It was a strange juxtaposition of faith, Allah and Isis hand in hand as the Imam and the seven priestesses of Isis walked slowly down the aisle between the two blocks of white and gold clad Medjai, ahead of the wrapped and garlanded corpses.
Precious water had been sacrificed on the sun baked ground to make it soft enough for the burial parties to dig the seventeen graves for the fallen warriors, a measure of the honour these men commanded from their fellow Medjai.
“Truly to Allah we belong,” the Imam intoned before the assembled people, and with them Nafisah answered.
“And truly to Him we shall return.” She felt the knot of nausea returning. Though they suffered terrible grief, these families were lucky. They at least knew the fate of husband, brother or son. She knew nothing of what had happened to Ardeth, only that they suspected he had been taken by Rahab. Nightly her dreams were haunted by terrible visions of the torture he must be receiving at the hands of the beast she knew Rahab to be… and there was no ritual to comfort her as the funeral rites gave comfort to the families of the warriors they buried there that day.
Here eyes blurred with tears as she listened to the words of the Imam that honoured the warriors as they were each lowered into the graves. “These men have honoured their vows and given their lives in service to uphold the law in the desert. Their every action honoured and protected their people; cherished the lives of all the families in the desert as they did their own families, with the flesh of their bodies and the blood of the hearts. They gave their life defending against aggressors who would harm those weaker than themselves – in defending those who placed their trust in the Medjai. Each of these men has truly earned their place in Paradise, and though we are sad at their passing we have joy in our hearts at the thoughts of the pleasures that await them there, knowing that we too, belonging to Allah, and living our lives in reflection of His will, as they have done, we shall be reunited in heaven.”
The Priestesses of Isis circled the graves then, singing their psalms in the old tongue of the land that graced the walls of the many tombs guarded against plunder by the Medjai, words from ancient funeral rites of the land that Nafisah neither knew nor understood, but the haunting melodies they sang released the tears that were still trapped within her eyes to flow over her cheeks.
“Come home to me,” she whispered, “please… I love you. I need you.”
One by one, the families of the deceased came to her, bringing the warriors weapons, wrapped in their Indigos. As wife to the first Medjai she would be called on to place each bundle into the ground, an honour to the warriors. As each of the family’s representatives handed the precious bundles to her, she spoke to them.
“Your son honoured me,” or “Your husband was a brave warrior,” or “Your brother honoured his oaths well.”
Trying to keep each of them straight in her mind so that she did not insult any of them left her reeling with effort of it all. All she wanted was to be in the arms of the man she loved.
“…your permission, First Medjai Regent,” the woman’s voice was soft and hesitant, but the surprise of hearing it brought her back to her duties.
“Speak your request and I will answer it,” she responded as she had been taught.
“My husband was a good man, and loved me well and brought honour to me in an honourless world. As I cannot now be at his side, and cannot bear in my heart to be at the side of another, though shelter has been offered to me by his warrior brother, I crave your permission to seek the sanctuary of the Healers, where the love I still hold for him can be given for the good of all the warriors and women of the Tribes.”
Nafisah reached out a shaking hand toward the young woman who stood before her, and laid it gently on the woman’s head.
“Thavan would be honoured by your decision,” she said quietly, and looking up nodded to the Master Healer. “Take your place with your sisters of the Hall.”
The Master Healer came forward bearing a simple red veil which she placed over the head of the woman before leading her away. As they, Nafisah closed her eyes against the terrible question that suddenly burned in her mind. What will I do when they tell me of his fate if they find him dead?
**
Sophia shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked across the sands toward the ruins of the building on the plateau before them. She shivered in spite of the heat as fingers of cold dread climbed her spine like a lovers caress.
What was she thinking? Why had she come back here? It served no purpose.
“Miss Lewis?” her guide’s accented voice startled her, coming from the silence of the windswept desert as it did. She looked over at him, and realised that she had stopped her camel from moving; she was holding the rein so tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “please continue. I wish to see that building up ahead.”
“Miss,” the guide sounded nervous, “it is little more than a ruin and… we should not be in here for too long. It is so hot in this time of the day.”
“You needn’t worry; I’m quite accustomed to the heat. I spent many years here as a young woman,” she flicked her camel with the whip and tried to raise her head as the creature carried her closer and closer to the place that had been a prison for her for so many years.
She heard the guide’s reluctant sigh, echoed by those of her servant as they urged their mounts to follow her. If only they knew what an effort it was for her to set foot on that ground again.
“What is the nearest town to this place?” she asked as the guide came level with her.
“Town?” he asked as though unfamiliar with the word.
“Yes, you know… Town, village… settlement even?”
“It would be Burhan, Miss,” her servant answered for the guide, “unless the Tuareg traders are at the near oasis, over there.”
She turned her head in the direction that the woman pointed, but of course could see nothing but the shifting haze over the sand.
“How far?” she asked.
“Many hours,” the guide answered, shaking his head at the servant. Sophia did not miss the look that passed between them. “If we hope to reach either one before night comes, we should leave this place.”
“We’re not leaving until we’ve investigated that building over there,” she told them firmly. “Now come on.”
What she hoped to find she had no idea, but she was sure that if she had any hope of finding her sister after all this time, she had to start somewhere, and here seemed as good – or bad – a place of doing so as any she could think of. This was, after all, where they had last seen each other.
It was not long before she felt that her camel was walking on the more compacted ground of the plateau itself, and in a shorter time still she urged the camel to kneel so she could dismount, leaving the nervous guide to hobble the creature so that it did not escape and leave her stranded.
