Chapter 10 -- Heart's Desire
There's no way this will die.
"The fault systems of this area are much more easily
understood if you have a geologic map to refer to."
Hadji jerked upright, trying desperately to refocus his
attention. He had been completely
engrossed in attempting to understand the information in the book in front of
him. He would be the first to admit
that geology -- particularly the geology of fault systems -- was not his strong
point. Normal, reverse, slip-strike,
oblique-slip and hinge faults just made very little sense to him. And when you started to add the complexities
of mining that topography into the mix, he quickly ended up lost. The respect he had gained for Kefira's mining
skills over the last hour was substantial. And now the object of that respect was standing in front of him with a
half smile on her face and a question in her eyes.
"You did not mention that you had an interest in mining when
I ran into you the first time."
"I did not . . . then." Hadji could have kicked
himself. That sounded just like
something Jonny or Race would have said. He was certain that if he had had his wits about him, he never would
have answered her in that fashion. But
it was certainly too late to back down now. He looked at her as steadily as he could, as he continued. "I have found that sharing a common interest
makes conversation easier."
Kefira arched one eyebrow and gazed at him with thinly
veiled amusement. "And what makes you
think we will be having any further conversations? Particularly ones that would require a common interest?"
"Well, we are having one right now," he pointed out
practically. "AND it started out because of the subject of granite mining. So, I would say the time has not been
wasted. And any knowledge a person may
gain only makes for a more interesting individual, would you not agree?"
"An interesting philosophy," she responded calmly. "I have a few minutes before I must return
to my family. May I join you?"
With a glance at his watch and a sharp pain of regret, he
rose. "I sincerely wish I could stay,
but family obligations require my attention. However, I would be very interested in continuing this
conversation. May I contact you?"
His heart contracted sharply as she shook her head. But her next words caused him to breathe easier. "Not necessary." She waved her hand around the room vaguely. "I can generally be found here. You need only look. And I understand family obligations all too
well." The bitterness in her voice
caused him to stop and stare at her. She turned away from his penetrating look. "You should go. You do
not want to keep your family waiting." She paused fractionally. "It is
not a wise practice."
He hesitated for an instant, then inclined his head toward
her in tacit acknowledgment. Placing
his hands together in front of him, he bowed to her respectfully. "Until later, then." She simply nodded and turned away to
scrutinize the shelves behind her. But
Hadji knew she wasn't seeing them. The
books on those particular shelves were about basket weaving.
Hadji strode purposefully from the room. Engrossed in his own thoughts, he did not
see the respectful acknowledgments of his passage or the way the guards snapped
to attention as he left the palace library. But Kefira, turning to watch him leave, did not miss any of it. And she stared after the polite young man,
wondering who he could possibly be.
***
Hadji returned to his quarters, prepared to push both Jonny
and Jessie for answers during their daily IRC session. But he ended up getting no where. Jessie had maintained a bright, false,
babbling conversation with Brandon, which Hadji found virtually impossible to
participate in. And she had steadfastly
ignored all of his attempts to initiate a private chat. Jonny hadn't shown up at all. Hadji had finally managed to break into the
conversation long enough to ask Brandon where he was. The boy had responded that Jonny was at home, but was buried in
homework. He had asked Brandon to
extend his apologies and tell them that he would talk with them later. The on-line "silence" after that comment was
deafening. And before Hadji knew what
was happening, Jessie was gone as well, giving the excuse that she "had
excavation notes to prepare." Neither
he nor Brandon knew what to say or do. Finally, Hadji had asked the boy point-blank if he knew what was wrong
between Jessie and Jonny. Brandon's
response was a long time coming. When
he finally answered, all he said was he didn't know. Even across the sterile environment of IRC, Hadji could tell the
boy was lying. He was simply no good at
it. But Hadji also knew he didn't dare
push. From what Jonny had said, and
from what Hadji, himself, had seen, this boy was way too vulnerable right now
to be pressured. So, as unhappy as the
situation made him, Hadji let it go.
After that, he went to preside over a meeting of his
advisors. There were a number of issues
up for discussion, all of them controversial. His advisory council was strongly divided on all of them and the next
three hours were spent in a continuous state of argument and anger. In the end, Hadji had been forced to adjourn
the meeting with nothing resolved.
