Disclaimer: The Prince of Persia series and all its characters etc. belong to their respective owners. I do not get money for this. This story however is mine. Ask nicely and wait for response before incluing it anywhere else where I could find it.
Author's Note: Here you have the first real chapter. Don't expect me to keep updating that often. I'm a busy girl. Anyway, This is where the fun finally begins. Unless you have a very, very, VERY vivid fantasy when it comes to imagining war wounds as described in a book, this shouldn't offend anybody. I hope... Keep rating and commenting, if you like. Constructive criticism is a gift.
Princess of India
01 – The Night of the Full Moon
Among all predators in the world, the most silent one is often the most successful of them all. It is not the lion's roar or the tiger's growl that brings down the antelope. It is its silent approach, its soft and yet focused preparation for the final leap, that will guarantee a successful hunt.
Humans are not different.
Do you think it was an army that brought us down? Some massive invasion or a natural disaster of unimaginable extent? You may want to think again. For the soldiers that attacked us were no more than there were guards in our palace and the rain that fell to greet the demise of my fathers empire was nothing more than a usual shower in the rainy season.
It was one man, who set in motion the wheels of our doom. One man who, through his cunning and patience, brought sorrow and despair to our world.
His name was Yazhar.
-x-x-
"What broods with the princess, to have her wandering the halls at so late an hour?"
I swung around, frightened, my heart racing all of a sudden. I knew I would not have reacted in such a childish manner, had I not been haunted by nightmares. Yet with my rest gone, even the small peep of a mouse could have scared me to death in the dark halls of our palace.
From the pale shadow of the palace walls, our royal vizier descended slowly. I remember my mother once telling me that my father had had the palace built of white marble so it would be a bright and friendly place. I wondered if anybody had ever thought about what it would look like in the moonlight. Pale and blank as the bones of a dead man. It definitely added to the aura of disease that had been surrounding Yazhar for the last weeks.
"I had the most wonderous… most terrible dream." I answered in all honesty. "I was in a place, a palace, but not this one. There was this young man as well, barely more than a boy and – I swear by my soul – he had the Dagger of Time! For some reason there was the hour glass as well and he opened it and… dear gods in the sky…" It was then that I noticed that I was walking up and down the hallway in front of our vizier, waving my arms in wild gestures, my face glistening with soft tears. When I finally spoke again, my voice was coarse. "I tried to stop him. And I failed…"
"The night reveals many depths, princess. Especially when the moon is full in the sky." Yazhar answered me slowly. His voice was crooked as well, but not for the same reason. I thought about the possibility of asking him what had made him so fragile, so sick, over the last weeks, but I decided against it. I had never been overly fond of my father's vizier. And I never would be.
"Go back to sleep, princess." He put a hand on my shoulder, thin and pale as the moonlight. Perhaps, if things had been different, I would have considered it a gesture of caring tenderness. But as things were, I was not ready to rest. "I will." I finally answered, while sliding out of his grasp as politely as I could. "After I made sure that the Dagger of Time and the Hourglass are still where they belong."
-x-x-
Sometimes, flight is not the better option. Sometimes, facing your fear is the only way to confront an evil. I would remain wondering for a long time. Wondering what might have happened, had I just faced my fear, had I just overcome my inherent dislike for that man. If I had just stayed with him instead of running away like a little child. For even a retreat in grace is still a retreat. And in my case, it was an act of foolishness.
What had happened, had I not gone that night? Would he still have slaughtered the guard and lead the king of Persia into our palace? Would he have killed me first? Or would he have let the opportunity slip? Would the night have passed as every night before?
Time only knows.
-x-x-
I remember watching the sky as I left the tower in which my chambers lay. The moon was descending, giving way to the first rays of morning light. I passed the guards on the wall quickly, greeting them hastily as I went by. I admired them. And had I known that those would be the last minutes they would have in their young lives, I might have spent more time with them. Who where they? What where their names? Did they have wives or children? What made them so proud to work in my father's service? It is amazing how little the high-born know about their servants. But one thing I know: I owe my life to one of them.
