This chapter was particularly hard to write. I'm still unsure about it to be honest, but I always knew this scene would be hard to write. It had to happen at some point, for the story to keep moving. This chapter is sad, I warn you. The next chapter will be too, I think. Just a warning. Anyway, reviews are vital - seriously. Here's the deal - I need four reviews before I post the next chapter. Okay? Good. Review Responses for my lovely reviewers:
Pig-The-Prophetess Wow, congratulations! Was that the young leaders camp? Some of my friends went on that one, you see... It was based on a story I heard when I was little - my dad went to India a lot, and that was in a sort of folk story book he brought back once. I could only remember the basic outline, so a lot of it was made up and I was worried it wouldn't match up to the original! I have to say, that chapter was a rather angsty one - I do like showing how characters are feeling though. It gives it more depth. Allan would have insecurities, particularly because his 'activities' are beginning to interfere with Djaq's safety. Trust me, he won't confess his love for quite a while yet. I have a lovely little plot which I'm rather proud of beams.
xpinkkittyx Melissa and Alison respectively, thank you very much ;) Especially to Melissa for reading this even though she has no idea what it's about.
That day the skies were darkest grey; huge, ominous clouds filled the sky, hanging over the city as if filled with the weight of death that the day would bring. The air was heavy, a chilling yet stiflingly hot atmosphere that pressed upon every man, woman and child. That week had been spent bring the casualties of war back to the capital, corpses and injured men streaming through the gates day and nightIt seemed that the line was endless; how many had they lost to war? Young boys and old men, wise warriors and foolishly brave amateurs – all had been brought down by English sword and bow. They lay in their thousands, in hospitals and some schools (there were so many that the universities had to be refitted as temporary wards). Through the deserted streets echoed cries of mourning and grief, as a mother buried her son and a wife watched her husband slip away.
The Obemaek family dressed in black, even though those they mourned were not their own. Safiya's father Amir, as the Royal Physician, had offered his services to those grievously wounded. Silently, fifteen-year-old Safiya accompanied him – she recognised a call for help when it came. Dressed in a simple grey gown, dark curls pinned back in a neat bun, she sat in the city's largest hospital with some of those whose injuries were slightly less serious. Her father was nearby, seeing to a man with a shattered collar bone. Safiya sighed, looking out of the high windows at the grey sky.
Beside her, the man stirred and she looked down anxiously. He was barely older than her, just a boy really. He didn't deserve to be lying here, in a gloomy hospital with wounds that would never heal. He should be with his family. The boy had suffered three arrows into his ribcage. Miraculously, he had made it here. Her father had taken her aside and whispered the truth – he had no chance of survival. The only thing she could do was help him through it. Now, observing him sadly, she knew his story was the same as every other boy in this ward; he had left home to join the army for war and glory, leaving his heartbroken family behind. And it had all ended up in tragedy.
His name was Tamil and he was only her age. It wasn't fair. Safiya clutched his hand as he stirred again, crying out in his sleep. She whispered soothingly to him, glancing over at her father frantically for help. Tamil's eyes flew open, red and sore as they took her in. He gripped her hand so tightly that it hurt, and she had to fight to stop herself gasping in pain.
"It hurts," he whispered. "Make it go away please." Safiya nodded, knowing the truth.
"Soon it will be over," she replied softly, the cold reality like a physical blow to her. Until this moment she had never seen real death. Her father heard them and got up, quickly striding over.
"Is it time?" He asked, and she nodded. Safiya didn't trust herself to speak. She didn't want him to die. Her father went over and took Tamil's other hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Tamil's eyes widened.
"Am I going to die?" He asked. Amir nodded. "I don't- I can't – please don't let me die. I want to live," he pleaded, his voice dry and cracked. Then his body tensed as a wave of pain shot through him. "Where's my family? Why aren't they here?"
"I'm sorry," Safiya repeated. "I'm so, so sorry. They're not here."
"Why?" Tamil begged an answer. "I needed-" his body buckled as it prepared to give up on life. "I needed to tell them. To say I love them." Safiya cried freely now, tears running down her face.
"I'm sure they knew," she told him passionately. "They loved you too Tamil. They really did." Her words seemed to bring some sort of peace to him, and he relaxed slightly.
