APOLOGY AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER

Chapter 11: Friendship or More?

The Prince rushed forward and caught Malik before he fell, the body made him stumble, but with a hefty sigh, he managed to sling his opposite rather roughly over his shoulder. His mind was still on Jamila, and the news that Zurvan could in fact, be alive and in action. It made sense.

He blamed Malik.

This had, after all, started with him. Being resurrected, resurrecting the Sand with him, ruining Prince's future of happiness for a second time. Maybe it would be easier to just slit his throat and be done with it.

The monarch's fingers itched toward his blade. It would be akin to slaying a rabid dog. Kinder for the world to just kill it before it could return the favor. This was hardly a different situation. Malik-- no, the Dark Prince felt no sympathy or regret! He would simply kill Prince and Farah as soon as they'd killed the Vizier! No justice could be reached for the thing that had made his life Hell.

But Farah... she saw the dark Prince, Malik, as a human being and seemed to treat him as such. Prince watched rather numbly as she poked and prodded the wound upon his other's side. A look of concern had split her face and she seemed truly upset at the lack of response. How could she feel pity for something so full of darkness? The Prince felt confusion knawing at his insides, but didn't pursue it. If it were Farah's wish that Malik be saved, he would do so against his own will.

Meanwhile, Farah was deep-set in regret as she assessed Malik's wound. It was deep and bleeding, yet she knew it could not have brought on such a comatose state as quickly as it had. She felt her throat tighten and shook her head. 'Look at yourself' She scolded. 'You shouldn't care this much'. And yet she did. To the Prince, this might have been the dark entity that had made him suffer, that had mocked him and driven him half into madness... but to her, this was a man who had saved her from a cell and perhaps death, fought only moments ago to protect her, and that she had grown considerably close to. Her index and middle fingers drifted to his neck and Farah smiled grimly to herself as a pulse fluttered beneath her digits. It was slow and dim, but it was there. "There is still time." She said firmly to Prince, who looked as though he'd swallowed a lime. "Whatever she did hasn't killed him."

"Yet."

Farah balked at the Prince-- who had, in recent months, come to treasure the lives of those around him more than any amount of gold-- speak with such contempt. Though he held Malik and was willing to do what he would to aid in his recovery, it shocked the woman beyond words to be able to almost 'smell' the dislike- the hate that rolled off her betrothed. '...Comparing the relationship between Prince and the Vizier, who took everything away from him, and then he and I, the second is by far backed with more hate' Malik's words rang through her head and Farah grit her teeth. "I do not know what your thoughts are toward Malik, nor do I want to know," She began solidly. The Prince looked up suddenly but she didn't bother caring. "However, he is dying. If he does die, then the Vizier-- Zurvan will gain more Sand and our battle will become impossible." She stepped forward and gently hugged his free arm. "For the good of Babylon, Prince..." Farah reminded him softly.

"Babylon." He agreed stiffly. "Only for Babylon." He then hefted Malik further onto his shoulder and walked up the stairs, followed shortly by Farah, whose face remained a mask of uncertainty. "Hurry," He called from above. "I know where we can go." The Prince stared across the foyer of the Resistance Base and acknowledged the mess that indicated a very hurried retreat. A soft, almost inaudible sound came from above and he pulled out his dagger, brandishing it with one hand while the other supported Malik's prone form. "Who's there?" He called tensely. "Show yourself!"

Farah stopped behind him and frowned. "Prince?" She walked to stand beside him, as the monarch had stopped his act of defender and seemed to be looking at something in the stairwell.

"Just a cat." he said suddenly, "Come, Farah. We're wasting time here." He began walking again.

"It's a kitten, Prince, and I am not leaving it behind to die." Farah said firmly, already holding the beast. Black fur covered its body and two huge, magnetic, green eyes watched him with unnerving disapproval. However, as Farah's hand stroked its head, eye contact was broken and the creature began humming deep in it's chest. Cats had always been her weakness. Dogs were slobbery, gross, uncleanly brutes. Cats, however, were the epitome of class and grace, Farah held the kitten to her chest though she knew that keeping it with them was a preposterous idea.

"No, Farah." The prince argued in exasperation. "We have enough problems without an animal with us." He pointed at Malik's body with the face of a pompous teenager. "Now, leave that beast and come before he dies." With a shake of his head, Prince walked toward the door.

However, as he turned, Farah smirked to herself, retrieving a cloth sack that had been foolishly dropped by some poor soul as the Resistance was evacuated. She smiled fondly at the kitten and tucked it into the bag, closing it carefully and chasing the Prince into Babylon's streets, where he was calming down a pair of horses that had been abandoned in the fighting.

