Home sweet home. Basra was anything but. The darkness could only partially obscure the filth and decay that littered the streets of a city that had allegedly once been a vibrant place of learning and commerce, long before Sinbad's time. And not even the dark could hide the air of desperation and defeat that held the town in an unrelenting vise. Nor could it hide the burden of lives filled with emptiness, fear and requirement. This wasn't a place where dreams came to die. There were no such things as dreams here.
Strictly speaking however, this place was their home. If you could call the crumbling, cold stone structure where they ate and slept when not at sea a home. The residence was appointed to their father, and their father before him based on their occupations as sailors. As merchants. As errand boys of the waterways, Sinbad scoffed internally. Given Basra's close proximity to Baghdad and the Persian Gulf, he was ideally located to bring the magic wielders of the sprawling capital city whatever they wished from their surrounding territories, and beyond. And given his excellent navigation and problem-solving skills, not to mention swiftness with both sword and tongue, he made a reliable Captain and trader.
Sinbad had always felt however, that his home was the sea. The ship he captained, the Nomad, didn't belong to him, but he belonged to it, and to the endless waves it sailed upon. He longed for the day when he and Doubar could escape to a distant, uninhabited isle and live like renegades in the wild, accountable to no one but themselves. Truly free for the first time in their cursed lives… if such a place even existed, he admonished, reluctant to indulge in anything that resembled hope. But in truth, such dreams were all he had. Such cryptic plans the stuff of life. To live under the shadow of another was to never truly be alive. And he was too stubborn, and too young to let his dreams die just yet.
"Alright brother," Doubar yawned, limping down the port steps with as much grace as he could muster. "What pathetic excuse for a tavern is our knight in shining armour holed up in?"
Sinbad could not help but roll his eyes at his brother's jibes. They both knew that no matter how pathetic the establishment, Doubar was only too happy to drown his troubles in a cask of ale, or whatever other imbibements the house had on hand. Further to that, Aiden had very much been their saviour all those years ago, stepping in to take Sinbad under his wing when his elder brother was called to war. He had given Sinbad something much greater than just food and shelter when he took him aboard that day. He had given him a trade, apprenticing him as a sailor and trader, so that he would one day be spared from serving in the wars himself. Aiden had known their father before his untimely death, and having had no children of his own, sought to spread some benevolence into a life that was normally bereft of such kindnesses. To allow at least one of the orphaned boys to live the life their parents would have wanted for them.
"Your favourite one brother," Sinbad answered, offering the big man a knowing smile. "Or rather, the one with your favourite barmaid." Doubar's limp seemed to improve mid stride as they made their way to the tavern in question.
Aiden was indeed waiting for them, holed up in a dingy corner of an equally dingy establishment. Not that any of the patrons seemed to mind. No one here expected anything better than strong drink, comfort food and good company, all of which were available in healthy quantities. It never ceased to amaze him how strong the human spirit was, surviving and attempting to thrive even in a place like this. Daring to love. Deciding to put down roots and even to grow a family amidst a backdrop rife with failure and a lack of opportunity. Just like his own parents did, and their parents before them.
Sinbad had no intention of continuing on the family bloodline however. Bringing a child into a world such as this would be nothing short of cruelty, masquerading as something beautiful. Not that he would even allow it to be a choice. His heart was more hardened than the cobblestones they walked upon, buffeted by the harsh and unrelenting winds of reality, like the Nomad was upon the sea. There was no room in it for love. To love was to be vulnerable. To be burdened with care and worry, in a world where the cares of worries of people like him were as meaningless as their lives. He already bore the weight of his brother's life. He had all the love he needed. All the love he could bear to accept.
That didn't mean however, that he was averse to the occasional sweet and comely distraction. He didn't need to open his heart to feel the pleasure of human intimacy, the guise of care and tenderness that could be found between strangers in the dead of night. Making love was much easier than finding it; than nourishing it into something that mattered. It had always been good enough for him, and he would ensure it continued to be.
"Well, look what the tide brought in! My favourite set of brothers, in perfect time to buy me a drink. I did beat you here after all," laughed a welcome voice.
"You can have more than a drink on us Aiden, you know that," answered Sinbad, as he leaned in for a hearty embrace. "I'd give you the Nomad herself, except she's not mine."
Aiden was less than comfortable with such continued expressions of gratitude. "Enough of that young man. I'm not your debtor. You and I have much worse masters to be beholden to, and don't we all know it. Your father was a good friend, and I never had children of my own to apprentice. I only wish I could have spared you both the pain of war," he affirmed, casting a meaningful glance at Doubar's mangled leg.
"You spared us enough Aiden," ascertained the big man, clapping Sinbad on the shoulder. "Besides, this one's much more clever than me, and luckier than the devil. Look how he just managed to get our cargo back in time for tomorrow's festivities."
The elder man's look darkened. "Yes, the Trial of Princes is sure to be a fine spectacle, a much more opulent pageant than those us Without are treated to."
