Chapter 11: The Harm Of A Haitian's Hairpiece
A servant girl moved around the room of the Pharaoh's Golden Set with a kind of paranoia, her arms jolting as she made their grand bed of fine linens like she was tasked to pet the mane of a lion. She placed down the last pillow, fluffed it until it looked just as soft as it was, then retreated to tend to the messes of the monarch's favourites.
She was sweeping the sand from the floor, being careful of dirtying any furniture, when she paused, the loud clatter of something dragging beneath her twig broom making her freeze. The item was fished out from the lump of dust and sand, dazzling in its riches and bejewelled with luxury.
The girl gazed down at it, a hair ornament of noble class, and felt a well up of something incredible and something stupid swell in her chest. She glanced around, seeing the class of the room.
A servant girl made her way through the markets, a pouch of money in her pocket, feeling happier than she had felt in a long time. And all for the cost of a lazy noble leaving their things on the ground.
()()()
Milanun smiled to herself as she ran her fingers through Harker's golden hair, his head resting on her chest with closed eyes, relaxing under her touch. She hummed to him listlessly as the faint rub of material sounded off to the side, Sephora quietly sewing torn clothing in attempts to salvage it.
Harker had attempted to bring their sanctuary better garments from the palace, but she had rejected them quite firmly, explaining that such luxuries would bring unwanted, and possibly dangerous, attention to her and Milanun. He still brought supplies like ale and meats, despite how Sephora protested, insistent that he give things in return for her sheltering the Haitian royal.
The man stirred like he knew she was thinking of him, making her croon low to settle his restlessness again.
"You're so tense, Harker." The princess murmured, thumbing at his brow to brush away a dotting of sweat.
She was unhappy with how he had bared his teeth unwittingly when he had all but burst in that morning, jaw locked and neck strained in aggression as he paced in the tight space of the clay house. She had touched his scalding skin with worry and had been nearly knocked back by the high strung celestial, but she saw how he bit into his own teeth to restrain the violence. Yes, Milanun cursed the Pharaoh when he had come, but she bathed in the moment Harker had pressed his brow to her shoulder and took solace in her embrace, cuddling into it with drowsy enthusiasm.
The Haitian crooned into a pale ear when the man shifted, making her fit more snugly into the lumpy pillows she had reclined them on.
"I just need some time to calm down." He sighed, tilting his head so she would graze her nails over a different part of his golden scalp.
"Take all the time you need, prince." She hushed, her other hand sliding down his arm until she laid their palms together, feeling his heartbeat thrum through the tips of their fingers. "Just relax, sleep if you need. I'm here."
Her heart swelled when she saw a smile flicker on petal-soft lips.
Milanun continued to slowly quell her love's tensions as he drifted off before her eyes rose to the lady Sephora, who was watching them with fondness. She smiled shyly but happily under the stare, getting a soft laugh from the woman. Her hands continued to pet and soothe the other-worldly being as she gazed down at him, watching as the lines in his face became less severe.
The Haitian hummed as her fingers slid through soft hair, adoring how gentle the strands were on her skin and how they tickled her throat from where he had laid. Smiling was an expression she couldn't withdraw from as she languished under Harker's weight, a rumble of contentment beginning deep in his throat and making her cheeks gain a ruby hue.
"You look happy." Sephora laughed softly, peering at the two as she put aside her work.
"I am," Milanun whispered, resting her cheek on his crown.
She couldn't wait to take him home with her.
()()()
"Carol! Come here now!"
Harker sighed in annoyance as he continued to dangle his feet in the water of the man-made oasis at the foot of the court, sunburn soothed by the cool, feathered touch. He and the American woman hadn't spoken since the sun had risen on a new day, the man not feeling quite ready to apologise, though he knew that Carol had not meant to cause such a rise to come from him.
The girl seemed trepid to approach him any time soon, always glancing at him from around corners or behind curtains but never taking the leap and striking up conversation. Something that Harker was both pleased by, and a bit disappointed by; he might have found the drive to say a sorry if she did.
Tensions with the Pharaoh were just as taut, and in his childishness, it seemed that the king wasn't going to even acknowledge the man until Harker grovelled for forgiveness. That, however, did not stop Memphis for summoning Carol everytime he felt the urge, which was doubled now that the other outlet had been removed.
Harker huffed and kicked an arch of water into the sky, Unasu hovering awkwardly at a midpoint between the two Westerners, stretched pitifully thin in his attempts to keep them both in sight. He was nearly sympathetic, but shut that emotion off and turned his attention back to the ripples that birthed from his submerged calves.
"Carol!"
He glanced over his shoulder and bared his teeth as Carol shuddered within the constriction of the Pharaoh's grasp, an arm curling around to box her in against his bejewelled chest. The Australian grimaced for her, but only watched as the woman quickly refastened his clasp, which had apparently unravelled of its own accord.