It made her heart bleed when Farah looked at what had once been the city's proud central market. While during the Sand's last reign the streets had been decimated, this time it was merely empty… dead…

Why did it feel more foreboding?

The vendor's stalls were filled with fruit that had by now decayed, and fruit flies were so plentiful that a peach had the appearance of a bubbling black lump. "So… sad." Farah said softly as the Prince set Malik in the cart behind the horses and clambered aboard. "Where are we going?" She asked quietly, as though raising her voice among such sadness was a sin of its own.

"To the only one left that may know how to save him…" Prince replied grimly, urging the horses into a fast pace. The cart clattered noisily at first from misuse, but fell into a pattern of creaks and rattles. "Is he still breathing?"

Farah kneeled beside Malik's form and gently felt his pulse. She breathed in relief as it's weak pumping continued. "Yes." The Prince gave the appearance of a man secretly disappointed and Farah felt the urge to slap him.

The rest of the journey was punctured by occasional questions on Malik's well being and the atmosphere was strained, making Farah grimace whenever the wheels gave a particularly ominous screech. "Please, Prince." She suddenly blurted. "I know you cannot wish him well, but your grudge is going to mean your life- I know it." Her eyes softened as he tensed at the reins. "You may not believe me, Prince, but he's a good man." She instinctively ran her thumb through Malik's white locks. "I know what he has done to you, but do you know what he has done for us both?"

The Prince turned slightly and watched her out of the corner of his eye. "What has he done for us, Farah?" He asked quietly.

She frowned. "You trapped him in a dungeon and he still saved us from being slaughtered before our journey had even begun. He saved me from that cell while you refused to listen. He protected me from that wretched woman, he—"

"Enough!" The Prince spurred on the horses and grudgingly nodded. "I accept that, Farah… and…" He looked as though there were a foul taste in his mouth. "I thank him… however, I cannot forget what he has done against me." The monarch shook his head. "Never. I will never forgive him." He looked back and smiled grimly. "But for you I will help him."

"You're both so kind…"

The couple jumped and the horses sped up as Malik sat up. His face was pale beyond compare, and before he could get another word out, the entity had thrown his head over the cart's edge and vomited. As he retched, Farah laid her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" She asked worriedly.

He weakly looked up. "Of course… I always projectile-vomit in delight. Watch—" He retched again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That happens to be half-digested joy." Malik grimaced.

"You're ill." Farah said hastily. "Lie back." She pushed against his chest and the man smirked through his obvious pain. "My, and here I thought all your intentions were noble." She scowled and harshly shoved him into the bundles of cloth that had been in the cart before they'd gotten to it.

A wild yowl tore through the air and Malik released a cry of shock, jolting up, stumbling, and falling into another bundle. "What the hell was that?!" He shouted, holding his leg. "It bit me!"

Farah flushed and grabbed the struggling sack, drawing out the kitten and holding it closely. "I'm sorry, I forgot." She looked at the Prince, who was trying to regain control of the horses while shaking his head.

She blinked when the kitten scrambled away from her to approach Malik. He glowered at it menacingly. "I'm wounded." He informed the beast. "Go away." The foolish cat merely meowed loudly and leapt onto his chest. Malik made a face and tried to raise his hand to shove it away, but found the previous jumping and yelling had exhausted him. "Mmm—go 'way…" He mumbled, slipping once more into sleep.

Farah shook her head and moved to sit beside the Prince. She leaned into his side and quite promptly joined her other companions in slumber.

"Utter foolishness." Prince murmured, looking at them all.

But as he turned back to the street, a smile quirked upon his lips.

It was thirty minutes before Farah was shaken awake. "We're here." Prince said simply, gesturing toward the building they were situated before. Upon the outskirts of Babylon, it was a small, insignificant hut.

She watched in confusion as the Prince strode to the veil that acted as a door and rapped on the wall. "Hello?" he called.

There was a series of shuffles, and the decrepit Old Man who had rallied the Babylonians as well as proven to be a mentor for the Prince appeared in the doorway. "My Prince," He croaked benevolently, "What can an old man do for you?"

Prince rested his hand on the elder's shoulder. "I need your aid… a… comrade of mine has been poisoned." He walked to the cart and shook Malik into wakefulness; hastily brushing the kitten away as he heaved the half-conscious man to the ground and, holding one of his arms around his neck, aided the dark entity in limping to stand before the Old Man.

"Mmm…" The elder studiously eyed Malik as he slumped forward on Prince's shoulder. "Yes, most certainly poison." He rapped on the white-haired head and Malik looked up grumpily. "How do you feel?"