"That's good," he sighed, breathing out heavily. Then, as his eyes darkened, he whispered, "I really don't want to die." With that, his body drooped and sank onto the hard bed. Safiya clung onto his hand, cheeks glistening. Her father came round, hugging her tightly.
"Well done Safi," he told her. "Death is always hard." She nodded and wiped away her tears. "Look at me." She looked up, taking a deep breath. "Is this honour? Is this glory? No, this is cruel and untimely death. There are few who deserve to die in this world, Safi, and as a warrior you will take many lives of those just like you. You owe a debt to those lives, and there is only one way you can pay it. You have a gift for healing – use it wisely. Saving lives will keep you sane one day. Remember, we are only human; we have no right to take a life and not repay it. So heal and spare those you can, my love. In the end you will be happier for it."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
As soon as Marian woke, she knew something was wrong. She felt it in her bones, as the hard slats of the wooden bed pressed against her body and chill air filled the room through a crack in the window. She shivered, trying to shrug off the overall feeling of dread. It stayed with her as she sat up, placing bare feet on the icy stone slabs. Roseanna slept peacefully, golden hair spread across the pillow. Evidently she was perfectly fine. Marian stood, shuddering in the glacial temperature. She slowly crossed the room, half afraid of what she might find behind the door. Opening it slightly, she realised it was even colder in there. Kioka lay on a tiny bed in the corner, rolled into a ball tightly with the blanket wrapped round her. Marian gave a small smile at her sleeping face – a mix of stress and concern, laughter and deviousness. Then she turned to her father and the ominous dread hit its peak.
His face was paler than she'd ever seen it before, eyes closed tightly. His body was perfectly still, and a chill crept over Marian's heart as she gazed upon him. For a moment time was frozen into a terrible chilling silence as everything in the room sharpened in Marian's vision with a harsh clarity. Then she stepped forward tentatively and the moment was gone. Everything flew into motion. Kioka's eyes flickered open, taking in the entire scene in one blink, and she was up on her feet in seconds. Marian noticed none of this however – her focus was solely on her father. Kneeling at his side, she caught hold of his wrist gently. It was ice cold to her touch.
"Father?" She whispered softly, unable to believe the truth. "Father, wake up. Please open your eyes." Her voice cracked. "Please, please don't do this." Kioka came and knelt beside her, examining him with her catlike eyes. She made no judgements, but laid a cool hand on Marian's arm. "No..."
"I'm sorry Milady," Kioka murmured softly. Her hair fell in loose waves around her face as she bowed her head over the body. Marian blinked in confusion and denial, her breath catching in her throat. Why was Kioka apologising? Unless...no, it couldn't be true. She wouldn't let it be true. Gripping the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles went white, she held back hot, furious tears.
"No, don't say that," she ordered Kioka ferociously. "You make it sound like..." And then she could not deny it any longer. Tears poured down her cheeks as she clutched her father's hand, now so cold and limp. "No, no, no!" She screamed. It shouldn't end this way. She hadn't even said goodbye. "Why?" She howled, and her heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. Roseanna, woken up by her cries, stepped into the room cautiously.
"For heaven's sake, what is the matter?" She asked snappily. Then she saw Edward and her eyes widened. "Oh my..." Marian ignored her, still holding her father's hand as though she would never let it go. Sobs wracked her body. For a moment there was complete silence, as each woman contemplated this terrible event. Beside Marian, Kioka stirred gently, dark hair obscuring Marian's view of her face. She could've been smiling or weeping – it was impossible to tell. At last, Roseanna spoke up. "So...does this mean you inherit his estate?"
Marian gasped as if she'd been slapped. In a single moment, all her anguish turned to wrath. She turned, about to stand and punch the little witch's face, but Kioka moved first. Suddenly she was on her feet, moving swiftly to stand between Marian and Roseanna. She had been mourning, in her own silent way. Her eyes were hard as she stared at Roseanna.
"Go and get the Sheriff," the Saracen girl ordered. "He will want to be informed of this tragedy." Roseanna opened her mouth to protest but a single glance from Kioka sent her out the door hurriedly. The authority in the serving girl's voice spoke volumes. Marian wanted to thank her, but somehow she couldn't get the words out. Instead, she knelt on the floor, her body shaking with silent tears. Kioka knelt beside her, eyes filled with more understanding than Marian had expected to see from anyone. "He was a good man, and he died a peaceful death," she stated softly. Marian nodded, sniffing.