It happened much too fast for me to fully comprehend what was happening. I remember his voice, calling out to me. I remember the feeling of his hands on my shoulders, as he quickly pushed me forward. I remember the heat against my back, as the arrow missed me with nothing more than a finger's width to spare.
"Are you alright, princess?" I turned around quickly and glared it him in utter shock. Had I really almost been struck by a burning arrow? Who was attacking us? Why? How? There were guards stationed all around the palace. "Princess!"
"I'm fine." I noticed then that my breath was hitching. The guards had drawn their weapons, ready to fight off the enemy, and except for the one who had saved my life all focused on the palace's gates. "I'm fine."
"Go inside and seek your father, Princess! We will fight them off." I nodded quickly and half ran, half jumped down the stairs of the tower. The dreadful feeling in my stomach that had been my constant companion for the whole night was now turning into the realisation of suppressed fears. Was this what my dream had been telling me? I had to find my father.
As I hurried down the twisted halls and passages of our palace, the change that had been brought to my world finally dawned on me. The moon was gone, replaced by burning clouds, the silence of the night turned into the clamour of battle and fear. We were losing the fight. I could already feel my world crumble right to my feet, yet I did not want to believe it. Not yet. Foolish as it may seem, I clung to hope. Until I reached the throne room.
The great hall in which I had often played hide and seek lay reduced to rubble. Banners once bright in colour now hung like bloody shreds of a giant. Dust made my eyes tear and I coughed hard as I carefully made my way across the debris. As trivial as it may sound, I was glad I had changed my robe after waking from my nightmare, soaked in sweat. I feared I would have tripped over my own two feet in my long night gown.
"Father?" I had almost reached the centre of the hall when the dust finally lifted. What I saw then made my blood freeze.
Apparently, the Persians had quickly found their way into the throne room and with them the battle. Our warriors had not had any time to prepare themselves properly. Not a single one of them wore any sufficient armour and for every fallen Persian, there were at least five fallen Indians. The sights of their maimed bodies made me wretch. Though a good archer myself, I had never taken part in a real battle. I had never seen true war wounds up so close… splintered bones and flesh cut in half were not exactly part of a princess's daily agenda. Yet here I was.
"Farah…" I nearly jumped at the faint sound of my father's voice. The moment I had entered these halls, I had wished desperately that he had not been here, but in his chambers or any other place in the palace. Anywhere but here. "Farah…" And then, I saw him.
I remember shaking my head and stuttering denials, my mind refusing to accept the truth. This wasn't my father. It was somebody else. It had to be. "Father…" I could not believe I actually uttered the word. I could not believe I actually sat down next to the blood-soaked figure that bore the face of my beloved father. I could not believe that this dying man, who was missing one arm, was indeed the man who would give me a kiss on my forehead every morning and spare me the typical confines that were placed on young princesses. And yet, I knelt down and reached for his remaining hand, guiding it to my cheek where it would wipe away that tears that now ran down my face.
"Farah..." His voice was even fainter then, though I hardly considered it possible. His face was wrinkled with pain and fear. He knew he was dying. "My daughter... the Dagger of Time… they must not…" His back arched up ever so slightly, coughs sending tremors through his wrecked body. I sat frozen, like a statue of glass, ready to shatter the moment his breath stopped. "You must take the Dagger! Take it, Farah, and flee from this place. Run, my angel… run."
His hand slid out of mine slowly, his eyes still focused on my tear-streaked face. The tremors that had shocked his body had passed. He was dead. My father, the king of India, was dead. Realisation seeped into my body like a serpents poison, slowly freezing me. Dead. Lost. Gone forever. I was alone. A L O N E, the soft voice inside of me that always used to show up when I needed it most - or least - spelled it out for me. This was the day my world ended.
It was the sound of nearing footsteps that brought me back to reality. The uncomfortable feeling of falling from the ceiling that sometimes haunted me shortly before my sleep returned, knocking me down onto the floor on all fours immediately. What I heard were the not only footsteps. Soldiers. Many of them. And armoured. I had to get out of here and leave that nightmare behind me.
-x-x-
Sometimes flight is not the better option. But when it is, it should be prompt and swift. That was yet another lesson I learned the hard way. For when I arrived at the treasure vaults of my father, when I had finally left all the winding paths and secret passages behind me, it was already too late. This is how it happened. The end of my world.
