MEMORIES & PAIN
1931
Ardeth Bay sat unmoving in the growing daylight. He had been awake for hours. Actually, he hadn't been sleeping well at all. As of late, he had been plagued by dreams, horrible nightmares that broke him away from his peaceful slumber night after night. It was to the point where he had almost tried not to sleep altogether. He knew he could not function without sleep, but the night terrors had a solid hold on him. The one love of his life, the woman who had been promised to another came to him at night, her body detached from her soul. This great love of his, Sharîk, had been swept permanently from his life. She had passed on to another destiny, perhaps, and he didn't doubt that he would see her again, but he ached to see her in this life. He had loved her all his life, from the day he first laid eyes on her until the day she was taken away so viciously. But then, she had been taken away before, hadn't she?
* * *
As children, Ardeth, Sharîk, and Qâtil were very close. It seemed as if there was little they did not do as a triad. Ardeth understood that his life would follow a different path than those of his friends, but to him, it was of little consequence. After all, they were children and had many, many years to worry about the future that lay ahead. Since they were so young, the love Ardeth would feel for Sharîk had yet to rear its head, but if he were to be asked, he would admit that he had loved her his entire life. He had simply been too young to recognize it. Within his culture, with his people, arranged marriages were custom. From birth, each child knew who he or she were destined to marry before they even understood what the term meant. The three friends had learned early that Sharîk had been promised to Qâtil. It didn't stop them from acting as children do. The only time it became an issue at all was when they began to grow and to understand the matters between men and women. It was then that Ardeth realized he was in love with Sharîk. Perhaps if he lived in a different time, in a different place, he might have interfered with custom, might have stirred up discord intentionally. He didn't, he couldn't. It wasn't true to his heart. He couldn't dishonor either of his friends. Qâtil was like his brother. So very young, he didn't understand the feelings surging through him. He didn't comprehend that what he felt was okay. As a result, he fought it, stowing it away inside his heart, and locking it up into an unreachable chest. What he didn't realize then was that Sharîk was very much in love with him as well. He would not know this until much, much later as her destiny was nearing its peak.
From afar, Sharîk had admired Ardeth. He had a different path to take in life, and the thought of him being separated from her some day killed her, but it didn't stop her from watching him when he didn't know she was looking. Even at a young age, she loved his spirit, his strength, and she didn't doubt that he would become the leader of a great Medjai tribe. It was in his blood; it was what he had been born to do. Sharîk was a girl of ten when her mother explained that as she grew older, she could no longer be seen with the boys as much. It was strictly forbidden. Only when she reached her age of promise would she be allowed to share company with a boy. At first, Sharîk didn't understand what an 'age of promise' meant. However, she would soon learn, and learn the painful way. A time came when she was forbidden to be seen with Ardeth and Qâtil. She didn't understand and fought against it, but custom dictated her life and very little could be done immediately. At that time, she faced the horrid reality of her 'promised' betrothal. As a small girl, she understood that she was 'promised' to Qâtil, but she didn't really know what it meant. She didn't realize that she had been slated to marry Qâtil from the day she was born. Why had she been promised to Qâtil? She didn't love him, didn't believe she would ever love him. She didn't think he loved her either. Her mother gently explained that love was inconsequential. She was promised to Qâtil and that was that. She could not fight against custom. It was as forbidden as her being seen with her male friends. Her marriage to Qâtil would take place in her fifteenth year. At fourteen, she couldn't see giving herself to him at such a young age. There had to be a way for her to postpone the inevitable. However, she didn't know what she could do to break tradition.
Her answer came in a most unexpected manner. Sharîk's mother fell ill and she was the only child. Since she had never laid her eyes on her father, there was no one else to care for her mother. As the day of her betrothal approached, she escaped tradition [the first woman ever to succeed] and was allowed by the elders to delay her marriage. Once her mother recovered, she would marry as planned. Sharîk cared for her mother tirelessly, never leaving her side. Her mother was a well-respected woman in their clan, and many people came to see about her, including her intended, Qâtil. Sharîk longed to see Ardeth instead, but that wasn't to be. He had been sent on to complete the rite that would lead him to his destiny. She never expected him to show up, never had any idea. She was proven wrong.
