Pride Comes Before a Fall
After Myra fled from his bedchamber, Zahir was alone. Once he was by himself, his room was as silent as death. That comforted him slightly, because anything that was reminiscent of death connected him with his lost sister.
He didn't know how long he sat numbly on his bed before the solitude that had brought him a temporary respite from his agony was interrupted by his door being slammed open.
Incuriously, not particularly caring about anyone who was alive at the moment, Zahir tilted his head to discover who had intruded on his grief. When he realized that it was the king who was standing as though chiseled from ice in the doorway, he couldn't muster up any real emotion.
Vaguely, he recognized that he should be cowering from King Jonathan's face, which was as hard as granite, and cringing from his blue eyes, which were blazing like the hottest part of a flame. However, he didn't care about the wrath of the most powerful man in the realm right now, because the king had no power over him any more.
After all, he didn't have to fear what punishment his infuriated knightmaster could inflict upon him when he no longer cared about what happened to him now that Aisha was dead. If he was reprimanded, he would barely register the words, nonetheless be wounded by them. If he was thrashed, he wouldn't feel the blows, and, even if he did, he would perceive them as a light, insufficient penalty for being alive when his vivacious little sister wasn't. Even if he was killed, he would experience only a faint surge of hope at the prospect of being reunited with Aisha in the afterlife.
Now that Aisha was swallowed whole by the desert, Zahir had nothing left to lose, and there was nothing more terrifying than someone with nothing left to lose. Someone with nothing left to lose could not be punished or intimidated into obedience. Someone with nothing left to lose had nothing left to fear from any authority figure. Someone with nothing left to lose wasn't openly rebellious, because somebody in that position didn't care about anything enough to do that, but such a person was indifferent to authority and that was enough of a threat.
"Myra says you slapped her." King Jonathan's voice shook with barely controlled rage.
Strictly speaking, this did not call for a response, since it was a comment and not a question, so Zahir offered none. There was no profit for him in speaking. If he didn't care about being punished, there was no point in attempting to defend his actions to attempt to lessen his sentence, and denying what he had done would just be stupid under the circumstances.
His lack of a reply seemed to raise the king's ire all the more, because his knightmaster snapped, "This is a serious matter, Zahir ibn Alhaz, and I demand an answer from you at once."
"I did hit the serving girl," announced Zahir flatly. He knew he should have felt ashamed at attacking an innocent teenaged girl who had only been trying to comfort him. He knew he had no business taking out his fury and pain on somebody who had done him no injury. Yet, despite recognizing those things, he couldn't bring himself to feel remorse for what he had done to Myra. The helpless rage and infinite despair he felt at Aisha's death overwhelmed any other emotions he might otherwise have possessed.
Seeing crimson flare on King Jonathan's crimson cheeks, Zahir thought that his knightmaster might explode at his unabashed answer. Instead, the man jabbed a trembling finger at the food that had spilled on the floor when Zahir had knocked over the supper tray.
"Clean that up now," King Jonathan ordered in a voice cold enough to freeze his squire's blood.
"It's women's work," Zahir protested automatically, his face flushing. No proper Bazhir male would ever stoop to doing female work.
"I didn't ask which gender you believed should be responsible for cleaning up the mess." King Jonathan's tone was sharp enough to slice diamonds. "I told you to clean this mess up immediately."
"I won't do women's work, Your Majesty," countered Zahir stiffly, lifting his arched nose.
"If you make a mess, especially if you do so deliberately, you will clean it up yourself and not expect anyone else to do so for you. If you don't appreciate the work the servants do for you, you can do the work yourself." His eyes burning into Zahir, King Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. "You are my subject and my squire, and you will do whatever I tell you to, even if you regard it as women's work."
Perfectly aware that he couldn't disobey a royal command no matter how insulting, Zahir didn't argue the point further, although he still couldn't bring himself to grab the towel beside his wash basin and being cleaning up the spilled meal. His pride prevented him from degrading himself in such a manner. A Bazhir chief did not grovel on the floor like a female servant.
