It me, uploading random instead of focusing. lmk what you think
There is a time in which God calls upon every man with a divine mission. One that can be given by no pauper, nor pope, one that can only be found in the silent presence of the Lord above.
I have been given my mission. My trials and tribulations have prepared my mind, body and soul for what lies ahead of me. I can only hope that I have heard all God has spoken to me, and that all I have done in the name of this conflict will be forgiven when I have stood before the gates of ivory and riches.
In my rest I have been shown how to take the great Antioch. How to break this horrid seige that claims our honorable men. I will share my vision, and prepare for the oncoming assault.
Should ye, who have finally sent me to my final rest, read what lies within these pages, know that I shall greet you warmly should we meet in the house of the Lord. May the Lord guide your blade to righteousness as well as my own. Regards ~
I have steadied myself in the will of Allah. May he guide the blades of my people in this great Jihad, may he guide the man to be my husband in leading our men, may he guide my heart, so that I may know I have made the right choice.
It scares me, this notion, but mother has guided me. A love is best when it is earned, when one has been proven worthy of it. Love deepened by respect and admiration, as her own love had been with my father.
She has also said that my other is one of those men, with a power to his voice and a demand for respect.
I hope that I come to love a man this way. That I may see all he has done in the my name, all the blood he may spill in the name of a glorious conquest. That my heart may truly be guided by Allah and not my foolish self. Diiro belkon a'a halkon, and may you look back upon your writings with joy. Allah guide you,
In the Year of our Lord, 1098.
It was an altogether strange place, Zoe decided, Antioch.
The buildings, surrounded by great stone walls, looked something akin to her childhood home to the East, yet with a mix of the place called Damascus, which her father had been given dominion over in their Jihad.
Her father. The thought of him still put something of a bitter taste on her tongue. Sending her off, betrothing her to some man that could very well be her uncle, all to 'strengthen allegiances'. Nothing of what she wanted, nothing of who she'd love.
It was her duty, no matter how much she'd loathe it. And duty would come first over her feelings every time.
The travel from Damascus to Antioch was a long one, only lengthened by the trail of everything she owned. A long, painful trip under the sweltering sun, and thankfully not in the confines of her wedding garb. That would truly make the trip miserable.
Yağısiyan, her betrothed, was a man she had met before, at a far younger age. He had been old then, with the beginnings of age showing in the wrinkles on his cheeks and the grey hairs on his head. It was a miracle that he had yet to die of some sickness, at least a miracle to the Sultan.
With a sigh, she forced her thoughts from the dour topic and adjusted her scarf in some vain hope it'd keep the sun out of her eyes. Better the sun than the cold night, though. A cold night where she would be warming a stranger's bed.
Damn it all! She would throw something had she anything within reach. Her mind was stuck on it, forcing her to worry over it,
Zoe would learn to love him, probably, just as her mother had learned to love her father. Fulfill her role and provide the man sons. Her stomach twisted sharply.
Nausea crawled into her throat, and she lightly fanned her face in hopes of catching a full breath. Servants gave her curious glances, but didn't dare linger and didn't dare ask.
With a moment to barely suppress the feeling, she tried to force her mind away from the topic again, focusing on the city about her.
It was still quiet, almost hollow, without the men that had risen in defense of the city. Any that remained hid with women and children, all doing their best to avoid catching the attention of the Seljuks that inhabited the city.
She hated that such a thing needed to happen, and the warriors did themselves no favors in her eyes. They were cruel, far beyond what they needed to be,
Jihad was needed, though, and one must face tribulations to find paradise. Zoe was just being naive to think otherwise. The Christians and Jews needed to be guided, shown the err in their ways, as was the great Muhammad's teachings so long ago.
All she saw were guards in the streets, the armor of their people donned and the weapons at the ready. Damascus certainly had her defenses, but her father held no fear towards the thought that the Christians would attempt to seige the city, and in comparison to Antioch, it showed.