Sharîk turned when she sensed his presence. She had loved him so long that she knew immediately when he entered a room. She hadn't seen him in a few years, but her love was alive and as fresh as an oasis in the most barren of deserts. She noticed the marks, the proud symbols of the Medjai. He had apparently moved through his rite of passage and would be sent onward to his sacred duty. She did not know when she would see him again after this. She longed to touch his face, to feel his soft skin beneath her hands. She would never understand why she hadn't been promised to Ardeth. When he laid his eyes on her, she saw something different in them, something she had never seen before. Did he love her? Was that what she had seen in his beautiful, dark eyes? Had he felt the same for her all along? She didn't speak to him. She actually wasn't supposed to interact with him at all, but she could not immediately tear her eyes off his face. He didn't immediately look away from her either. He was fifteen, just like her, but his demeanor was that of a man. He carried himself with an air of dignity, and Sharîk knew he would make a better husband than Qâtil. With such brazen thoughts racing through her, she finally cast her eyes downward. She didn't want him reading her heart or mind.
Ardeth approached her mother's bedside and laid his hand on hers. He had been close to this woman as a child, and his love for her had never faded. It hurt seeing her in such a state. He was highly aware that Sharîk stood very close beside him, and a stray thought entered his mind. He had not only returned to see Taiyib, but he had also wanted to see Sharîk. Such a self-centered thought nearly destroyed him inside, but he couldn't fight his heart. His heart had always led him, and he could not change. He wanted to linger, but he was due back. If he didn't return, someone would come for him. He placed a very brief kiss on Taiyib's forehead and turned to fix his eyes on Sharîk one last time before he made his leave. There was so much he wanted to say, but it was no use opening his mouth. He couldn't say it. Not now, probably not ever. She had been promised to Qâtil, his best friend, and he could not disrupt that. After gazing at her for several painfully long moments, he turned away and left. Sharîk would not see Ardeth again for three years.
Taiyib didn't recover. Whatever illness struck her held onto her stubbornly, refusing to let go. As a result, Sharîk's marriage was postponed time and time again. The elders of the clan were losing their patience. No woman was to wait to marry her chosen as long as Sharîk had. It was completely unheard of. Yet, Taiyib was a respected member and the elders relented to honor her. On Sharîk's eighteenth birthday, Taiyib's condition took a turn for the worse. She begged her mother to allow her to retrieve a healer, but Taiyib wouldn't hear of it. She knew she was about to die, and she had a very urgent message for her only, and much beloved, daughter. Painfully spoken in broken English, she had said: You should have been promised to Ardeth. I wish I had the power to change your destiny. When her mother's words were out of her mouth, she took one last breath and died. Sharîk's world fell apart.
On the day of Taiyib's burial, the elders announced that Sharîk's marriage would take place in three weeks. Although very upset at the prospect of finally having to honor her promise, it did not escape her that the elders thought three weeks enough time to grieve her mother. They only cared about throwing her to a man she did not love so that she could replenish the clan's bloodline. She hated her world, hated the old customs. She longed to escape the life she had been handed. Her only saving grace, the only ray of light that entered her dark world was Ardeth's return. He had traveled many miles by horseback to get to the burial. He would not miss honoring Taiyib in death as he had numerous times in life. He immediately noticed that his love and his best friend stood close together, their betrothal evident in the possessive way Qâtil stood near Sharîk. Of course, custom dictated that she remain behind her man, and he thought it odd for her to do this at her mother's burial. Something was not right about this. Out of respect for Taiyib, he said nothing. Instead, he made it a point to stand as far away from Sharîk as he could. He did not want to look upon her in Qâtil's presence. He would see Ardeth's love for her easily. Sharîk could not keep her eyes off Ardeth. She willed him to look at her, but she knew he would not. He was a very honorable man, more honorable than either she or Qâtil could ever be in twelve lifetimes.
It was very dark the night Ardeth prepared to leave. Qâtil wanted him to stay for the wedding, but he didn't have the heart for it. He could not watch the girl [the woman] he loved marrying another, even his best friend. He wanted to take his leave in the dark of night so that no one would miss him until morning. His people would understand his absence, but he couldn't stop thinking that his act was somehow cowardly. Wasn't he running away? He exhaled a deep breath and continued to ready himself for his long journey back. It would take a few days to reach his destination.
"Ardeth," a soft voice said from behind him. He was every inch a man, but still no more than a boy.
