Safi Bay sat before her mirror, pulling a brush through her hair. It was thick, black, and shone like the well-tended tail of a prized asil mare. Well it should, for she rubbed scented oils through it daily, immediately after bathing, wanting to be ready for Ibrahim’s return. He so enjoyed burying his face in her hair when they made love.
There was never a question in her mind that her husband would, one day, ride down the switchback trail that led into the village. So great was Safi’s faith that she was ready for every day to be the one that brought him home. He might be injured, even seriously so, as he had before, but he would not leave her alone upon this Earth, not without her knowing in her heart that he had passed.
It was not that she was unrealistic. She was a beautiful highborn Medjai woman, but she was no stranger to the ugliness of the world. Safi also knew well the dangers of the desert and of the Cybeline. It was not denial that drove her, but determination and a canny understanding of the politically precarious precipice upon which she and her unborn child balanced.
Safi was keenly aware that her child would face many enemies. She had married into a clan with powerful foes and her baby would become a target for assassination as soon as it drew its first breath, even more so if she carried the last of the line. It was essential that those who would do her baby harm thought that Ibrahim Bay, the ruthless, exacting warrior whose name was said in hushed tones around the campfires of the dishonorable, still lived and still protected his family.
She would never allow anyone to think that she believed Ibrahim, Ardeth, Carrie, Tariq, or Jehan were not returning. Their deaths would be conceded only if their bodies were recovered. Otherwise, she was prepared to live her life as if they were all simply temporarily absent from the village.
It would help ensure that her child, conceived in love and born into a great house, would grow to adulthood.
The elaborate plans Masoud had designed to protect this baby included Safi in every detail. Her child, which would be raised by Masoud and her brother, Khalid, in Ibrahim’s stead, was a precious thing to many people, a symbol of a great family and a leader for the future of the Medjai. To her, the baby was a bit of the pure and unfailing love she shared with her husband, which was a far more precious thing.
Safi stopped brushing her hair and met the eyes of the woman in the mirror. Those eyes were older than her nineteen years, for they had seen true evil, stared it in the face and survived it. Her body had suffered horrible injuries at the hands of men possessed by wickedness, yet her soul bore no scar. It had been the strength of Ibrahim’s love that had carried her through that hell, and in that moment, Safi understood what she must do to help another young girl, Acenath, struggling with her own hell.
Standing, Safi smoothed her tunic over her expansive belly. Within a few weeks, the child she hoped would have the eyes of her husband would be born. For a moment, she indulged in a little daydream, envisioning Ibrahim’s smile as he held his firstborn. He had a wonderful smile, open and honest, but shared with very few. “The first of many I will bear you, my love,” she whispered as she reached for a finely embroidered scarf of indigo silk to drape over her head.
It had been a gift from Ibrahim before their joining and she always wondered how he had afforded it, for it was of rare quality. He was already the captain of the guard and Ardeth’s second by then, but those titles bestowed only honor. He had not yet achieved the wealth that being the second child of Kasim Bay accorded him. Safi imagined he had sold some of his own possessions to purchase this gift, and it made it all the more precious as he had owned few things of value. Truth be told, however, she would have treasured it had it been made of the coarsest sackcloth simply because it had come from him, her beloved.
She stepped from her tent into the blazing sun of the Egyptian afternoon, her mind set on the tasks ahead of her. One of Ibrahim’s personal guards immediately fell into step beside and a little behind her. She nodded to the man in greeting, as he was familiar. She was never without escort these days, at Masoud’s order, and each of Ibrahim’s guard would unblinkingly die to protect her.
The guard would wait patiently while Safi went first to a holy man to request special prayers be said for those near to her heart, both in the village and away. He would also stay with her as she visited with the widows of those men recently killed in the line of duty. Even during prayers, he would wait within sight of her, forsaking his own devotions so as not to look away and leave her vulnerable. He would only leave when her brother, Khalid, whom she would meet after evening prayers, relieved him, and that, Safi thought with a determined sigh, gave her exactly the time she needed to carry out her plan.
********************************
Khalid was a quiet man, but one given to complexity in his private contemplations. It was a strange dichotomy, for he was also a good-natured and easy man to be around, and not one to brood in the manner of many who delved into the quieter regions of themselves. The still waters of Khalid’s soul ran wide and deep, but this was not apparent to most who thought they knew the big man.
Ardeth Bay was one of the few who knew and appreciated this aspect of Khalid, for while they shared a boyhood spent raising hell in combat as well as in the whore houses of Cairo, they also shared in the brotherhood of those who looked beyond this mortal coil. Khalid, like Ardeth, was given to mysticism and a deep trust in the creator.
As a child, Khalid discovered an abiding interest in the rituals of his religion and had considered, for a brief time in his late teens, serving his people as a holy man. His parents and two eldest brothers had supported this, as it brought honor upon a family if a son pursued this training. Only Safi had counseled him against it, saying that it would mean he could never take a wife.
Khalid had laughed at his sister, who was barely old enough to have the first buds of womanhood in her tunic. What could she possibly know about the desires and needs of a fully-grown man? But later, while riding solitary patrol in the desert, her words remained with him, their earnestly expressed thoughts ringing of truth, causing him to reconsider his plans for the holy service. He chose, instead to continue his training as a warrior, and threw himself into it with a passion.
To those who did not know him well, it seemed as if he had simply replaced one calling for the other, but those who understood Khalid’s heart realized it was all the expression of his desire to serve his people to the best of his ability.