Sinbad couldn't resist rolling his eyes, gladly taking a long swig of the ale Doubar had secured for them at record speed. Pageants indeed. If that's what you called it when two magic wielding champions from opposing families pitted their powers against each other in a duel to prove who was superior. Sure, it was intriguing to watch, and as a child he had found it quite awe-inspiring. Force's with their inhuman strength versus Mover's and their ability to manipulate things with a mere wave of their hands. Oblivions who could explode objects just by touching them, versus the rare Whispers, who could read and control the minds of others. Such spectacles were meant to entertain the masses, while allowing the high families to prove who were the strongest and most capable among them.
Sinbad knew what their real purpose was though. Who the clear winners of the battle were. Them. The whole lot of them. It didn't matter which family won the glory, didn't matter which type of power was proven the most formidable. Compared to him, compared all those Without, those with magic were the winners. Such carefully crafted gladiatorial battles were the perfect reminders of that undeniable truth.
"I'd agree with the more opulent part," Sinbad affirmed with irritation. "I had quite the laundry list of precious cargo to bring back this time. There's enough diamond powder on deck to coat the entire port, along with three trunks worth of golden chalices encrusted with opals directly from India. It seems the royal family's tastes are becoming ever more extravagant."
"Or it's simply the occasion that's bringing out their most greedy tendencies," Aiden ascertained, gripping his own decrepit goblet with a flare of irritation. "After all, this spectacle isn't designed to amaze and terrify us Without into submission at a haggard arena, miles away from the capital. We don't even have the privilege of seeing it. This is about choosing the next young man to rule alongside the future Queen. To determine who will become the future husband of the Crown Princess."
Sinbad had been but a babe in arms during the last Trial of Princes, the elaborate showcase of power wielded by men of appropriate age from the silverblooded families that compromised the ruling class. Queen Elara had been widowed tragically shortly after the birth of her daughter, which left the royal family shaken and vulnerable, and in need of a new partner to rule alongside her. A role that the shrewd Prince Turok was only too ready to secure. It wasn't long after his acclamation, that they had a daughter of their own, continuing on a proud tradition of servitude and destitution for a majority of the population. It really didn't matter who got to marry the Queen. All the suitors were as heartless as they were powerful, committed to safeguarding a legacy of tyranny passed on to them by their predecessors. Order. Duty. Divine Right.
"Forgive me for being less than excited about the outcome," Sinbad admonished, disgusted being too gentle of a word to describe his feelings about the process. "As long as I get my shipment into Baghdad by midday, and a pocketful of gold for my troubles, a woman could win for all I care."
"Aye, wouldn't that be a sight!" Doubar roared with laughter, as he clinked glasses with Aiden. "I reckon I'd like that new royal family a fair bit more than I did the last!"
Aiden studied him thoughtfully for a moment, before choosing his next words. "Sinbad, my boy, I know life has not been easy for you, nor has it been for anyone born of this accursed place." He paused, shifting himself to fix the young captain with a gaze worthy of a prophet. "But believe me when I say that justice, that freedom, may not be such foreign concepts in the world of tomorrow."
Sinbad shifted uncomfortably, taking another swig of his ale. "I never took you for a philosopher Aiden," he returned quizzically.
The elder Captain laughed. "I most definitely am not young man. Just hopeful I suppose. Let's chalk it up to a fault of age, shall we?" he sighed, before fixing Sinbad with rapt attention once again. "What time did you say you'd be arriving in Baghdad tomorrow?"
Sinbad looked at him strangely once more, confused at Aiden's pointed line of questioning. "I'll be sailing up the Tigress at first light, so that should get me there around midday, as I said before. I'm not interested in attracting any additional attention from Silvers in battle happy moods."
Aiden nodded, seeming satisfied with this. "Good. See to it that you get back as soon as possible then. No need to dally in a place you're not welcome, that's sure to be rife with all manner of chaos in the hours before an event of this magnitude."
"I always do Aiden," Sinbad assured, continuing to be puzzled by his benefactor's cryptic manner. "I'd no sooner stay in Baghdad unnecessarily than I would willingly enlist in the army, you know that." He paused. "Is there something I should know that you're not telling me?"
Aiden's eyes darkened for only a moment before he laughed and clapped his hand on Sinbad's shoulder. "There are probably a great many things I could tell you that you don't know son, but none that concern you at the moment." Sinbad was sure he saw his eyes wander to his left wrist, lingering upon his strange rainbow bracelet of unknown origin, a gift from the sea, along with his life. "Just be careful tomorrow. Get in, get out, and come back to share a drink with your family as you wait to hear about the leaders of tomorrow." He rose a glass and toasted, "To the future, may it burn ever brighter than the past."
Right, thought Sinbad sullenly. The future was anything but bright. And if it were, chances are it would be because a giant fire was threatening to engulf his home, and everything that he ever cared about into it. It was best it stayed dark. He trusted the dark, knew his way around it. It was safe, and it was known. One day he would find his way out, but it would be on his own terms. Flames would most assuredly have nothing to do with it.