Chapter 15

June 27th, TA 3020

"You're just like any other man, aren't you?"

Elladan drew back his lips as he reached out for the carrot inside Mehreen's palm with his teeth, and chomped on it happily while sniffing at her pockets for more.

"Some food in your belly, and you're mine."

She reached out a tentative hand and patted the bridge of his nose, before running her fingers along a fuzzy cheek and through the thick, grey fur upon his neck, down to the worn-out patches from the cruel chafing of the breastplate. "See? You're not as mean as you think you…ow!" Mehreen shook her hand, gracing the donkey with a baleful glare as she rubbed the nipped skin.

"Careful, he bites."

The animal's owner had returned, his vest stretching over his paunch, crumbs from his lunch still clinging to his beard. "A right foul beast, I tell you." He turned his head away to belch, convinced it sufficed to alleviate the crudeness of his behavior, and wiped his mouth before following Mehreen with his eyes as she retreated towards the door. "Hey, I've seen you around, haven't I? What's your name?"

"A good afternoon to you," Mehreen muttered over her shoulder as she kept her stare upon her destination, and picked up her pace.

In Harad, an honest man had no business asking an unmarried woman for her name – not unless he wanted to speak with her father, that is. For once, Mehreen was grateful that Jufayrah lay so far away, rendering such a conversation impossible.

"Wait! Don't run!" There was resignation in the man's voice as he called after her: "Eh, fine. Good day to you too…."

Wiping her carrot-stained palm upon her dress to calm her spooked heart, Mehreen climbed the stairs and, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket, smiled at how much easier her life had gotten. The Houses of Healing unfolded before her, the corridors, storerooms and chambers drawn out by her own unskilled hand. All she had to do was search for the landmarks she had added to her map – such as the weeping statue, or the tapestry that adorned the hallway leading to the Women's Ward, and which represented a man sailing the starry sky in a flying ship. It reminded Mehreen of one of the stories in Lalla Zahra's book; that of the ebony horse, which had borne a prince far into a foreign land, and into the arms of his intended.

How many nights had she and Hanaa lain side by side, whispering of a lover that would step into their room, bewildered from his magical journey, only to fall to his knees in a devotion even more mystic? They'd hold their breaths at the sound of the footsteps of the servant who came to check that the girls were asleep, stifling their laughter with a pillow. In Mehreen's teenage dreams, her prince had possessed the soft, black eyes of Suheil, one of the harem's eunuchs; back then, Mehreen had been too young to fully grasp what that meant, knowing only that her fate and his would never intertwine. Her dreams had been harmless and unspoken, and even the harshness of Lalla Nafiyah's guidance had never managed to quell her hopes of a man's gentle hands, and an even gentler heart.

No man she'd ever met had possessed either.

Peering into one open door after another as she made her way down the corridor, Mehreen searched the rooms for her basket, which she'd left by the foot of one of the beds. Spotting it, at last, in one of the last chambers of the western wing, she stepped inside, only to freeze at the sound of someone's giggle.

"Who's there?"

The giggling returned, muffled, as though its owner had been covering his mouth – unsuccessfully, one might add. Save for its scarce furniture, the room was empty, and Mehreen's own childhood was fresh enough for her to understand what this meant. She crouched to peek under the bed, only to meet a pair of bright eyes in a small, round face surrounded by a crown of copper curls.

"And who might you be?"

Stretched out on his belly on the floorboards, the boy gasped, mouth opening in a grin which missed a tooth or two.

"Déordred!" a voice called out from the corridor, "Déordred, where are you?"

Clamping a pudgy hand over his mouth, the boy chortled once more as the door creaked wide open. Mehreen turned her head to see a woman who must've been her age before exhaustion and sickness had taken their toll on her youth. Straight hair the same color as the boy's framed her long face and hung in her back, untied and unadorned, its once noble hue now alloyed with silver. The skin of her face sunk in beneath her eyes, twin circles appearing even darker under a generous expanse of freckles.

Upon spotting Mehreen's position the woman pursed her lips, and sighed. "Déordred, come out, now. I know you're there."

The boy's eyes widened as he raised a finger to his lips, hoping to dissuade Mehreen from betraying him and she might've played along, if not for his mother's lassitude. "I think she knows you're here," she murmured, and reached out a hand. "Come, I'll help you out."