"Clean up the mess," King Jonathan repeated. "Don't defy me any longer, Zahir. I'm not in the mood to tolerate disobedience from you, and I've had too much experience dealing with squires far more headstrong than you for you to win this argument."
No doubt he was referring to Alanna the Lioness, who was famous for her readiness to fight with her king. There was no way that Zahir, raised in a culture that greatly valued submission, could rival that woman who had no respect for obstinacy.
Bitterly, infuriated at being humiliated in such a fashion, Zahir snatched the towel from beside his wash basin and began soaking up the now cold soup with it.
"You only value traditions like obedience to your king and knightmaster when it is to your advantage," muttered Zahir through gritted teeth as he wrung out the towel into his wash basin. He suspected that the remark would irk King Jonathan more, but he didn't care. He had to prove that he might have been forced to do women's work, but he wasn't defeated. He was humbled, but he wasn't surrendering entirely.
"I trust that you will keep in mind that your recent behavior is far more censurable than mine when you are making your insolent under breath commentary," his knightmaster snapped. "Knights are supposed to treat women with chivalry. They are not intended to commit random acts of violence against women, and decent beings don't abuse their servants."
As he threw out the shards from the broken soup bowl, Zahir didn't answer, because he didn't know how he could do so. He did know that knights were supposed to protect―not hurt―women, and that honor dictated that he treat servants with respect. The problem was that knowing the right thing to do was so much easier than actually doing it.
When he provided no reply, King Jonathan sighed and shook his head. "Mithros, Roald told me that you had ceased your bullying behavior last year. If I had known that you hadn't, I might never have taken you as my squire."
"I did stop hazing the first-years last year, because I realized how childish a pursuit it was after my father died and I had to become chief of my tribe." As a general principle, Zahir hated revealing his inner thoughts and feelings to others, but, against his will, he found himself talking about them with the king now. It seemed like once his dignity had been shattered when he had been forced to do women's work, his pride decided that it might as well give in all the way, even if that meant humiliating him by describing to his knightmaster the sentiments he usually kept hidden. That had to be the only explanation for the fact that he continued, "I know that knights aren't supposed to hit women, and that it's wrong to use your strength to torment people weaker than you. I've been told what's right since I was a child. I know what I should do, but I don't always do it. Sometimes, I choose to do the wrong thing, and sometimes it is like there is no decision on my part involved at all. Sometimes, it's like a savage instinct seizes me and makes me do things I know are wrong. The worst part is that I know that savage impulse is me, and that I can't control it, because something inside me doesn't want to control that instinct." His cheeks ablaze, Zahir concluded, "I can understand if I don't want you to be your squire anymore, Your Majesty."
"I don't wish for you not to be my squire anymore," King Jonathan pronounced after a lengthy pause. "Besides, when I asked you to be my squire, I essentially made a promise that I would train you for the next four years. A teacher has no business giving up on a student just because the student does something to displease the teacher. Instead, the instructor has an obligation to guide the pupil onto the proper path."
Zahir didn't know whether he should be relieved that he wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of being dropped as squire by the king or disappointment that he was still going to be stuck at the palace while his peers rode out on adventures. Before he could figure out how he should feel, King Jonathan went on, "If you can't control yourself, I have no choice but to discipline you. Now, when you knocked over the tray, Myra's dress was ruined by the spilled food, so you can pay for her to get a replacement. Myra is at the healers' now, because you broke her nose when you hit her, but when she returns to work tomorrow, you will apologize to her."
"She's just a servant," Zahir mumbled defiantly. "I don't see why I have to lower myself to apologize to her."
"If you refuse to apologize when you have wronged somebody you perceive as being inferior to you, it is you, not the person you have wronged, who is diminished," King Jonathan educated him sternly.
"Your Majesty, I'll apologize to you for angering and disappointing you, but I won't apologize to her."