Black eyes rose from the girl and drifted over to the pale quartz slab of the Westerner's back, his lip pulling in a bubbling of anger as he was further ignored, the elder man splashing idly in the crystal waters of the oasis, lilies floating closer as if drawn in by his gravity.
"Unasu!" Harker called suddenly, sitting up a bit, and Memphis hated how his ears perked upon the foreign accent. "Can you bring me my boat?"
The soldier glanced to the king for acknowledgement, and it took a moment for the young monarch to force a jaunty nod out of himself. He had Harker in his sights, and Carol was securely in his arms, her breaths a sweetened melody to his ears and her cool skin a soothing balm from the aches of his monarch-labours.
There was a moment that the woman squirmed out of his arms and stumbled away, a huff of relief escaping her lips as she shied from his attention, making him grit his teeth at her. She withered, before turning on her heel and making her way across the hot stone, jewels catching the sun's rays and sparkling like something truly precious. The pale woman paused, her hand against a pillar of sandstone, horizon gaze drawn to the Westerner by the oasis, before she turned and disappeared beyond the curtains of the court.
Memphis grunted in dislike, scowling at the settling curtain with disdain and was halfway ready to bark after the American girl when he was interrupted by a loud splash, the 'thunk' 'thunk' of a strange material being mounted bringing his attention around.
His lips parted in a breath when he saw Harker afloat on his flat boat, straddling it as the being of alabaster drifted across the water like an aimless lily petal. The man's cape floated about him like the halo of a brilliant sun when gazed upon through human eyes, water rippling in a gentle excitement as it guided the being along. Azure orbs of carved out sky were turned to the horizon, a sour wine the flavour of the man's gaze, which urged the Pharaoh of the Ancients to take a step forward, but only one.
Then Harker spun around, gold flashing in refracting sunlight and dazzling the king for a moment, before he regained himself and remembered his rage. He huffed, and stormed away, disregarding how his feet tried to turn back and how his eyes tried to follow, those traitorous pieces of him receiving a curse from his mind's tongue as he fled.
()()()
"Oh my God, he's torturing the poor man!" Carol gasped, her hand covering her mouth reflexively as she listened to the order of the young king ring out, a Haitian soldier on his knees before him.
"I don't know! I don't know, I swear!"
"How could you not?" Memphis snapped, pacing the length of the humid cell, sandals scuffing blood-tacky stone. "You have the sword, you must know how it is made! You don't fool me!"
The crack of leather whips and the shouts of men made Carol recoil, a chill settling in her stomach as she shook with the desire to flee.
"He's not confessing." Minus huffed, pulling the man by his hair.
"Fine," that hateful king gritted, waving a hand in order. "Show him what happens when people don't listen! Cut his arm off!"
He sounded like a displeased child trying to buff itself up, and while it would make Harker turn his head away in disappointment, it made Carol's breath hitch as realisations of how his lack of regard would end an undeserving life.
"Wait, wait," she yelped, rushing forwards and grabbing Memphis by his wrist; metal braces cold beneath her fingers. "Don't kill him! You can't!"
The Egyptian Ancient yanked the woman forward and wrapped his hands around her thin biceps, an angry sneer on his face as he glared down at her.
"And why not? He is denying the Pharaoh. A lowly prisoner!"
"Just wait, he doesn't deserve to die," Carol insisted, wincing under his hold.
"He refuses to tell us how to make a metal sword."
The American flinched at the man's tone before snapping her gaze around. She saw blacksmiths standing around piles of crude metal and barrels of flame, making her sweat from the heat before lurching out of the king's confines and grabbing a heavy pair of tongs off the floor. She pinched a slab of metal and laid it into the fire, her skin stinging from the wafting temperature.
"I can make one!" The girl gasped, squinting against the server light. "Just stop!"
From over the heat haze of the furnace, she caught the gaze of alabaster and azure; a being of druzy staring at her from behind a pillar of sandstone. Carol breathed through her mouth in her prickling panic, hoping her friend would come, the metals heavy in her hands.
Then she paused, then clamped her grip down harder, remembering the droplets on the white surface of Harker' surfboard and the straps of red across a pale back. She could handle the heat if he could take a lashing.
Her lip came to be bitten as she continued to weld and shape, her arms aching and brow melting in the effort to forge a sword from metal. Finally, after many turns, the young American dropped the heavy, crude weapon from her aching hands and collapsed with a dramatic sigh as she tried to cool off.
"And, if," she panted for a moment, feeling a dull throbbing in her fingers. "If you do that a few more times- sharpen it with a stone, it will become a sword! I swear, now stop hurting the poor man!"
