I'm on a roll, what can I say? And I was in the mood to write, so I decided to do another chapter. I think I'm finally starting to like this story. Lemme know what you think.
All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.
We'd been in the Kingdom for days—Shama, Basil, and I. If I thought Damascus' marketplace was unbearably hot with all the people crowding together to buy merchants' wares, then I was wrong. If I thought my life as my Father's servant was rough and unfair, then I was mistaken. If I ever even considered the fact that God frowned upon me when Father beat me, then I was foolish.
Sabir had only given me enough food and water for one person. I didn't eat a thing and didn't allow one drop of that water to touch my lips. I gave everything to Shama and Basil, Basil especially. If he collapsed due to exhaustion, then I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. I could always tie myself to the saddle to make sure I didn't fall off.
They could both sense my weariness, though. I couldn't remember a time when the sun glared down at me with such intensity. I could see the swirls of heat in the air. Even with my headdress on, I felt my hair being cooked. My lips were dry and chapped, and I couldn't even whistle.
Shama repeatedly kept looking up at me in the saddle. He'd whimper and then continue his trot beside Basil.
I never slept. I didn't know if Ghalib was still out there searching for me, and I didn't know if the guards were hot on my trail. Whenever I'd pull Basil over to let him and Shama have a small nap, I'd stay awake and alert, waiting for the signs of danger. But the thundering of hooves and soldiers brandishing their weapons at me never came.
I suppose that the stable-master would notice Basil missing and that he'd immediately link his disappearance to mine, but for him to tell the guards would jeopardize himself. I was a fugitive, and anyone affiliated with them were just as guilty of crime.
Though what crime I committed, I cannot say.
Yes, he'd keep his mouth closed and deny the fact that Basil ever even existed. And when guards would ask him if he knew a certain Asa Farajian, he'd say he never heard of the girl in his life. Anything to keep him and his family safe.
My thoughts were scrambled. I'd worry about Basil losing a shoe, about Shama suddenly falling over, and about Sabir and Wadi. I wanted to smash my skull with a rock from my stupidity. I'd given them away as if they were leftovers. Ghalib knew that they helped me, now, and I didn't want to think about what would happen to them.
But of course I did think. I thought of all the horrors they'd have to face.
Poor Sabir. He'd never done anything wrong in his entire life, and for him bestowing kindness upon someone wasn't any reason to have him punished. I wanted to scream in agony. I could picture Ghalib, with all the glory a snake like him could have, boasting and sneering at Sabir that I ratted him out. Ghalib would lie and twist the truth to upset Sabir.
And Wadi. Dear, dear Wadi, who I callously banished from my life without even a second thought after he saved me and Sabir from a horrid fate. What I'd give to apologize to him!
The days wore on. Shama had managed to chase and kill a rabbit. I was glad that Basil took to grazing on the sparse vegetation in the Kingdom. I gave him most of the bread whenever he couldn't find a patch of grass.
I feared making a fire. I didn't want the light to attract anyone, and so when Shama came trotting back over to me with a rabbit in his mouth and dropped it at my feet, all I could do was push it back to him. He didn't understand the fact that I couldn't eat it raw, and it upset him. He'd whimper and cry for long minutes and continue to nuzzle the rabbit toward me.
It sickened me to see my dog cry like that. He wouldn't give up trying to urge me to eat the rabbit, and my growling stomach only enhanced his determination. He finally settled down when I began tearing at the rabbit. I'd rip a piece of meat off, bring it to my mouth and pretend that I was eating, and then I'd offer him the piece. It was the only way he'd eat, and my gut twisted in shame for fooling him.
Nighttime was both paradise and torture. It was the only time when I was thankful for all the layers of clothing I wore. The fabrics kept the chill away, and with Shama curled beside me and Basil protectively looming over me while they slept, there was an abundance of warmth. It was the actual thought of sleeping that had tears relentlessly stream down my face.
I wanted to sleep. So badly. So desperately. I'd hear Shama and Basil snore, and then my own body would ache and grow lethargic. Part of me entertained the thought of just closing my eyes for a few minutes, but I knew that if I did that, I wouldn't wake up for days. And I couldn't afford that. Keeping myself awake was another torment. I dreamt of food—platters and platters of food—while massaging my chafed thighs. Crispy semseg, roasted lamb leg, thick kufta balls, and buckets and buckets of bread.
I'd say the recipes for them out loud, sometimes even waking my two companions up. I'd even create my own recipes and store the knowledge away for later use. I created my own dishes in this fantasy world, knowing every spice just by the texture and smell as I cooked up a storm. My clothes would often be saturated with drool by the time the sun started to rise.
And then everything repeated itself.