Immediately recognizing the voice, he turned around. Sharîk hadn't spoken two words to him since they were twelve-years-old. He had almost believed she lost her voice then and simply could not speak. She had presented herself in a way that he had never seen before. Her dark hair fell loosely about her shoulders and down her back. It was waist length, thick, and beautiful. She came to him in a gauzy white gown that appeared to float around her body. She was the most breathtaking woman he had ever seen in his life. The ache in his heart was tremendous. How could she come to him like this? Why did she come to him like this? They weren't destined to be together, to love each other as he did right at that moment. She belonged to his best friend and he couldn't interfere.
"Laish imil inti ija," ["Why do you come?"] he asked, seemingly startled to hear the words leaving his mouth. He shook his head. It wasn't right. Nothing was right; not what he felt, what he said, or the custom that had separated them. He knew why she had come to him. It was in her eyes, in his. To give in to his feelings would only bring about sorrow and grief. "Inti mâ lâzim râh qabl inti shuft." ["You must go before you are seen."]
She shook her head stubbornly. "Lâ, mâ brîd mush râh." ["No, I will not go."] She approached him and stood directly in front of him, waiting for him to react. What she had done was risky for Ardeth, and dangerous for her. Stubbornly, angrily, she spoke in English: "In a few days, I will be Qâtil's wife, and I wanted to see you one last time before you go."
Without thinking, he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. He intended to push her away, to send her back before they were discovered. He knew what he needed to do, but he couldn't do it. Something inside him pushed him to make a confession, one that he had held back his entire life. He gazed at her wonderingly, not understanding when she learned to speak English, unless her mother had taught her. "I have loved you all my life, Sharîk, and tonight, I love you even more. But it is not meant to be. Go back."
"No", she spat angrily. "I love you, not Qâtil. I have never loved him. I have always loved you. Always," she cried.
Ardeth knew he should break away. He knew he should turn away from her, mount his steed, and ride far, far away. It wasn't what he did. He plunged his hands into her hair and pulled her face toward his. He covered her mouth with his, latching onto her lips possessively, crazily. Had he ever tasted anything so sweet in his life? Had he ever felt so completely free? Reality sank in, shattering the beauty of the moment. He hated reality, hated it fervently. He longed to take out his scimitar and slash it to ribbons. Reluctantly, he broke away from her.
"We can not do this," he said softly, keeping his eyes closed. "You must go. You must go now. If you refuse, I will dishonor every vow I hold sacred."
Sharîk drew back and brought her hands down. She clearly saw his love for her burning within him. When her mother died three years ago, she had seen his love then, but hadn't made sense of it. As she stood and gazed at him, she seemed to understand everything. He wanted her; she wanted him. Yet, it wasn't quite that easy. Nothing in her life had been simple, had it? She felt out of place; out of her time, but what could she do? She stepped back further, giving him all the room he needed with which to flee. Although she could not be with Ardeth, she felt secure in the knowledge that he at least knew how she felt, and had shared the same with her. She would be Qâtil's wife, honor him as she was expected, but she would never love him. Her heart would never be his; it would belong only to the man/boy she stood before.
* * *
Time passed slowly, painfully for both Ardeth and Sharîk. Ardeth went on to many heroic adventures, his thoughts never straying far from home or his love. Sharîk went on to fulfill her own intended destiny. She married Qâtil, staying faithful and loyal to him as was dictated by the society in which she lived. However, she never gave her heart to him. It would eternally belong to another.
Months grew to years and before Sharîk knew it, seven long years had passed with no sign of Ardeth's return. She had heard many tales of his and his tribe's deeds as they kept an ancient prophecy from coming to pass. She hadn't been informed of what this prophecy was, but she had heard that many had died, some of them Ardeth's men. He had become a leader, just as she knew he would. She longed to see him, longed for him to return to the fold, but she had doubts. Did he still love her? It had been far too long, but she thought of him every day of her life, often dreaming that it was he lying atop her instead of her husband. Qâtil was very disappointed in her and didn't care to show it. They had been together seven steady years, but she had yet to bare him a child. Of course, the fault fell with her, but then again, she didn't mind taking the blame. Secretly, she had gone to a healer shortly after her marriage and asked for a special potion to keep the babies away. It wasn't that she didn't want a child, didn't long for an extension of herself, but the thought of giving her husband a child made her shudder. She was certain he did not love her; he was simply trying to extend the bloodline. The thought disgusted her. The day came when Qâtil discovered her trick. She had never seen her husband so very enraged. From that day forward, after he spilled his seed inside her, he watched her carefully, cautiously, seemingly guarding his interests. It was apparent that her husband wanted to trap her, to hold her down, having her to reproduce with him until he had a son. It was her lot in life and she absolutely hated it.