-x-x-
"Father! I have brought us honour and glory."
There were so many people in the treasure vaults. So many Persians. How had they known how to get there? The design of our palace was too complicated for outsiders. My gaze first fell upon the dozen or so men that tried to drag the hourglass away, its sands glistening in terrible anticipation of what was to come, as if they begged the weak humans to open it. From the balconies I had a good few of the scenery. The dagger was gone.
And then I saw him, the boy who had spoken those words. The prince from my dream. He truly was nothing more than a boy – maybe a meagre 16, like I – clad in the finest robe a Persian warrior could possibly possess. He did not seem to strong and had he been alone, anger over my father's death and desperation in fear of what might happen if he opened the sands might have driven me to descend, trying to snatch the dagger from him.
But he was not alone. In front of him towered a man, grey of age and yet a proud warrior, in blue garments, smiling down at his son. The king of Persia. The man who had attacked my kingdom, killed my father and ruined my peaceful life. I admit that I instantly hated him. And yet, if I had had the choice to kill one person in the vaults with a single word from my lips, it would neither have been the Persian king, nor his prince.
"Your majesty… you promised me my choice of the Maharajahs treasures: that dagger!"
"That traitor!" The words rolled over my lips silently, tears coming back to my eyes, tears of grief, but of fury as well. So many years my father had trusted him, had he made him the most powerful man in India, had he given him all he ever asked for and now he betrayed us for a shiny piece of unknown metal that might bring the end of the world… I could not believe my ears. I would no believe my eyes. And yet my heart knew that it was the truth. Yazhar had betrayed us. It was all his fault. The king of Persia could hardly be blamed. Kings conquer. He conquered. The prince could not be blamed. Princes fight battles and try to live up to their father's expectation. He did. I could see it in the way his father smiled. But Yazhar… Yazhar had no excuse.
"Surely you won't deny the lad a souvenir from his first battle." The king's soft voice rumbled. "You may have your choice of all the maharajahs other treasures." My eyes widened in horror. No he may not! If the hourglass, which he was eyeing so greedily, fell into his hands, we would all be in even greater trouble. For a second I felt my breath stop inside my throat. Why was all this happening? Why did things have to go from bad to worse with every second?
"Except for that hourglass." Thank you, gods! I almost smiled with relief. After all the terror and devastation this morning had brought, there finally was a light of hope. Neither the hourglass nor the dagger would fall into Yazhar's hand. I watched him ram his staff into the ground in anger, coughing as the effort wore him out. He held a cloth in front of his mouth, his body shaking violently. And now it dawned on me. Consumption. He did not have much longer to live and he knew it. He needed the sands to rewind time. Or worse.
"That will make a fine gift for the sultan of Azad, when we pass through the city. And some exotic animals for his menagerie. And half a dozen slave girls. Yes, that should be enough."
S L A V E G I R L S. I remember vividly how my inner voice spelled the words out in front of me. A destiny worse than death. I had to get out of the palace. But then, realisation hit me. Where would I possibly go? How far could I possibly get? And what should become of the dagger and the hourglass, if I were to leave them in the hands of a king, a prince and a sultan who did not even have the slightest idea of its power? And how could I ever leave without making Yazhar pay for what he did to my father, my kingdom, my people?
"I want no animals nor maidens harmed until I have chosen. Let it be known: King Sharaman is merciful in victory." Merciful… I turned back around the pillar slowly, my amulet firmly in fist. I remember being close to tears. I remember feeling hope seep out of me like blood of a wounded animal. Why did this have to happen to me?
-x-x-
Of all the feelings that can break a soul, there is one to strike with such force that one will want to die, not from one moment to the other, but slowly, one by one. Like a serpent's venom it poisons us, leaves us cold as stone and yet alive. It is not grief or anger or despair.
It is loneliness. For it is the only fear that certainly remains with us until our death. It clings to us… it calls for us… it longs for us. It begs us to look beyond what we see. Beyond what we wish to see. Into the abyss of our own souls.
My journey had just begun.