Further into the Kingdom, we'd pass villagers on their way back from their wells. I stared at the jars filled with water on their heads with the utmost interest, my mouth becoming ten times drier just from the sight. I could even smell the water.
But then I would look away. I never looked anyone in the eye, thinking that they could look right through me and know exactly who I was and what I was doing. My clothes hid proof of my gender and my headdress hid my face from everyone. It was ridiculous for me to think that, but at the time, that fear kept me on Basil's saddle and persuaded me to continue.
Basil tended to shy away from the smallest of things. He'd never left the region of Damascus, and the sounds of animals along the Kingdom's cliffs were enough to have him spooked. It took every ounce of strength from me to hold onto him. I never tried to stop him, for I knew that my arms couldn't withstand that.
Sometimes he even tried to turn around. He'd snag the bit between his teeth and start jerking his way this and that, and I'd shout and scold him until he began walking in a choppy straight line.
This struggle continued.
Until I fell off the saddle.
I don't know how long I lied facedown in the rocky dirt. My limbs refused to move and my eyes rejected my attempts to keep them open. I grew numb to the hunger festering in my stomach, to the heat baking me alive, and to my aching body. It all faded away like a bad dream.
That's what it all was: a bad dream. I'd wake up and I'd be in my house, tucked into my bed with Shama sleeping beside me. Sabir would hassle me out of bed, force me to get ready, and we'd walk around the market. I'd see Wadi and we'd tease each other, and then Sabir and I would go on our picnic on the hill overlooking Damascus. We'd talk, we'd laugh, and we'd eat—especially him. And I'd return home that day to the usual Father and Ghalib and sustain each of their hurtful words.
And then the next day would follow. I'd be at the stables, mucking out the stalls and pampering Basil. Yes, and then after that I'd come home stinking to high Heavens. Just like every other day. It won't change; it'll all repeat itself again.
Just… like…
Every… every… other…
…Voices? Was I talking in my sleep? No, my voice doesn't sound like that—and there are two voices. They're coming closer…
Fur. I feel fur on top of me. And I hear growling. Shama… Shama's growling… Why's Shama growling?
Get… up… Asa…
"Oye, be careful of the dog—that's a nice perro."
Who..?
Shama was snarling. I could feel his chest reverberating on my back. Shama's… protecting me… from what?
More voices, more sounds. A whinny—Basil's whinny. And then two other nickers. Horses. I could smell them. Was I in the stable? Did I fall asleep on the job?
"Oye, Musta, be careful! That dog isn't friendly!"
Shama's friendly… what is he talking about? Shama's very friendly… likes to slobber all over people…
I heard someone making kissy sounds. Shama's growling stopped, and then I felt him slowly crawl off of me.
No… Shama, come back… I'm sorry about the rabbit..
Soft footsteps coming closer, and then more voices. They were inspecting me. I felt hands at my waist—don't steal my pack! Criminals! Thieves! Cutthroats! Pickpockets!
And then hands at my face—Ohhh, don't lift my head up, it hurts—
"Nice dog, that's a good boy, we don't want to hurt you. That's it, boy, come over here."
"Oye, what are you doing? That dog's vicious! Do you see those teeth, or do you need your eyes checked?"
He waved at his companion to be quiet, never once taking his eyes off the dog. "Give me something he likes."
He snorted, "How should I know what the dog likes?"
"Then give me a piece of food."
"Augh, this is crazy, I'm telling you." He dug in his saddlebag until he pulled out a stale piece of bread. He roughly placed it into his friend's outstretched hand. "We're going to get a licking for this—are you even listening to me, Musta?"
He shushed his friend and slowly knelt to the ground, clicking his tongue and holding out the piece of bread to the dog. "Here, boy, come here," he cooed. "You want the bread? You like the bread? Come here, little pooch."
"Little?" A snort. "Do you see the size of that thing? It's bigger than your sister's breas—"
The dog carefully stood from his crouched position over the body, staring at the boy holding the food out. He crept toward him and stretched his neck out. He snatched the bread from the boy and quickly gobbled it up.
"Give me another piece." He wiggled his fingers expectantly at his friend, his eyes still on the dog.
"Should we give him our extra blankets and socks, too?"
"Damiel."
"Alright, alright," he surrendered, complying with his friend's request and handing him a bigger piece. "There's no need to be cross with me." The boy, Damiel, watched from his perch atop the saddle as his friend offered the bread to the dog. "I don't see why we're doing this, though, you know."
"Well, we can't just leave them here like—good boy, yes you are, come here," he lilted. He smiled when the dog took the bread again, and soon the hound was hesitantly sniffing the boy for more. He turned his head away from the dog as he smelled his hands.