It wasn't unjustified suspicion, word had traveled even further than Damascus about an army of Christians pushing towards Jerusalem, and considering Antioch was along the fastest route…
The second largest building in the city finally came into full view, with a party of soldiers waiting for her arrival. It must've been the rulers home, a grand structure of white stone that was only second to the city's church.
She could pick their lord from the crowd rather easily, with the patchy white hair that sprouted from his head and the lavish robes wrapped about him. If she had been nauseous before, her stomach dropped now. Her heart thrummed faster, and harder, as the culmination of weeks of travel came to a head.
Again, a curse fell on her tongue, though she wouldn't dare curse her fathers name. She had made this trek alone. No parents, no family, no one to comfort her.
Her hand weakly fanned to cool herself, and she struggled to recall words she'd memorized before she'd even left.
Yağısiyan finally seemed to catch sight of her, and her skin crawled. She could feel his eyes on her body, lingering in ways that made her want to curl in on herself. It was like she wasn't wearing anything.
Still, she swallowed the bile that his… hungry gaze sent crawling up her throat, and offered the best smile she could manage. It was likely a weak one, but she wasn't sure he'd notice.
"Welcome to Antioch, my dearest betrothed," The man announced, theatrically putting his arms out to either side, "It has been many years since I last saw you. You have grown to be a beautiful woman."
The compliment would've made her blush, were it not from him and if not for the fact she still felt like she may lose what little she'd eaten over the course of her trip.
Last she recalled seeing him, Zoe barely reached the man's chest in height, and she'd barely understood what it meant to be married. It felt like so long ago, far longer than it had truly been, even if it had been no insubstantial amount of time.
She idly wondered how long ago her father made the deal with Yağısiyan, how long ago her fate had been sealed. Was it before she'd even reached the man's chest? His stomach, which had only grown in their time apart? His knee?
"Many thanks, my Lord." She slid from her horse, and dipped into a soft bow, "The road has been long, and we are weary."
"Of course, now is a time of celebration!"
His arms wrapped about her, and she stiffened like a corpse in an instant. She had not been hugged by her father in ages, much less a strange man, and she couldn't react.
A hand drifted across her back, sliding dangerously low before he released her. Her head swam, and the air felt far too thin.
The skin that had been beneath his touch roiled, and she forced a small smile before all but chasing a servant girl into the home.
Inside, there wasn't a place she could look without sight of a servant toiling about. Wiping floors and walls, carrying blankets and various foods about, and who knows what else. All under the steady eyes of taskmasters.
They were the women that had lived here, no doubt, before the city had been claimed. Haggard, filthy, and wearing rags, the sight of them brought a frown.
Servants were treated better than this in Damascus, far better. It was unbecoming to have them in such a state, a sign of undue cruelty, a sign she most certainly did not like.
She stayed quiet though, such things were not fit to be mentioned in the open, much less upon arrival. As everything would go, she would have plenty of time to suggest a different treatment to her husband.
The word made her stomach drop, but her expression remained as she followed up and into a room.
The air was thick with floral scents, exotic herbs and spices that tickled her nose slightly. Plants that swirled in the steaming basin of water that only took up a sliver of the room.
There were some she recognized from Damascus, and more she couldn't. It made for a pleasant smell, and an appetizing bath. She hadn't had much in the way of it during travel, beyond rinsing her face and arms with wet cloths.
It was simply not worth the efforts to carry a basin, nor would she be able to find a suitable body of water hidden from prying eyes. She did feel rather grimey, and that simply wouldn't do.
With a haste born of tense, tired muscles, she shirked her clothes and gingerly sunk into the water.
The warmth brought a sigh, and already she could feel tension being leeched from her body. She loved a bath after travel, not that she'd ever traveled much. There was little reason to put yourself, or your daughter in Abu Ali Al-Mansur's case, at such risks. A daughter of high royalty would be no small prize for bandits and crusaders.