By that time it was late afternoon and he had intended to go
back to the palace library to hunt for Kefira. He was deeply disturbed by the bitterness and anger in her voice that
morning. All the signs said that her
family was pressuring her into something she didn't want. Hadji needed to know what was going on. And he would find out, even if he had to go
to Rajeev Subramanian personally and demand answers! Part of him wondered again about his sudden, intense interest in
this young woman. But he pushed those
thoughts away. "The paradox of karmic
fate is the razor's edge between predestined reality and active choice," he
thought to himself. He was truly
beginning to believe that fate had brought he and Kefira together.
Hadji gazed blankly at the wall for a second and then shook
his head. He remembered having a
discussion with Jonny one afternoon, not too long after their return from
Cairo. Jessie was still struggling to
come back from her injuries and Jonny had been frustrated over not being able
to help her more. His brother told him
that he had never realized that caring for someone, the way he had come to care
for Jessie, could be such a rollercoaster. One minute he was gloriously happy, and the next he was depressed and
trying to deal with the pain that watching her struggle caused. Jonny had tried desperately to explain how
this felt and how hard it was to deal with, but Hadji simply had not
understood. In the end, he had simply
accepted that Jonny felt this way and they had moved on. But now, Hadji thought he could begin to see
what Jonny meant. The distress and
bitterness in Kefira's voice and face this morning had caused him honest,
physical pain. And all he knew was that
he had to help her, one way or another.
But, he was denied the opportunity to look for her. Just as Hadji was getting ready to leave,
his mother had arrived with the news that she had arranged a private dinner
with a group of some of the more prominent leaders of the country. They wished to discuss concerns over
proposed new trade policies. This had
been one of the more acrimonious issues from the afternoon meeting, and the
last thing Hadji wanted to do was get back into the middle of that argument
again. However, he understood what his
mother was doing. This dinner was an
opportunity to lay the groundwork for resolution of this problem . . . an
opportunity he could not ignore. Unfortunately, that meant he needed to do some serious study of the
proposal before he met with these people. Reluctantly, he gave up the idea of going in search of Kefira. Perhaps, if the dinner did not run too late,
he could still locate her. After all,
he had run into her that first time at a late hour . . .
***
Kefira Subramanian observed the departure of the polite
young man who had nearly run her down the night before. Everyone acknowledged his passage with
respect, and she could literally see activity cease as he moved through the
room. The looks that followed him as
left were all ones of respect, awe, and another emotion she couldn't quite
identify. Could it really be . . .
pride?
Who is he, she
wondered. As he neared the exit doors,
the two palace guardsmen snapped sharply to attention. Royalty!
she realized with a shock. He's related to the Sultan in some way. She was the first to admit that she knew
little or nothing about the royal family. Her interests lay in mining, not in politics. She wouldn't even know the Sultan if she met him in the
corridors. All she knew was that he was
young -- probably about 30 or so -- and unmarried.
She sat quietly at the library table, staring after the
young stranger for a long time. It had
belatedly dawned on her that she had not even asked his name. Their brief conversation the night before
had truly shaken her. No one had ever
taken her seriously when she said she wanted to work in the mines. Even her father's mining foreman, whose
mistakes she had covered for more than once, would laugh condescendingly when
she mentioned her plans. And now, here was this young man, not only listening
to her when she claimed to want to be a mining engineer, but calmly accepting
the statement, and all but encouraging her to do it! His attitude was so much different from everyone else's --
particularly her father's. Rajeev had
never taken his daughter's ambitions seriously. His opinion was that she was good marriage fodder . . . a piece
of property to be sold to the highest bidder. She stopped for a minute, thinking about that. Perhaps that description was a bit harsh, but the end result was the same. He was pressuring her to accept marriage to
a man she hardly knew.
His name was Subir Rafiq, and he was the only son of an influential
family in the high mountain provinces. He was not normally the kind of person her father would consider as a
potential husband for one of his daughters. But some months ago, Rajeev discovered that the Rafiq family owned land
on which a new bed of granite had been discovered. The stone in this particular bed was very unique. Not only was the granite a very rare shade
of violet, but the site was very accessible, which would cut down considerably
on export costs. If mined properly,
this find could be made to last for years. It had the potential to make her family wealthy beyond their
imaginations.
Her father had been working for months to negotiate a deal
that would turn control of this valuable resource over to him. And everything was set now . . . with one
exception. The family wanted the
32-year-old Subir married. He was a
dull, placid, lumbering, unambitious man. But, because he was the last son of a last son of a last son, and the
family wanted an heir, Subir -- a heavy equipment driver in one of Rajeev's
mines -- and Kefira had become bargaining chips in the business deal. Subir was agreeable to the arrangement -- he
would do whatever his family wanted. But
she was not! She didn't want to marry
this . . . this idiot. She didn't want
to be married at all . . . at least not yet. What she wanted was to go on to engineering school and develop a career!