There was silence as the men marvelled over her creation, the woman blowing into her palms to cool them of their mild burns and strains. She gasped as a hand wrapped around her bicep and pulled her against a jewelled chest, the gold and gems digging into her uncomfortably as she was contained within arms.
"Such skill! Such knowledge," Memphis breathed in wonder, making her stomach set in cold. "Truly qualities of a queen fit to stand beside me."
"Wait, wait - this is common knowledge where I come from! Anyone can do it!" Carol insisted, trying to wriggle her way out of tanned constraints. "Ryan, Jimmy and Harker could do it too! It's not that great!"
In a moment, eyes turned to the man who leant against a pillar of sandstone. They murmured to one another, cobalt eyes slowly narrowing in dislike, before the Australian grunted and obscured himself from the crowd; still present but not among them.
"The children of gods! They must be!" someone gasped within the crowd. "Their appearance and knowledge - the gods have sent us their children!"
"Didn't the prisoners call then the children of the Nile?" another whispered, looks of euphoria passed faces as they gazed upon incarnations of their own crowning. "It must be true then!"
"Harker is not my brother! We aren't related, he's not even from my land!" Carol tried, flinching back into the king's chest as the court squirmed closer. "Get away!"
"Not your brother? Tell us, what god's blood runs through his veins?" they gasped, mind bubbling with the possibilities. "Who is it? Sekhmet? Isis? Maat? Osiris?"
A vase was shattered against a wall, the sound abusive and startling enough to draw the Ancients from their inquiries of divine origins. Harker glared at the group, teeth exposed in his rise of agitation. Carol wheezed in Memphis' grasp before wriggling free and darting from the room, hearing the chaos as the other of their Golden Set fled as well.
"The children of gods? Oh, what on earth!?" she cried, tossing the curtains of the Westerner's chambers closed after her. "We - we need to leave. We can't stay here; it's too dangerous."
The American girl walked to the window, her brow furrowed with stress as her hands ached from their abuse. She breathed heavy, taking in ragged lungfuls of desert perfumes, before exhaling, letting the tension of her body seep out with it. Her hands bundled as she turned to her possessions with resolution.
"The merchant can get us out of here. I need to meet with him."
()()()
The markets were a whirl of chaos that was underlined with a kind of silken structure, invisible to those who were unfamiliar with it, but still existent nonetheless, and the very thing that allowed the folk of desert countries to slip between each other like droplets in a massive river of human life.
A hooded figure looked up from their trade as the shout of their name rung through the undergrowth of humanity, their allies waving them over with an expression of muted pain marring their expressions. They followed them, keeping close as they ducked into a humid hut of mudstone.
The figure raised his hands, free of callus of labour, and shrugged his hood off of rich brown locks; Prince Ismir of Haiti letting his dark eyes survey the hut of Haitian soldiers within the walls of Egypt's capital.
"What is it? Is there news?" Ismir demanded, walking further in and receiving bows from his countrymen. He didn't want that now, he wanted progress.
"Bad news," a soldier clarified, stepping forwards and handing over a trinket to the royal. "I found this in the downtown market."
A hairpiece, worth more than someone in a downtown area could possibly imagine to 'stumble' across, laid in his palm. Jewels and fine twine curling on his skin and stinging it with its cool touch.
"This-" the prince choked on his words as he recognised the craftsmanship. There could be nothing alike - this was custom. "This is my sister's hair ornament! Milanun!"
"We thought so, prince," the soldier sighed, a resolve burning in his heart. "There are black splotches on it; it has made us fear the worst. We have a man trying to get to the inside and investigate as we speak."
Black splotches? Blood? His sister's, Milanun's, blood!? Oh, Ismir stumbled back against the wall, leaning against it as he clutched the accessory until it dug into his flesh. His little sister, dear little sister - the man's mind filled with reminiscence of the young woman, memories of her childishness and stubborn, spoilt attitude that he had once thought annoying, now regretting not growing fond of.
"Apparently, a servant from the palace sold it in. From the state of it, I could only imagine what our princess is going through."
"She...She must be dead already. A woman could not survive such things. My sister, how she must have suffered," he moaned, touching his brow as his heart squeezed painfully. What was he going to tell mother? "Unforgivable. Unforgivable! The Pharaoh will pay for this!"
The Haitian prince stood up with bared teeth, enmity overflowing as he glared out the window, a silhouette of the grand palace of Egyptians singing itself into his mind as he snarled like the animals they had developed from. The Pharaoh, Memphis, took his sister...
"We will take Egypt's precious 'Daughter of the Nile' as retribution!" he declared, riling men to their feet.
Haitian cheers were drowned out by the swarms of people in the markets.
Harker sat up in the palace gardens, feeling put off all of a sudden, and decided to get out of the sun for a while.
