"Wherever the wind blows," she replies with a smile and a laugh, and spurs her horse on to leave the lull of the sea behind them. She has discovered an uncanny liking for bridges and the places they take her.
FIN
A/N / glossary:
- I played the game 'how long can I go without mentioning Pegasus's name?'. I managed exactly 4793 words;
- Deir El Amman is en entirely fictional place;
- mahr – the amount of gold/items of choice the groom negotiates with the bride's parents to pay for his bride, kind of a "thank you for raising her" thing, also most commonly used to cover most wedding expenses;
- Arabaya – old name for Arabia;
- Arabaya horse – because Arabian horses are among the top prized ones in the world, and they're just so beautiful;
- kilij – a Turkish type of scimitar – curved sword;
- "of fine Damascus steel" – the most durable and sharpest metal for swords of its time, characterised by an intricate pattern;
- "filthy pigs" – since they are scavengers, many beliefs consider them filthy dirt-eaters and therefore unfit for consumption; to them, it'd be like eating your own crap. In Islam, though, eating one is forgivable if there is simply no other way for a person to survive;
- "never ridden a horse" – only a camel;
- "the tradition" – I'm not calling it a religion; I avoid mentioning any religion at all to keep it neutral and non-specific – of Ishizu's family is based on Islam, though I've taken liberties with it in places. For one, all references to Allah and Qur'an have been omitted and the use of alcohol has been included (which, apparently used to be a common-ish indulgence before it was brought to general attention that drinking is bad for you, so you shouldn't do it. There are passages in the texts that say one shouldn't attend a prayer while being intoxicated, so this one evolved over time.);
- imam – a religious leader in Islam, though his role can and often does stretch beyond that;
- abaya – robe-like dress that covers everything but the face and the hands and usually worn over other clothing;
- talāq/talaq – literally, "I divorce you". When pronounced three times, it finalises the divorce. After the first and the second, the couple may still reconcile if they wish so;
- iddah – a waiting period during which the couple is supposed to try to reconcile to make sure it isn't a passing thing – typically three months, which also serves to make sure the wife isn't pregnant and there are no further obstacles to the divorce; I took liberties with this one for the sake of the story;
- 'to prove that she is still intact' – there is the issue of circumcision which I never directly mention in the story, or in Ishizu's case – infibulation, also known as pharaonic circumcision (which is kind of the worst of all female genitalia mutilations, not that any of them are okay), which is why her uncle brought the knife into play, forgetting that foreigners wouldn't know of this practice;
- fig and pomegranate season is around September;
- Gallia – old name for France.