Personally, she felt that if her father wanted to marry one
of his daughters to this man, Daria was a much better candidate. She was not ambitious, and had no interests
outside her own limited domestic desire to be married and have children. But
Daria's great beauty made her way too valuable to her father to be considered
as a potential mate for a dimwitted equipment driver, no matter what land his
family controlled. Kefira knew that one
of her father's greatest desires was to have his eldest daughter married to the
Sultan of Bangalore. Rajeev had been
convinced that they would meet, Daria would sweep the young man off his feet,
and that would be the end of that. He
had been sorely disappointed when the Sultan has shown no interest. But then, according to her mother and
sister, he had shown no interest in any of the candidates presented to him at
the reception. Kefira had wanted no part
of that barbaric function, and had angered her father greatly by disappearing
all afternoon and not returning until long after it was over. Secretly, she now admitted to herself that
she was sorry she hadn't gone. She
would have liked to see the man who appeared to be blind to her elder sister's
charms!
"A fine young man . . ." Kefira jumped at the sound of the dry, crackling voice, realizing
belatedly that she was still staring after the stranger. She turned to face the oldest, most wizened
man she had ever seen. Short, hunched,
and wrinkled, she wondered how he could possibly still be moving. At least, until she saw his eyes. Life burned like an eternal fire in those
eyes. From them shone wisdom, humor,
and . . . . curiosity. "I know most
people who frequent the palace library, but you, child, are new to me . . ."
Kefira rose and bowed respectfully to the old man. "I am, honored sir. My family is here visiting. And while I am here, I am taking advantage
of the palace library." She looked around
her. "Such a place I have never seen
before . . ."
"Indeed. Haresh, the
current Sultan's father, had a great love of books, and valued learning
highly. A trait his son has inherited,
I am pleased to say. But you say you
are here visiting. Then you are here as
a marriage candidate for the Sultan . . .?"
Kefira shook her head, gesturing for the old man to join
her. He smiled and shook his head
slightly, indicating she should sit. "No, sir. I am here with my
family in support of my sister who is being put forward as a candidate." She laughed with just a trace of
bitterness. "I am afraid I would make a
poor wife for a Sultan . . ."
The old man looked at her quizzically. "And what would a 'good' wife for the Sultan
be, in your opinion?" But before she
could respond he shook his head. "Do
not answer, child. It is a question
that requires much more thought than you have given it. Think well before you try to answer." He smiled at her in a way that suddenly made
her uneasy. "It is good of you to
support your sister with the Sultan, however. Such family loyalty is not often seen any longer." At her look of confusion he smiled again and
nodded after the young stranger. "But I
do not think the Sultan will be easily swayed toward any woman he is not truly
interested in."
Kefira sat staring at the old man as the implication of what
he had said slowly penetrated. Her eyes
flicked to the door and the image of the behavior of the people in the library
came sharply to mind again. Her stunned
gaze returned to the old man and he smiled that secret smile again and nodded.
"Think well on what I asked you, child. What makes a good wife for a Sultan? It will be a question that will be very
important, very soon." And without
another word the old man turned and shuffled away, leaving Kefira alone and
speechless.
***
It was 1:00 a.m., and the young Sultan of Bangalore wandered
the corridors of his palace aimlessly. The dinner meeting had been successful. It was almost certain that a compromise acceptable to all parties had
been found. But the process had been
long and tedious. When the last guest
finally left, it was very close to midnight, and Hadji had a raging headache. His mother had taken one look at him and had
excused herself with an admonition for him to go straight to bed. But he had been too keyed up. He had tried to meditate, but had given that
up almost immediately, completely unable to concentrate. For a while he had paced his quarters. Finally, feeling indescribably claustrophobic,
he had left to wander the corridors of the palace, seeking some form of relief
from the restlessness that gripped him. He simply couldn't understand what was wrong with him. He never had this problem. He thought it was probably long past time
for him to return to his family in Maine.
He rounded a corner and suddenly found himself in the
corridor that led to the visitor's quarters. This was the third time in his aimless wandering that he had found
himself here. With a curse, he turned
and began to backtrack yet again. The
gardens . . . he would go to the inner courtyard gardens. It was a peaceful place, and maybe the
murmur of the running water and night sounds would calm his nerves enough to
allow him to sleep . . .