"I didn't even say goodbye," she choked, and Kioka took her hand.
"Milady, it is rare in life that our loved ones ever get long death speeches," she told Marian firmly. "You loved your father very much, and he knew it. I know that he did."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Seventeen-year-old Kioka lounged lazily on a daybed in the sitting room reserved for family. Her eyes scanned the pages of a book in boredom, her fingers occasionally moving to turn over the thin paper. She wore the jet black dress required of her by morning, and her listless posture proved that she truly grieved. Djaq, whom Kioka had grown up with, had been killed in the service of the Royal Army two months ago. He had been like a brother to her, and now he was gone. His absence had hit Safiya devastatingly hard; he had been her idol, her friend and her support. And yet his life had been wiped out so terribly simply, in one stroke from an English blade, like the cutting of thread. Another life claimed by war. Kioka's dark eyes looked up as she heard the city's alarm bells ring in the distance, growing louder as they echoed in each district. She dropped the book as she stood up swiftly, crossing the room in a swish of silk fabric. Kioka quickly scaled the staircase and opened the door to her father's study, pausing to knock only after she had entered. He looked up, with an expression graver than she had ever seen before. Her heart began to pound.
"Is it bad news?" She asked. Everyone knew what the alarm bells meant – flooding, quarantine or an attack somewhere. Jamal Fonfala gazed at his daughter grimly and slowly pushed a small slip of paper towards her. Kioka picked it up from his desk, recognising it as one of the many reports he received every hour. With seventeen years of experience, she had no trouble deciphering the code. The message was simple, merely a few lines:
'Slave traders attack in Kanodong district. Many killed. Many poor kidnapped as slaves. Noble houses taken or killed: Gelodon, Rajumat, Isakar, Obemaek.'
For a moment it felt like the whole world had stopped. The slip of paper fell to the floor. Kioka swayed, everything around her roaring painfully as she struggled to make sense of the printed letters. Obemaek. Uncle Amir. Safiya. Dead? No, they couldn't be...Safiya couldn't be gone...
"What happened?" She managed to whisper. A hard knot between her ribs tightened painfully as she silently pleaded for hope. To her despair, her father's eyes were filled with tears.
"I'm so sorry, Kitten. Slave traders attacked the Kanodong district. They swept from east to west. Some of my agents were at the Obemaek house. There is evidence of quite a fight – it seems they did not go easily. Safiya's body was nowhere – we assume she was taken. But...my Kitten, Amir was killed. His throat was cut." Even as he spoke, Kioka felt a rush of relief. Safiya could still be alive. She clung to that thread of hope like a lifebelt. Then the pain and reality set in. Amir, like a second father to her, was dead. Murdered by a band of lowlife criminals. She felt hot tears pricking up behind her eyes.
"I need to be alone," she whispered and her father nodded understandingly. Slowly, she drifted from the room as her mother came rushing in worriedly. As she made her way along the corridor to her room, she heard a distant wail that signified her mother had heard the news. It was a long, inhuman sound filled with bitter pain and heartbreak that pierced Kioka's soul and suddenly she could not hold back her tears any longer. Kioka swept into her room, stumbling blindly across the floor and to the balcony. As she clutched the stone balustrade, the cold air hit her face, drying the fast-falling tears that spilled from her eyes like a waterfall of hurt and sorrow. She stared out at the city, and wept for every single person who had died an untimely, cruel death. An entire family wiped out in the coldest way possible. Kioka stood there for what seemed like years, until her tears dried and she was left staring blankly into the sky. How could she cope, without Safiya? It was like half of her soul was missing. Clenching her fists, she stared up at the sky and did the only thing she could think of to do: prayed.
'Allah, I know I never pray to you. I know I haven't been good all my life and followed your commandments but I beg of you only one favour and it's not even for me. Please protect Safiya, wherever she is. She deserves a good life, of all people. Don't let her get hurt. Give her a chance to live out her dreams please, and help her along the way. Don't let her die alone. That's all I want. Just look after her. And let me see her again one day. Let her know – I'll miss her.'