Very early one morning, Sharîk was awakened from a sound sleep. Outside, she heard screams, yelps, and cheers. Her heart thumped in her chest. Ardeth had come. She ran out to see him and his presence knocked the wind out of her. He had changed so much. His dark hair had grown long, almost to his shoulders. His face was framed by a neat beard, somehow making him appear much older than he was. A grudging hardness had taken hold of him as well. His eyes seemed to search the crowd for her, and it didn't take long for his to meet hers. Yes. After seven years, he still loved her. The instant he saw her, saw the evidence of her love, he passed out.
Ardeth awoke in a dark room. At first, he had the desire to strike out, but soon enough, he realized he was nestled in the safety of his people. He had been away far too long, and had been intimately acquainted with destruction and death. It was nice to feel secure for a change. He noticed that he was stripped from his neck to his waist. Some kind soul had seen to his injuries, all of which were superficial. He had passed out from sheer exhaustion. His eyes were having difficulty focusing, but he thought someone was in the room with him. He watched as a silhouette drew closer and closer until a face was in focus. Sharîk. He couldn't stop looking into her beautiful eyes, couldn't forget the last time he saw her. He wanted to taste her lips again, wanted to run his hands through her thick hair, but one thought stopped him: Qâtil. He would not dishonor his friend regardless of his great love for her.
"I tended to your wounds," she whispered in English. It appeared to be something they would share privately amongst themselves. "I had to be here for you, Ardeth. I still love you so much."
He didn't speak, only nodded. What good were words to him or her? Nothing they said would change anything. He would have to love her from afar as he had done every day of his life. She turned and left him silently, just as she had come. Neither of them was aware that very jealous ears had overheard their conversation.
Within a few weeks, Ardeth had recovered enough where he could move around and accept much appreciated, but unexpected gratitude. After all, his role in the battle against the creature had been so very small. A noise distracted him, tweaking his ears. It sounded like a sob. He moved toward the sound and came upon the form of a woman who had taken measures to hide her body from view. He wasn't one to ignore the cry of a person in danger or one hurting. When he came upon the woman and placed his hand on her shoulder, he realized it was Sharîk. When her eyes met his, he stepped back suddenly, as if he had touched a hot coal. Why would she hide herself and cry such anguished tears? He wanted to comfort her, ached to, but he hesitated. He couldn't put his hands on another man's wife. It wasn't right.
"Qâtil has what he wants," she spat bitterly, "I am with child." Without lingering near him, she turned and walked away.
* * *
Ardeth stood with Qâtil in the hot desert sun. The two men watched as Sharîk moved toward them. Her abdomen was swollen tremendously and childbirth was imminent, probably in a matter of a few days. They watched as she plodded slowly along toward them. She didn't appear well and Ardeth was very worried. However, her husband seemed impatient. He kept screaming for her to move along faster, but her contorted body would not allow it. She struggled along, calling out to her husband to be patient. From out of nowhere, a shot rang out and Ardeth watched, horrified, as Sharîk fell face first into the sand. In Sharîk's last moments, her child was taken from her alive and healthy. Qâtil had his son, the only son he would have. Ardeth cried a little when he saw the infant. He would never know his mother, never know how wonderful she was.
Ardeth remained close to the fold for the next few years, never straying far. He stayed close to his godson and grew fonder of the boy as each day passed. He had taken after his mother, and he was as beautiful as she. With a heavy heart, Ardeth noticed that Qâtil didn't pay much attention to his son. Ardeth thought his inattention was due to grief, but it never faded. It was of no consequence to him. Ardeth simply loved the boy enough for his father and mother.
Three days after his godson's second birthday, Ardeth returned to discover that Qâtil had sent his son to the states to live with distant relatives. Ardeth was shattered, of course, but he couldn't tell his friend what to do with his son. His heart ached fiercely. He had taken all his love for Sharîk and doled it out on her son, the son that should have been his.
* * *
Ardeth heard one of his men calling out to him. He had almost not heard it at all. His mind had drifted so very far back in the past that for a moment, he was afraid he would never come back to the present. It had been too many years since he last saw Sharîk and her son. He had all but forgotten what each of them looked like. He had no photographs from which to reflect. All he had were fuzzy scraps of memories buried deeply inside his heart.