***
Kefira sat alone and cried. Her life was in a shambles and she had no idea what to do to fix it.
She had spent the rest of the day in the palace library,
intending to study. She was preparing
for the college entrance exams and had been planning on doing some practice
tests to see how well she would perform. But she simply couldn't seem to
concentrate. The old man's words kept returning to haunt her. What did
make a good wife for a Sultan? And why
did he seem to be implying that it was a question she would be expected to answer? Finally, about half an hour before dinner, she had given up and returned
to the guest quarters. And there she
had been greeted with a very unwelcome surprise. Subir and his entire family were there as invited guests of her
father for the evening meal. Dinner had
been awkward and unpleasant. And when
her father rose and announced to all present that the deal had been struck to
transfer the Rafiq granite holding to her family, she had felt herself grow
cold. She was totally numb as she heard
him calmly announce her engagement to Subir.
The betrothal would last six months, with the wedding to
occur on the first day of June. The
announcement had marked the end of the evening. She had said nothing as congratulations circulated. The Rafiq family had departed and her mother
and sisters had prepared to retire to their quarters. She had remained sitting at the dinner table, silent and
shaken. It had not been until her father
had approached her with kind words about how some day she would appreciate the
importance of this decision, that the numbness had shattered and fury had
erupted. She did not remember what she
had said . . . only that it was loud, screaming, and incoherent. And then she had run. She remembered hearing her father yelling
and for a while she could hear him running after her down the palace
corridors. But she was quick and had
spent much more time exploring the palace than he had. She lost him quickly, and for the rest of
the evening she had hidden. He had
recruited help from the rest of the family and they had searched for her. But she had evaded them all. Finally, around eleven that night, they had
given up, assuming that she would eventually return to their quarters. After all, she had no where else to go.
For a long time she had stayed secreted in her little
alcove, too dazed and in pain to think clearly. She had finally crept from her hiding place and slipped through
the silent corridors, until her aimless wandering had brought her to this
place. The garden was quiet and
soothing, the sense of peace and tranquillity tangible. She had moved around the softly murmuring
brooks and ponds until she found a bench sheltered from sight of the doors by a
draping cascade of jasmine. The
fragrance filled her head and combined with the night sounds to finally erode
the last of her numbness. In the
sheltering darkness, she sat and cried like her heart would break.
Hadji would never know if it was fate or pure luck that led
him to the garden that dark, late night. But whatever it was, he found her there. He stood for a second, staring in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. And then he became aware of her distress and
moved to her swiftly. He sat beside her
on the bench and reached out a tentative hand to softly touch her hair.
"Kefira . . ." His
soft whisper blended with the sigh of the night breeze and, at first, he
thought she hadn't heard him. But
slowly, she raised her head and gazed at him. Moonlight filtered through the fragrant vines that surrounded them,
casting subtly shifting patterns across her face. In the dim light, he could see her eyes and the glimmering tracks
of her tears.
She looked at him, dazed. Was he really here or was she imagining it? Finally, she whispered, "Excellency?"
Cursing to himself, he realized that somehow she had
discovered who he actually was. This
was not the way he had intended this particular conversation to go. "No. Not to you. Never 'Excellency'
to you, Kefira. Only Hadji." He touched her damp cheek softly. "Please do not cry. Nothing can be so bad . . ."
"Yes! Yes, it
is. You do not know . . ." she wailed
and buried her face in her hands.
Without thinking, he reached out and drew her to him,
pressing her head against his shoulder and cradling her body gently against his. He dropped his head, rested his cheek
against her silky hair, and whispered, "It is all right. Do not cry. I promise you, nothing can be wrong that I cannot fix. Please, Kefira, tell me. Let me try to help you."
She clung to him, crying helplessly, and for a long moment
he thought she would not speak. Then,
in gasping sentences, she told him. She
told him about her home and her family. She told him of growing up in the mines, visiting them with her father,
learning the trade despite obstacles and ridicule, and of her dream of going on
to school. She told him of Subir and
his family, of the business negotiations between his family and her
father. And . . . finally . . . she
told him about dinner that night and of her father's announcement of her betrothal
against her wishes. And there she ran
out of words. She simply cried,
clinging to him without thought. And as
Hadji held her, his anger and pain at her distress building, he remembered
Jonny and their frustrated conversation again. And in that instant, he understood his brother better than he ever had
before.