The only response the old Man was given was a gob of vomit that hit the ground with a sickening splash.

However, that only served to amuse him, and the Man pleasantly gestured that they all enter his hut.

"A common poison." He said after seeing to it that Malik was settled on a mat upon the floor. "With a complicated antidote." He then shuffled over to a crooked, ancient-looking cupboard that very easily fit the atmosphere of the entire hut. "Ah, you're in luck." He withdrew a thin vial. "I already have some." Farah and the prince waited tensely as the Old Man shuffled back.

"Before I administer the antidote—" Malik gave a prolonged moan here "My Prince, may I speak to you elsewhere?" He gestured toward the door and Prince nodded somewhat distractedly, having been focused on Farah's dabbing Malik's forehead with a cloth whilst the feline she'd smuggled from the Resistance Base had once more rested upon Malik's chest.

However, as soon as they were outside, his attention was solely on his mentor of old. "That man reeks of foul intentions and darkness." The Old Man said bluntly without hesitation. "Why do you want to heal someone so foul?" His weathered hands remained clasped around his staff but Prince was aware that those sunken, sharp eyes following his every move.

"I do not approve of it any more than you do." He said truthfully after a long pause. "But I cannot kill him. He is an ally I cannot do without and he holds the key to winning this battle." The Prince stared down at his feet. "I plead that you heal him. It will do all of Babylon good." He met the Old Man's gaze without hesitation now and the Elder nodded tiredly.

"I will heal him. But hear me, my Prince, do not trust him. His mind is clouded and confused. He seeks to escape an inevitable fate as you once did. Do not forget the desperation that once drove you to any length." He stared at the prince calmly and the monarch knew better than to question his wisdom on their situation. "I will heal him. But I will not allow him to stay under my care for long. The darkness of him makes my very soul feel like Death is about it."

"Then he is evil—"

"No!" The old Man barked with such strength that The Prince stepped back. "You are still so young, My Prince… not yet do you realize the strong differences between the Darkness and Evil." He shook his head. "That man is what you have been, will be, and are. You are the same, yet so different and you share a bond closer than any other in this World." He rested his old, tired hand on the royals shoulder. "You will realize this someday, Prince… I only pray it is not too late…"

The prince caught up with the Old Man as he walked back toward the hut. "Too late? For what?"

"I will heal him now."

Malik had, by now sat up and was weakly talking to Farah while stroking the kitten's head. "—why he doesn't like cats." He looked up as the two entered and Farah began giggling behind her hand, an act the Prince hadn't seen for too long.

"What are you laughing at?" He smiled at her happiness.

"Malik was telling me of the cat you had as a child." She explained airily. "Did it honestly bite you—"

The Prince turned rather red and glowered at Malik who smirked smugly back. Damn him and his intimate knowledge of his memories. "Yes." He answered Farah rather bitterly. "Yes it did."

The old Man kneeled beside Malik and uncorked the vial. "Don't move." He said softly, dabbing the substance along the edge of the wound before splashing the rest into the middle, quickly wiping it around with his finger before Malik wailed and lunged away. "It hurts more than the blade did!" He exclaimed angrily.

The Old Man merely shrugged. "Go to sleep."

"No I am NOT going to sleep, you old geezer! In fact, I think I'll stay awake just to mock you! Yes, I think I will do just that." Malik stubbornly set his jaw and folded his arms.

Farah sighed and leaned against the Prince. It was rather nice to see things returning to as normal as their lives could be. "Please, Malik, rest while you can."

He looked at her wearily. "And if I don't?"

"…"

Her look said it all and Malik wilted slightly. "Meh…"

Prince watched the exchange with a wary eye. He felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily his opposite seemed to make Farah smile and laugh… in fact, it infuriated him beyond logic. His hate for the entity seemed to constantly increase.

As Malik finally slept, Farah also leaned against the wall and drifted off. He looked at the Old Man as he too drifted to the bed in the corner and lay down.

But the Prince didn't sleep that night.

He had been about to, but then to his horror Farah's head had fallen from the wall and rested comfortably—too comfortably—on Malik's shoulder as the kitten also slept undisturbed on his chest.

So the Monarch stayed awake as the sun finally set, drinking slowly from a blown-glass bottle and watching the Embodiment of Darkness hold the only treasure Prince wanted in his arms.

And as the sun rose like a disc above Babylon, the bottle shattered.

THE APOLOGY

Okay. I have suffered for a few months wondering whether or not it's worth the trouble to continue this story. As you may have noticed, I decided it was.

I apologize profusely for vanishing, humble readers, and beg your forgiveness.