The servants worked quickly and efficiently, never letting sponges or hands linger in one spot long. She did as well, scrubbing dirt and sweat from places they would not be allowed to touch.
Despite how good the water felt, she did not stay in the water when she was finally clean. The servants practically urged her out, and directly into a dress and a seat.
Hair and other cosmetics were a short affair, dozens of hands working in unison to prepare her. Every black hair neatly tied into a braid, powders and pastes painted on her cheeks to highlight her features.
It happened far too fast for her eyes, and for her stomach, all of the nervousness of before hitting her like a mighty blow. The time had come.
Night had fallen and her company had dispersed by the time she left the building, though the glaring torches and the chattering crowd easily replaced both.
A force of Seljuk soldiers meant to hold an entire city made for an intimidating sight, regardless of all the cheering and laughing.
Yağısiyan waited at the fore of the crowd, quick to pull her into another hug that made her skin crawl. He shouted something, but it was little more than senseless noise in her ears.
The men parted for them, but swarmed along either side as they marched through the city. She could see the eyes of children peering down from windows, only the vaguest silhouettes before mothers ushered them from sight. Those servants that remained with them cast glances at the windows, with a sorrow that made a lump settle in Zoe's throat.
They would be happier, with time. Allah's light would guide them, fulfill them, bring the same joy that Zoe would come to feel in her life. Surely it would, surely they would, surely she would.
The smell of the feast hit her before the sight, sweet and savory and aromatic. Now that reminded her of home, the shared herbs and spices between here and Damascus. It made her stomach rumble inaudibly, and made her yearning for home return.
She was not disappointed by the options spread across the broad table that awaited them. Servants still hurried about with bowls of meat, vegetables and breads, spurred by a renewed vigor born of the sight of Yağısiyan.
From there, time seemed to slide about her. From her feet to a chair, an empty plate filled, the distant, dancing light of torches along the walls moving across the sky as guards made patrols.
There was little pomp or rigidity in the ceremony. A short speech from Yağısiyan, plenty of shouting and cheering, and then the meal started.
She did not eat with the same 'enthusiasm' as those surrounding her. By all means, though not by the standards of Damascus, the meal was lovely, but something stilled her hand.
The hair on her neck stood on end. Something alerted her, was warning her.
She scanned the tops of the walls again, distant as they may be. Within blinks, the light of the torches had vanished, replaced by an inky darkness that was far more ominous than it had been what felt like moments before.
There were no pinpricks of light to mark the patrols, meaning they didn't have torches, she had simply missed their passing, or…
They were no longer on patrol.
That did not happen in a place like Antioch, not at times like these. She slowly turned in her seat, watching for any sign of light. There were none.
The hand that dropped to her thigh might as well have been lightning from Allah himself, with the way her body jolted.
Yağısiyan made some comment that drew a round of raucous laughter from the men around them, but she couldn't hear it. Everything felt too stifling, too sticky, too much.
The rich scent of meat made her stomach churn, and her instinct banished her appetite to some small corner of her mind.
She felt like she was being watched, but not by anyone at the table. No, it almost felt like it was coming from the city, past the light of the torches and campfires around their feast.
It was probably just one of the few villagers left, but her mind said otherwise. There was something to her suspicion, something she could only imagine a mouse may feel under the eyes of a falcon.
Zoe wanted to leave, the banquet at least and the city more ideally. She missed the warmth of her mother's arms, the sweet fragrances that clung to her skin after bathing and her smile.
"May the new wife of Yağısiyan be fertile and provide him many sons!" A man with nicer armor than the rest shouted, drunk enough that wine spilled over his fist when he raised the cup in a toast.
That hit her in an all but physical blow, sending heat through her cheeks. The new round of laughter did her no favors, especially when her husband was among the loudest.
It… was what she was, to them. A 'breeding cow' to give Yağısiyan a few sons before he finally keeled over. Some thing to be used then forgotten.
Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. A lump lodged in her throat, and she choked down more wine in attempt to swallow it. Her hands shook, ever so slightly and despite her best efforts, but it went unnoticed by all but her. Ignored.
She chased the crushing sorrow down with more wine, finally catching her husband's eye long enough to get a cheer of approval and nothing more. Maybe she just needed more wine, to banish these thoughts.
It partially worked, in that her pity went from herself to his other wives. Women who faced much the same situation as she had, long ago.
One was in the city somewhere, probably in the building she'd prepared in. The second wife, the one to give him a daughter if Zoe understood, was with her parents raising the girl. A fight had happened between Yağısiyan and the bride's family, from what Zoe had been told. A very bad thing when dealing with a man of such influence.
She wondered what had caused the schism, wondered if her own family would house her in the same situation. It was only a momentary thought, she didn't need any more to come to her answer. They would not.
Would she ever see them again? Would it be the same? Could she even look her father in the eye, after all of this, for what he'd condemned her to? Hug her mother, knowing she let Zoe be pawned off?
Maybe with time, and plenty more wine. She only had one of those on hand, and it was certainly not time.
Wallowing in misery, even wearing a carefully maintained mask of joy, made the night pass by rather quickly. She couldn't say for certain how long they'd been out there, but by the time they'd let the fire smolder dozens had passed out upon the table or retreated to various buildings for rest.
Yağısiyan pulled her to her feet, though she only stumbled a few paces before he had to sweep her off her feet. His touch made her shift, squirm slightly, and make some move to escape that was about as productive as slapping a wall.
She didn't want to go anywhere, not with him. The table was comfortable enough, even with the wooden chair and the dozens of men that had already fallen asleep on it. They could just leave, let her be for the night, for the rest of her life.
The door slammed open, far too loud in the night. She fought to keep her food in her stomach as he stumbled up the stairs, each step only worsening the growing ache behind her eyes.
Even with the growing ache, and the nausea, the sight of the bedroom sent a pang of fear into her chest. Her body stiffened, limbs refusing to cooperate as she was thrown to the bed.
It was all too fast, too much. He hadn't even kissed her for Allah's sake! Her body refused to comply with her mind, even the slightest muddled thought. 'Too much wine!' Her mind hissed back, and even the thought felt strange, slow.
Yağısiyan disrobed in a blink. His belly hung low, protruding from him like a blister, covered with thick hair matted by sweat and spilled drink. The stink of it came off him in a wave, and she had to force the thick vomit that crawled into her throat back. Losing her meal could make him mad, could ruin something so important as her wedding night.
His hands felt thick, grubby and greasy dragging her about to his whim. Like she was a doll. Every touch felt like bugs against her skin, drew a shudder from her.
Was this the culmination of her life? All the years being raised and trained and taught to be a prim and proper bride, only to be treated like food in the hands of a starving man.
He didn't bother with her dress, beyond starting to hike it up towards her hips…
"Invaders!"
The cry shattered the silence of the night, high and desperate. Yağısiyan paused, and for a moment neither moved.
Then the screams started.
Sounds of battle, clanging of steel against steel and the cries of the dying echoed through the city. The fear of moments before couldn't compare in that moment, until everything snapped into motion.
Her chastity forgotten, Yağısiyan bolted to his clothes. Throwing curses to the air, and throwing clothes over his form, he started for the door.
The door opened before he reached it, cracking against the wall it hung from with a sound like thunder. Fear pushed her limbs into motion, hurriedly yanking her dress back down to her ankles as a figure appeared in the doorway.
"Commander! They have gotten through the walls!"
It was one of the soldiers, wielding a bloodied sword. Only half of the armor hung off his form, askew with mismatched buckles and straps that marked his panicked pace.
"Why has the alarm not been sounded?" The man barked back, wrapping a meaty hand about Zoe's wrist and forcing her upright.
"I do not know. Amir must be dead." The soldier responded, "We have no time, we must leave the city!"