Gently, he placed a hand on her cheek and used his thumb to
tilt her face up until she had to look at him. "This will not happen, Kefira. Not if you do not wish it. I
promise you. I will not allow it. If you wish to go to engineering school,
then that is what you will do. And I
will not allow you to be forced into a marriage that you do not want." He looked at her solemnly in the dim
light. "I would not allow them to do it
to me, and I will not tolerate them doing it to you. You must be free to choose whom you will marry. Or even if you will marry."
"But, my father . . . he will be so angry! He will
lose face in front of the Rafiq family, and will lose the granite beds that will
make my family's fortune. And if he is
humiliated in this way, he cannot present Daria to you as a wife
candidate. And he will blame me for all
of it. And I won't be able to go home
ever again. And I have no where else to
go. And I have no money to go to
school, if he will not send me. And . .
. and . . . " She stopped, her sobs
strangling any further words. Hadji
held her tightly, allowing her to cry. How could he explain to her how he felt? She was so distressed right now. He could suggest she agree to become his wife. He could offer her everything she ever dreamed of. And he was sure that if he pressed her, she
would accept. But he did not want to
take advantage of her vulnerability right now. If she was to agree to his proposal, he wanted it to be of her own free
will. He wanted her to make that choice
when she was clear-headed and calm and understood all of the implications of
the decision. And now was not the
time. The important thing right now was
to get her somewhere safe where she could be tended. His face hardened. And
tomorrow he would deal with her father.
"Shhhhh. It will be
all right. I have promised you. He will not lose face and he will not lose
the granite beds. I will see to
it. As for your sister becoming my wife
that would never have happened, so he will just have to accept it. Funding for school is not a problem. If your father will not send you, Bangalore
will. We need trained people, and there
are scholarship programs designed to help earnest students, like you. I will see to it that the funding is made
available, if it comes to that. As for
being able to go home again, you must leave that in my hands. I will deal with your father." He could feel her stir in his arms and
relaxed his grip so she could lean back and look at him.
"But . . . "
He shook his head. "No 'buts', Kefira. Please. You must trust me on this. Will you do that?" Slowly, she nodded, her sobs tapering off. He rose from the bench, drawing her up with
him. He tucked her body against his
side, his arm holding her close as he began to lead her toward the entrance to
the garden. "Right now, you must
rest. You are exhausted. We can do no more tonight. Do not rush to meet tomorrow, Kefira. It will arrive soon enough."
Neela met Hadji and Kefira in her sitting room, having been
summoned by one of her servants. She
took in the pair at a glance. The girl
had been crying and was still obviously distressed. Neela didn't know her, but her son's attitude toward the girl
said clearly that she had better make it a point to do so. It was clear that Hadji had become involved
with this young woman. His arm held her
close, and, while she was not clinging to him, you could almost see the ties
between them. The emotions that swirled
in the room were mixed and highly charged. But the ones that came through the most clearly were distress, love, and
anger. Neela had no idea what had
happened here, but she knew it was important.
Hadji began speaking almost immediately. "Mother, this is Kefira. She needs a place to stay for a few days."
Neela moved quickly, taking the girl from her son. Her voice was soft and gentle. "Of course. You are most welcome here, Kefira." She led the girl to her servant who was standing nearby. "This is Vila. She will take you to the bathing rooms where you can relax in warm
water for a short time. I will join you
there in a few moments. Then we will
find you a room and you will sleep." The girl looked at her, totally dazed. Whatever had happened to her tonight was simply more than she could
absorb right now. Neela smiled at her
gently. "Go, child. I will be there shortly." Vila put an arm around Kefira and led her
gently from the room.
Neela turned to see her son watching the girl as she was led
from the room. Once she was gone and
well out of earshot, she said, "What is going on, my son? Who is this girl?"
Hadji turned to his mother, and once again she saw the hard
determination he exhibited had that morning in the Council Room. "Her name is Kefira Subramanian and she is
the second daughter of Rajeev Subramanian. I will want to see him in my main audience chamber at 10:00 a.m.,
Mother. I want you to arrange it."
Neela looked at him closely. "What has this man done to anger you so much, my son?"
His face was hard and cold. "For a country that prides itself on its adherence to tradition, we seem
to have drifted very far away from the spirit of those traditions. I need to discuss this fault with Rajeev
Subramanian." Hadji consulted his
watch. "Ten o'clock, Mother. See that he is there." Hadji turned and strode toward the door, but
he stopped as he reached it and turned back to his mother. He looked at her quietly for a long minute.
"Care for her well, Mother. For she is what you were hoping for. If all goes well, she will be my wife."
And with that he was gone.