"Déordred!" Rushing forward, the woman dropped to her knees, reaching under the bed to grasp a now wiggling child with more vigor than Mehreen thought necessary. "Get here right this instant!"

Stunned, Mehreen watched her dig her fingers into his arm and wrestle him out, oblivious to the shrieks of laugher that turned into those of pain as he bumped his forehead against the frame in the process.

"Come…here," the woman panted, red-faced, hair plastered to her sweaty forehead as she hoisted the now-crying boy to his feet. "Enough!" The boy sobbed, the front of his tunic stained with tears and dust, but his mother ignored him. "We're leaving, now," she hissed, refusing to meet Mehreen's eye as she hauled him out of the room.

The boy's wails echoed down the corridor. Pushing herself to her feet, Mehreen smoothed out her skirts with trembling hands and wondered what Saineth, a soon-to-be mother herself, would make of them. Yet Saineth did not intervene and the cries soon faded, replaced by the Houses' habitual dullness.

A few years ago, Marwan, Lalla Raeha's second son – Raeha herself being Sheikh Dawoud's fourth wife – had sent the harem into a frenzy, having hidden in one of the unnumbered rooms of the palace. That very year, having taken yet another wife, Lalla Tasnim, who hailed from the distant Khand, Mehreen's father had wanted to please her by renovating an entire wing of the harem to the likeness of her home. The works had started, before stopping as a wave of unprecedented heat had descended upon Harad. Men fell, one after the other, succumbing as they toiled under the supervision of the Chief Eunuch and his halberdiers, until the cost in gold of their lost lives had become too high for the Sheikh to bear. Thus the halls had stood, unfinished, half-demolished columns fracturing under the weight of the vaults, sharp stones awaiting under the rubble.

The search for Marwan had gone on for an entire afternoon, until the night had fallen and the light grown too scarce to see the dangers awaiting in the empty halls. It was then that Lalla Nafiyah had bid Ghizlan, the cook, to bake the sweetest pastries she knew how to make. Soon enough, the scent of sugar and cinnamon was wafting through the harem and Marwan, grown hungry and tired from hiding, had been lured out.

No-one had ever spoken another word of what the boy had revealed that night, his dirty cheeks stuffed with marzipan. No accusation had been worded against Lalla Zaynab, whose own son was but a year older than Marwan, but smaller and sicklier. After the renovations were finished, it had been Lalla Zaynab who'd moved into a wing of her own – something that Lalla Tasnim had never forgotten.

Though no longer a crumbling ruin, Bar-Lasbelin remained a dangerous place, with many a river for a boy to drown in, and many an edge to tumble from – even without a woman's jealousy to nudge him in the wrong direction. The poor mother must have been worried beyond her wits, Mehreen told herself to assuage her unease before setting back to work. From her basket she pulled out the daira she'd made from borrowed fabric, and set it upon her head before hoisting the basket on top of the ring of cloth. The odd looks she received from elves and humans alike was well worth the absence of pain in her lower back. Another glance to her map, and Mehreen exited the room, heading down the corridor with renewed confidence.

Elladan was eating from her hand, or as good as – when he wasn't trying to bite said hand off, that is. Pumpkin, however, evaded her; Mehreen had only sighted the tabby once or twice since their first encounter, and always he'd darted off before she could note where it was he was disappearing to. As she walked, Mehreen craned her neck, hoping to spot the familiar, black-and-ginger tail.

A flash of gold drew her eye. Mehreen halted, steadying the basket with one hand before it toppled to her feet, dirty sheets and all.

One of the doors had been left ajar; a dark crack upon the well-lit wall of the hallway, intriguing in its incongruity. As her eyes adjusted to the contrast, Mehreen understood that despite the early afternoon, the shutters had been closed, casting the room into a twilight lit only by a lamp which shed its light upon the wall, and the wooden foot of a bed. A silhouette moved across the room, shielding the light for an instant as a soft voice murmured too softly for Mehreen to understand.

Lowering her eyes, she took a step down the corridor, before freezing for the second time that day.

"Nami, nami," a voice was singing, rising from the darkness of that room.

Mehreen's throat grew tight, and the hand steadying her basket began to shake.

No. It cannot be…!

"Numi, numi," the voice called out to her again, insistent in its softness.

Mehreen whirled around, a sudden tightness unfurling inside her chest. The basket crashed to her feet, spilling its contents upon the stone to the exclamations of the passing healers. "Ummi?" she whispered.