"You wronged Myra, not me." King Jonathan shook his head. "You'll apologize to her, not me."
"You're determined to humiliate me, aren't you, sire?" Zahir bit his lip.
"No." Again, the king shook his head. "You embarrassed yourself, Zahir, when you hit Myra. Acknowledging your error will not humiliate you further. Refusing to apologize for what you did would add to you disgrace, but saying you are sorry will not. If you do no admit that you were wrong, you ultimately will look more foolish than if you do."
Zahir hesitated for a moment, considering this. Then, he sighed. "I'll apologize to the girl, then."
"Good." His knightmaster's eyes locked on him. "And you will never attack a servant or a woman again. I assure you that I will not be so merciful the second time you lose control and assault someone."
"I understand, Your Majesty." Zahir nodded. He wasn't planning on attacking anyone like he had Myra. Then again, he hadn't been planning on assaulting Myra, either. The impulse to do so had just abruptly flared inside him, and he hadn't had the strength or the desire to resist it. He would have to find the strength and the desire to resist any more vicious urges that bloomed inside him. After all, his greatest evil didn't stem from planned cruelties, but rather from random ones.
"We have cured the symptoms, but not the root, of the problem, in that case." King Jonathan's tone softened slightly as he commented, "I am not without empathy, Squire. I know how difficult it can be to control your temper during the tumult of adolescence. However, you don't have a right to take out your anger, your pain, or your frustration out on others as you did on Myra. When you are upset, you should speak with someone you can trust, instead of resorting to physically or verbally attacking others. Even if that person can't advise you, just expressing your emotions will make you feel better and can help you organize your thoughts."
"Not everyone likes talking about their issues over tea and crumpets, sire." Scowling, Zahir thought that he preferred just about anything to discussing his emotions. "Some of us find talking about our feelings a degrading experience in itself."
"You do not have to speak with anyone about your problems if you can deal with them effectively by yourself by pausing to think before you act when you are in a temper, by writing about your feelings, or by hitting a pillow or practice dummy." King Jonathan arched his eyebrows. "Now, why don't you tell me what made you lose control today?"
"I thought you said that I didn't have to discuss what was bothering me with anybody if I didn't want to, Your Majesty," pointed out Zahir shortly. He wasn't going to talk about Aisha to anyone. Mentioning his beautiful, dead sister might very well reduce him to tears, and the king had already seen him too vulnerable already. It was best to think about Aisha only when he was alone. Crying alone was infinitely better than sobbing on someone's shoulder, because if you cried alone, nobody could prove that you had shed a tear.
"I said if you could handle your problems appropriately, you didn't have to discuss them with anyone," his knightmaster corrected him tartly. "Obviously, since you punched Myra in the face, you are incapable of doing that at the present."
Sticking out his chin and trying not to contemplate how Aisha had employed the same gesture that they had both inherited from their father whenever her legendary stubbornness was about to rear its ugly head again, Zahir answered, "With all due respect, I don't need your help, my liege."
"You do, but you are too proud to accept it, and that's why you assaulted Myra," responded King Jonathan dryly.
Not ready to speak Aisha's name aloud for fear that it would cause him to burst into tears because she would never reply to her name again, Zahir pressed his lips together.
When he remained silent, the king added, "I realize, Squire, that it is hard being stuck at the palace while all your peers are riding out, but―"
"I didn't hit Myra because I was annoyed at being trapped here while all my yearmates were riding off on adventures." Zahir bristled indignantly, because he was petty, but he wasn't that petty. "Yes, that aggravates me to no end, sire, but I'm not unbalanced enough to hit someone over that." Unable to find the words to describe what had happened to Aisha, and how what had happened to his sister emptied his heart of everything good and filled those vacant places with grief, fear, wrath, and hatred, he thrust the letter Nadir had sent him into King Jonathan's hands. "That's why I hit Myra."