Yağısiyan offered no protest, and neither did Zoe, though she wasn't sure how she'd protest or what she'd suggest or if anything she said would matter to them.
The shouting was louder when they made it to the street, and the clanging steel spurred them away. There were stables at both gates, and surely horses yet to be taken or killed by the invaders.
The streets were empty, unsurprisingly it the shouts and cries and clangs kept it from being silent. The cobbles bit into the soles of her feet, but she didn't dare slow. If they were seen, a horde of cannibals and killers would overwhelm them.
It didn't take terribly long to reach the gate, but it felt far too long with the idea of crusaders on their heels.
"Faster!" He hissed, yanking her towards the stables, and the horses visible inside. The soldier that had gotten them, along with another, were already jumping on two of the three mounts.
Yağısiyan let go of her hand, lunging forward in a burst of movement and leaping atop the last stallion. Zoe's body fought her hurried pace, and the sight became all she could see, a tunnel vision.
Something slammed into her stomach, unyielding and striking just below her ribs with enough force to knock her flat. The blow was enough to force her to retch, throat burning and body barely twisting in time to avoid covering herself.
A flash of creamy, dirty white flashed in the moonlight, and her heart stopped as the figure appeared in her sight.
A Crusader, helm gleaming in the moonlight and blade gleaming with blood, moved to intercept the last horse.
Through tears she watched Yağısiyan jerk to evade the crusader, his mount following the command with a whinny. Steel flashed, and the Seljuk commander yoweled.
She brushed vomit from her lips and tears from her eyes, looking back up in time to see her life, her salvation galloping from Antioch.
Thick, slimey organs shined in the dull light of the moon, hanging from Yağısiyan and slapping against his mount. The sight was enough to force her into another bought of heaving and retching.
The scent of blood, of smoke, of death flooded her nostrils, and filled her body with hopelessness. Allah had forsaken them.
The sound of clinking metal drew close, and she felt a touch lightly brush her back. She tensed, but couldn't resist crying out when the hand forced her up by her hair.
She arched into the force, a new burst of tears welling on her eyes as she finally caught sight of her end.
He was tall, far taller than she and noticeably taller than Yağısiyan. His helmet has seemingly disappeared, revealing hair darker than hers, enough that it seemed to absorb the light of the stars. His eyes, though, were something she'd never seen before.
A bright, fiery green that seemed to glow in the night, swirling with such a rage that she hadn't seen in anyone.
The cold touch of steel broke her thoughts, threatening to bite into the soft skin of her throat with the slightest movement from either. Death stared down at her.
"Please." She begged quietly, once in her own tongue and once in that of the Greeks. She had learned it during her life in Damascus, and prayed he could understand her plea.
The way his eyes widened told her the language was shared. She opened her mouth again to press, but the blade began to bite.
He gave her a warning look, and over the din she finally heard it. Shouting, chanting, singing, the sound of more crusaders.
"Skata!" The man hissed, and even sobered by fear it took a moment for Zoe to translate the word. A moment that he interrupted by forcing Zoe to her feet.
She whimpered, but a look killed the sound as soon as it left her throat. His hand kept a steady, constant hold of her hair, and made her keenly aware of it as he marched towards the homes.
His booted foot collided sharply with the first door they reached, sending her right in with the crashing of wood against stone.
The hold on her hair finally released, with a bit of a shove that sent her stumbling. She followed the motion, body still shaky from vomiting, halfheartedly holding herself up from crashing onto the small chair she'd crashed into.
A sound caught her attention, and her eyes landed on a woman.
She was surely no older than Zoe, clearly still affected by the haze of sleep but fearfully prepared to face whoever barged in. A smaller frame hid behind the woman, curiously peering at their intruders.
"The city is liberated." The man announced. She wasn't sure where his helmet had been moments before, but he settled it against his hip and offered a small smile to the citizen, "In the name of our Lord above, we have retaken Antioch."