Inside the room, the woman moved once more, her hair a golden glimmer. If Mehreen were to close her eyes, she'd summon its warmth, and the scent of cardamom that always lingered on her mother's skin. Her hands unfurled of their own volition, just as when she was a child combing her fingers through her mother's locks, nested in her loving arms. The swaying of veils over their heads; the distant murmurs of the fountains and that soft, familiar voice singing her a lullaby.

Nami, nami, sleep my little rose….

"Mother?" Mehreen lunged forward, pushing the door open with all her strength, her heart upon her lips. "Mother!"

The blond, bare-chested woman sitting on the bed startled at the sound and turned around, but not before Mehreen could see the shadows cast across her back by the countless scars streaking her skin, woven together in a puckered, angry net.

"What are you doing here?" the elven healer snapped, the cloth in her hand dripping water upon the mattress. Mehreen dimly recognized her as the woman who'd once scolded her in the hallway; but her gaze remained drawn to the woman, who jerked the sheet against her chest with a quivering hand, opened her mouth…

…And screamed.

A raw, haunting sound, it was the howl of a wounded beast. Her eyes revulsed at the sight of Mehreen, lips baring broken teeth.

"Get out!" the healer hissed, tossing the cloth inside a nearby basin before moving towards Mehreen. "Get out of here!"

"By Elbereth, what is going on?"

Before Mehreen could obey, the light from the corridor made way for Redhriel's irate form.

"No!" she gasped and, for an instant, Mehreen thought it was her very presence the elf was scorning; but Redhriel was looking past her shoulder, her stern face melting into a mask of concern. Unfolding the arms she'd crossed in disapproval, she flew towards the bed in time to catch the woman's wrists. "Taniel, quickly!"

The tawny-haired healer turned on her heels to lunge towards the bed in turn, and pry the screaming woman's hands open. A thin, leaf-like blade tinkled to the floor: a scalpel, which the woman had seized in the healer's moment of inattention.

"Leave!"

Redhriel's voice cracked like a whip – the very weapon which had torn the woman's back into shreds. The woman's screams had turned into sobs that wracked her entire body, her voice hoarse with terror, and Redhriel gently laid her onto her side – a stark contrast to the fury in the elf's voice. "Do not just stand there! Can you not see your presence is upsetting her? And you!" She turned to the tawny-haired healer. "How could you have let this happen?"

"But," the elf protested, "the patient was doing well until she came barging in." And cast a venomous look in Mehreen's direction. "What are you still doing here? Making yourself useful, are you?" She picked up the scalpel and threw it into the basin, where it landed with a resounding clink that jerked Mehreen from her stupor. "Has your kind not caused enough harm as it is?" And thrust her chin towards the woman's hunched, shuddering back.

"I…I didn't…." Mehreen stammered, wringing her hands under the elf's accusing stare, but it was the nameless woman herself who silenced her.

"Nami, nami…."

She was rocking herself into sleep, singing a lullaby in a tongue she may not even understand; a habit ingrained through fear of punishment, carved into her very flesh by a hand not unlike Harun's, so that she could care for someone else's children – children like Mehreen herself.

The elf was right.

All of her life, Mehreen had known such women – her own mother had been of their number, until the Sheikh had taken her as a wife. She knew those scars, for Ahlam's skin bore that same, familiar pattern. She saw it every morning, when her maid pulled off her shift; it peeked over the collar of her tunic, where the whip had curled around her neck.

Mehreen rushed out of the room and doubled over, shaking. The hallway swayed before her eyes, blurry silhouettes drawing back in disgust, as though having heard the healer's words. She jumped when her foot encountered something, and wiped her face in haste to see what it was.

Her basket, discarded in the middle of the corridor. Mehreen reached to pick it up.

Making yourself useful, are you?

Her fingers trembled inches from the handle. Useful. To say she'd thought she was helping, priding herself with what she'd accomplished. Wanting to put Lord Elladan to shame. Mehreen heaved, the taste of bile in her mouth. The walls of the corridor closed in on her, the disquieted murmurs of the crowd thrumming in her ears. She was a stranger; worse, she was an enemy.

And no matter what she did, they would never let her forget it.


A.N.: 'The Ebony Horse' is one of the tales from 1001 Nights.