()()()
"Carol! Carol, come here!"
The Western man groaned and rolled onto his stomach, a bowl of curry of sorts well on its way to being devoured as a sickle moon hung, nary a slit in the sky. The night was dark without its nocturnal sun but the fires of Egypt speckled the land like low sitting stars, giving the lost man something to gaze out on as he sat in his isolation.
"Carol!"
He sighed and dipped his tongue into his cup, swirling warm wine lazily.
Then he stopped and pushed himself to his knees, a sudden tremor playing the strings of his heart as he gazed out at the glittering Nile, which winked little lights at him in a conniving manner. Something stirred in his guts, writhing like an unwell baby as his skin prickled.
In an instant, he was on his feet and across the grand feast hall, cutting through the mass of nobles without care or regard, the king and crown jewel of the flock his destination and target.
"Where is Carol?" Harker asked roughly, staring down at the king.
Memphis gazed up at the man, his heart leaping at the voice and attention pressed upon his cheeks. But the tone was abrasive, and he found himself turning away with a huff, knuckles pressing his jaw as he swirled warm wine absently.
"Why do I need to tell you anything? Find her yourself; sniff her out like a dog."
Harker sneered as he felt his temper rise, the inexplicable turbulence rattling in his stomach like something living making him impatient and unwilling to deal with the childishness of the Pharaoh. Pale hands shot out and grabbed the king by his golden collar, soldiers up in arms as the Australian yanked him forwards, their noses near touching as he glared with unconcealed demands down at the king.
"Where is Carol?" he reiterated, each word emphasized with its own pause as grit of teeth. "Tell me, now!"
The closeness suffocated Memphis, his eyes wide as boiling sky stared down at him, golden strands brushing his brow of pitch. Perfumes of flora and sandalwood washed over him in sense tingling waves, the heat that followed Harker's being pulsing through to him in magmic fans, leaving his face flushed as breath heavy as the king tried to cool himself. He lurched forwards, hand coming up to trap a head of gold from fleeing.
It was unbearably hot. Like kissing the sun itself that beat down on his kingdom. But it was also soft, like he was holding lily petals between his lips.
The fist that struck his across the face, however, was none of those things; and it all ended too fast for Memphis to truly lavish in the moment.
In a moment, soldiers hand grabbed Harker by his biceps, their faces expression how they were unsure of how to restrain him, knowing that any damages that were to come to the Pharaoh's possessions would be magnified onto their own beings. Their efforts were enough, however, as the Australian found himself unable to move as the king stood and closed the distance again, pressing mouths over mouths in less than elegant ways and onto outraged participants.
"You son of a- Focus you fucker! Carol! Where is she!?" Harker shouted, yanking back and baring his teeth, before ringed hands came up and cupped his face, yanking him back in for fevered kisses.
Memphis relished in the taste of sweet fruit and wine that clung to the man's tongue, spices of orient curry tanging the kiss as he let himself close his eyes and submerge in the feeling. He let a hand slip from pale cheeks and finger at Harker's neck, tracing the racing pulse, knowing that it was beating in rage, but loving its speed nonetheless, able to delude himself as he pleased.
"For fuck's sake! Something's wrong - mmph!"
The pale man quivered in rage under his hands, teeth clicking his tongue, but never clamping down to slice through the invasive touch. It made the king smile as he tilted his jaw to fit them closer, sighing through his nose as he pressed his wandering palm to the expanse of the Westerner's chest and shoulder. Then he let his hand brush aside the white cape that clad the man, revealing to his frozen court the symbol of the sun which was etched beneath the skin of the man in his grasp.
They wouldn't question his desires now. It was only normal for the Pharaoh, son of Ra, to have a man marked by the God by his side. A man to match a woman, the sun to match the sea, a set to balance the world and Egypt as they knew it. And him, Memphis, the Pharaoh and descendant of a God, the recipient of such deserving gifts and the scale of which the world must be balanced. Them, his Pale Pair, on either side of him.
"I'm going to-!"
"Your Highness!" Unasu burst in, distilling the once frozen space. "Your Highness, Carol has been kidnapped!"
"What?!" Memphis snapped, spinning around with fiery anger. "Send the soldiers! Pursue them and bring Carol back!"
"I told you! Why didn't you listen to me, God damn it!" Harker bellowed, ripping himself free of stunned guards. "How far could that have gone because of you by now?!"
The Pharaoh glared at the man but could only muster up so much anger against him as his lips still gleamed wet and flushed red from his attention. Instead, he turned back and demanded the soldiers to move faster, a buzzing of panic finally surfacing through the euphoria.
Carol had been kidnapped.
"Find out who did it and drag them back here!" Harker and Memphis boomed at once, voices crashing through the palace and roaring life into the desert.