For several long minutes, there was silence as the king read Nadir's note, and then he said, "I'm very sorry that your sister has disappeared, Zahir―"
"Has died, you mean," interrupted Zahir grimly. "Nobody can survive all alone in the desert. You know that, sire. You know that's why some tribes that don't stone people who are found guilty of committing serious crimes release them naked and without any supplies into the desert for 'desert justice.' You know that the tribes that do that claim that they don't stone people because human judgments are fallible, and so it is better to leave it to the desert to pass the final sentence. You know that they call it a mercy, even though it is really just a mercy they grant themselves to avoid bloodying their palms. You know that everyone who receives desert justice dies."
Here, Zahir offered a wild, humorless laugh that sounded more like a hysterical wail to his own ears. "Desert justice. There's no such thing as desert justice. Pretending that the desert is capable of being just is to act like the desert is human, and to act like the desert is human is to risk getting yourself killed. If you start believing that you can outsmart, trust, overpower, befriend, deceive, or bargain with the desert, you die. You die not because the desert kills you, but because the desert is what it is, and nothing can ever alter that. The desert doesn't do anything. It's just a place where things struggle to live, and all of them die in the end, even if they are pretty, strong, stubborn, and spirited. Nobody can ever win against the desert. The desert eats everyone up without even trying."
"Zahir." King Jonathan's hand clasped his shoulder. "Your sister was raised in the desert. She knows where all the oasises can be found. She has a horse to transport her, and that drains her of less energy. She may have food in her saddle bags. She has clothes to protect her from the cold nights, and she knows where there are cliffs under which she can find shelter in sandstorms."
"If she were alive, she would have found her way back to our tribe by now, or else the searchers from our tribe would have found her already." Zahir shook his head. He wasn't going to start hoping that the king was right. That would only cause him worse pain as the days went by and Aisha wasn't recovered. "I'll tell Nadir to continue to search for a week, and then to give up on her. Of course, by that time, even her bones will have been swallowed up by the sand, and she will be denied a proper burial."
"If she has died, her soul will go onto the Divine Realms whether or not she receives a proper burial." The king's grip on Zahir's shoulder tightened. "Proper burial rites are more for the benefit of the living than the dead. The dead are past caring what happens to their bodies."
Zahir didn't know how to answer that, because, logically, he knew that was true. Certainly, he had seen enough corpses to realize that the dead didn't process what was going on around them, and definitely did not have any preferences about what fate befell the empty shell that had once housed their soul. Once the soul departed, the body ceased to care about anything.
Spiritually, Zahir still felt that a proper burial mattered. Somehow, he still believed that an element of a person soul demanded a proper burial, and if that requirement went unfulfilled, the person's soul would be trapped in the human realms, where it would haunt people until it had received some satisfaction.
Oh, Zahir definitely believed in ghosts, as stupid as that belief sounded, because his little sister was haunting him. Memories of her didn't just flood his brain and heart. No, he also had the peculiar sense that he was watching him and judging him. Worse still, he had the disconcerting realization that he was disappointing his younger sister, since he knew that she would be cross at him for punching Myra…In fact, she would probably slap him herself if she were here.
Yet, she wasn't here, and she would never be with him again. She was dead, but she couldn't be allowed to die completely. She was too wonderful to be permitted to just pass from this existence while she was still so young and had so much left to give to others. Somehow, she must live on, and the only way for her to live on was to carry on through him. Now that Aisha was gone, Zahir was going to have to honor her memory by incorporating elements of her into himself. As long as he let her live through him, she would never really be dead.
Pulling out of King Jonathan's grasp, Zahir said, "With Your Majesty's permission, I would like to go to the healers'. I want to apologize to Myra sooner rather than later."
After all, Myra might very well have been someone's sister, and been as special to somebody else as Aisha was to him. In her own way, Myra must have been a person as complex as Aisha, and that meant that he owed her his respect. When he looked at her and all women, he would have to remember to see his sister, and then he wouldn't be a brute.