Her whole body trembled, reacting to the remains of Rahab’s fortress with a strong physical memory. As she walked around, her eyes searched the ground for any signs that might give her a clue as to where her sister had gone – had been taken – she corrected herself, with the band of demons from the desert who were surely little better than Rahab and his men had been. Here sister would never stay with such men of her own accord.
“What do you look for?” the voice of the guide startled her once more as he came to stand beside her.
“Nothing I—”
“You search the ground with your eyes,” he told her he had seen, “they linger on the darker places. They say a great battle came here. British men to bring down the Caliph of this place.”
“Caliph, ha!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself. “He was nothing more than a bully… criminal… a man who—”
A shout of alarm in Arabic cut off what she had been about to say and the guide whirled around to look in the direction that her servant was pointing. Then he ran to the edge of the plateau as if the small distance would help him to see more clearly.
“What is it?” she asked him, wrapping her arms around herself.
“If we are lucky,” he said, coming back to her side and trying to hurry her toward the camels, “It is the Tuareg traders…”
“And if not?” she could not help but ask. He merely looked at her in answer.
**
“Missus, we must leave. Leave now,” the native who served as their guide burst urgently in upon them as they picnicked at the water’s edge. “Come, come… up on camel, quickly.”
“Abdul,” Mother said with the hint of laughter in her voice, “Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t leave our things behind. We’ve plenty of time left in the day to get back to the village. Do stop worrying so much.”
“Go and bring the scotch from my saddlebag, there’s a good chap,” Father added, patting the guide on the arm where he crouched beside the family.
“No, Sayiid,” the guide said urgently, “You don’t understand…”
Father frowned, and then said, “Sophia, be a good girl and go and get Daddy his scotch.”
“But I can’t reach, Daddy,” she said.
“Oh, Precious, go with your sister,” Father said impatiently, “leave me to deal with this impudent fellow.”
She felt her sister’s hand around her wrist as she almost dragged her away from the blanket at the waterside, tugging harder when she tried to turn around.
“Don’t look, So-so.” Precious said.
“He’s going to beat him, isn’t he?” Sophia asked only moments before they both heard the crack of leather striking the unfortunate man. She felt sick. “I hope he doesn’t do it for long.”
Precious put her arm around her and snuggled her closer. “It’ll be all right. He’ll have a drink and forget all about it in heartbeat, you’ll see. He won’t take it out on us, he—”
Her sister’s words were cut off by a short, stifled scream, and Sophia was suddenly spilled to the ground out of her arms. As she rolled she saw the dark skinned, robed figure holding Precious tightly in his arms, his hand over her mouth. More alarming were the several other men that rose out of the bushes and grasses that surrounded the oasis. Each one of them had rifles, and they were all pointing them in the direction of Mother and Father.
A single shot rang out, followed by her Mother’s terrified scream. Sophia covered her eyes, not wanting to see; not wanting to know, but she felt hands… hands at her shoulders as she was hauled to her feet and forced stumbling toward where her father’s body lay on the ground. Mother lay weeping, her head on Father’s shoulder.
“Daddy!” she cried and struggled with the man holding her to go to him… to be beside her mother in weeping for him. She need not have struggled, for the man that held her, and the one carrying her sister tossed them both unceremoniously to the ground beside their parents. Mother gathered them both into her arms, still weeping.
Sophia did not look up from her mother’s bosom until the sounds of hoof beats drummed to a halt and the jingle of tack announced the arrival of another. When she did she could not see much for the sun in her tear filled eyes, not until he came to stand close enough that his shadow fell over them.
He was a tall man. What she could see of his hair as it escaped from the grey turban he wore on his head was long, and dark, and probably held a wave or curl when loosed. His skin was weathered from spending much time in the desert and his cheeks were strangely scared, as though they had been burned, his forehead too. He was thickset, muscled the same way Sophia remembered the stable hands back home, from much riding and working with horses… working with his hands.
“This is most fortunate and timely,” he said. “He was your husband, yes?”
“You bastard!” Mother spat, and held them both closer.
Sophia began to cry anew. She’d never heard her mother use words like that before; her father yes, many times, but never her mother. She was far too gentle for that.
The man laughed, and said something in Arabic to the others of his men who also laughed.
“Come with me,” he ordered Mother, holding out a hand.
For the second time that day, Mother shocked her. She spat into the man’s hand. His face turned in a second from amusement to fury and without the passing of another moment he brought the hand down hard against Mother’s face. The sound was almost the same as when Father had been beating the guide for his rudeness.
Mother let out a small cry and then fought so hard to hold on to Precious and to her that Sophia was hurt by the scratch of her mother’s fingernails as the man’s lackeys dragged them from her arms.
“I was going to use your shelter and spare the girls their innocence,” he said angrily, grabbing Mother by the hair, “but they may as well see what will be expected of them once we reach my harem.”
“Don’t look, So-so,” Precious hissed urgently, her voice thick with tears. “Don’t…”
But the man holding Sophia by the hair kept her head turned toward her mother, and her eyes, wide with terror would not close. Not even when Mother screamed as the man held himself against her and thrust hard… rutting shamelessly with her in front of their eyes.
When he was done, just as shamelessly, he stood up from her and cleaned himself off on her skirts before walking a little way away. The men let her and her sister go, and they clung to each other until Mother was done weeping enough to come to them, crying out in pain as she moved.
“Oh, my little ones,” she whispered breathily as she held them tightly, “I will do everything in my power to save you from such cruelty…”
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Precious – Chapter 6 (coming soon)