Shama carefully nudged the boy's cheek with his nose, then pawed his arm and nudged it with his head.
"Oh, isn't that cute? He's fallen in love with you, Mustafa," Damiel sneered from his horse. "Now say goodbye to your new lover and let's get out of—oh, don't pet it!"
Mustafa laughed as the dog pounced on him, sending him backward on his rear. The hound licked his face and wagged his tail as the boy playfully growled and squeezed his fur.
Damiel whined and tossed his hand in the air, staring at the sky above. "Oh, Dios, why do you torture me so? Mustafa, stop petting that thing! It's going to grow attached to you and follow you everywhere and pee in the same spot you do and—"
"You were right, Damiel," Mustafa chuckled as he tried to keep Shama's muzzle away from him.
"Of course I was right! I'm the only one with sense here—"
"I am getting a licking from this!" Mustafa sighed as Shama finally climbed off of him. The dog whimpered and trotted over to where the body lay on the ground. He sat beside the figure and whined at Mustafa. The boy nodded before picking himself up and striding forward.
"It's best if we just leave it here, Mustafa. We don't know who they are, and it'll be better if we don't get involved." Damiel tutted when Mustafa didn't even bother paying him any mind.
"Heat exhaustion?" he mused as he rested his hand on the body's back. He glanced at the dog who was scrutinizing him and then to the horse a good twenty feet away. "Those two seem to be in good health. I wonder what happened?"
"It's none of our concern what happened," Damiel countered as he sauntered over to his friend. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to have my ear bent again—"
Mustafa carefully turned the person's head and inspected their face. They were covered in grime and the few wisps of hair sticking out from their headpiece stuck to their forehead.
"A young boy, I'd wager," Damiel pouted. "Too bad. Could have been a beautiful flower."
"Those are either taken or work in brothels," Mustafa sighed. He turned the boy over. He weakly groaned from the movement. "At least he's responsive," he chuckled.
"Oh, good, I was on the edge of my seat with anticipation. Say a prayer, do a dance, and let's please get back to—vaya, no, you cannot be serious!" Damiel snarled and slapped his forehead when Mustafa picked the boy up with that dog following close behind. "Mustafa Ibn-Rashid, if you even think about putting that boy on your horse, I'll—" But it was too late, as Mustafa was already in the saddle behind the unconscious lump.
"He's so light," Mustafa murmured. "What he needs is food and rest."
"And what we need," Damiel grumbled as he trudged over to retrieve the boy's horse, "is to actually follow orders for once. How many times has Master Malik told us not to bring back souvenirs from the Kingdom, Mustafa?" He grabbed the reins, ignoring how the horse snorted uneasily, and yanked the beast back over to his own horse.
"I'm sure Master Malik will understand. Besides," Mustafa chuckled, "you were the one who saw the body first, Damiel. I'm hardly to blame here."
Damiel made a disgusted sound from the back of his throat as he tied the horse to his saddle. When it was secure, Damiel scurried around Basil and started digging through the saddlebags.
Mustafa clicked his tongue and frowned at Damiel. "That's not very respectful, you know. Can't you at least show some manners at a time like this?"
Shrugging, he easily replied, "I might as well get something out of this escapade, don't you think?" He pulled out an overstuffed purse, his face brightening at the sound of money clinking together, and untied the cord. He shrieked as he pulled out a handful of coins. He scampered over to Mustafa and held up the money. "L-look!"
His friend sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Damiel, I know, money is a rare thing in your paltry life—"
"No, look!" Damiel, with his free hand, yanked the boy's face toward his palm. Mustafa blinked at the gold pieces and gaped at Damiel.
"This isn't good," he finally murmured.
"No, it isn't good. I told you we should have left the body!" He pocketed the coins, crossed his arms, and raised his chin in the air. "This is all your fault, you know. If you just listened to me from the start—"
"I believe I did listen to 'Oye, Mustafa, what's that thing on the ground over there? Let's go take a closer look' very well."
Damiel stamped his feet and childishly pouted. "A closer look isn't taking the person back with us! Oye, where are you going with that thing?" He quickly scrambled onto his own horse as Mustafa urged his mount into a trot. "Just what madness is going through your head, Mustafa?" he demanded as soon as he was parallel to his friend.
"No madness," he shrugged. "I believe this is out of our hands and that Master Malik should be the one to decide what happens to the boy."
Translations:
Oye: Spanish for 'hey'
Perro: Spanish for 'dog'
Dios: Spanish for 'God'
Vaya!: Spanish exclamation of surprise
Kudos to those of you who recognize Damiel and Mustafa, who are characters in my other story 'Loving Hate' )