One thing that had not changed when he rejected the religious world for that of the warrior was his decision to not marry. He had decided to walk alone down the soldier path, without a mate, until he met the little half English girl and had fallen deeply in love.
Despite the changes in his life, the evening call to prayer remained special to him, a chance to open his heart to the great mysteries in which he had so much faith. The Medjai maintained a separation of the sexes during prayers, but only by making one side of the communal tent female and the other male. Special areas within these were designated for warriors, or the infirm, or those carrying the future in their wombs.
Bowing in prayer beside his brother warriors, he listened to the reading of the names of those for whom special guidance was sought. Customarily, this was done only for those preparing to leave for duty far from family, those missing in the desert, or those who were gravely injured or ill. Ardeth, Ibrahim, Jehan and Tariq were among those named daily, but Carrie was not, for she was an infidel. Khalid always silently added her name to the others knowing that in her heart she was one with the Medjai people, if not with their faith.
It was with great surprise that he heard his own name. Indeed, he looked up with a start, disrupting those around him. Begging forgiveness, he quickly ducked his head as he pondered who would have placed his name among those in need of special prayers. His parents would do this, if he told them he had accepted another distant assignment, which he had not. Acenath was far too shy to approach a holy man with this, besides, she had no reason to. There was no reason at all, as far as Khalid knew, for this prayer’s request.
The matter was still bothering him later as he waited for Safi by the side of the tent reserved for expectant mothers. He stood with other men waiting, idly chatting of the things Medjai men enjoyed sharing: horses, battles, and this year’s novices. Khalid was keenly aware that the others treated him in a subtly, yet markedly different way than they had a few months before. Previously, he had simply been a fellow warrior who served close to Ardeth Bay. Now he was the brother and guardian of the woman who carried what might be the last child of the line that had led their village for millennia.
It was not something in which he found pleasure. He had never imagined power would be his, but he would shoulder it if his duty required. He would miss, however, the easy camaraderie found in the ranks of those whose duty was simply to soldier. He mentioned as much to an old friend of his, Jamish, with whom he had spent many gritty hours on far patrol. “Many of my comrades look upon me with new eyes. I miss being one of them.”
Jamish pointed out the turnaround in circumstances with a hearty guffaw. “I scratched as many sand fleas as you, Khalid, and in the same private places. You treat me no differently than you always have. Why should I treat you differently?”
Khalid’s swarthy face broke into scowl of disgust. “I hated those cursed fleas. Merciful Allah, I thought they would devour us and leave our bones in the dust.”
“Remember that when you are ordering the rest of us around. Make a decree that your old comrade, Jamish, will never have to sit in an infested rat hole of a post, his ass welted with bites.”
The two men chuckled at this, sharing in the humor of not only the words, but also the irony that Khalid might one day issue such commands. Khalid then gave a heartfelt sigh and added, “Your words are welcome, old friend. I will instead command myself to sit in the fleas with you.”
Jamish leaned conspiratorially towards Khalid and said more quietly, a soft reprimand in his voice, “You won’t say that when you have a wife waiting for you. Mine made me sleep on the floor for a week after my return, until the bites healed enough that she didn’t think I would make a mess of the sheets.”
Smiling at the advice, Khalid turned to his friend and nodded his head once towards Jamish’s pretty…and quite pregnant…wife who was waddling towards them. “Apparently she let you off the floor long enough, my friend, to make more than a mess,” he said with a knowing lift of an eyebrow.
As he watched his woman approach, Jamish’s face transformed from that of a warrior to that of a loving husband. “She is ripe with my second child,” he said with pride, and then with the hint of a wry smile added, “and is very tolerant of sand flea bites. May you be so richly blessed, my friend.” Dipping his head in farewell, he moved towards his wife, leaving Khalid to watch and wonder if Acenath would ever become round with his child. She seemed so afraid of anything coming close to sexual contact between them, and he would never force her, no matter how strong his own desire. He would still marry her, of course, for he still loved her and would stand by her, but he worried that the joining might not be properly consummated.
It was a nagging concern of Khalid’s, which grew daily, fueled by Acenath’s continued hesitancy around him. It was as if she feared him, or, he thought with guilt, blamed him for her rape. It had not worried him in the desert, when she clung to his arms at night, the terror still fresh upon her, but plagued him now, as she had not returned to the girl he knew before.
Instantly, he cursed himself for thinking she would be the Acenath of old, for he did deeply appreciate what she had survived. He was wrong to even wish for her to be as she once was, wrong and selfish, but, still, it was there, this desire that all was as it once had been, and the raw understanding that it could never be. He thought of the unspeakable things done to Acenath, she of the gentle soul, and it caused a familiar crushing of his heart.
His eyes misted, blurring the clouds in the sky upon which he forced his concentration lest true tears course down his cheeks, attracting the attentions of those in the milling crowd. It was not his way to draw attention to himself, and he willed himself into stoicism, putting his mind to finding his sister.
Safi was closer than Khalid anticipated, close enough, he realized, to notice the moisture in his eyes, and, as she approached, he blinked to further erase any evidence. Returning her smile, he held a hand out for her as he had when they had been younger. “Blessings upon you, sweet little sister.”
“And to you, Khalid. It is a lovely evening, is it not? Except for the dust that seems to have blown into your eyes.”
“It is not dust,” he confessed quietly so only she would hear. He never could keep secrets from her, except for those his duty required.
“I know.” Looping her arm through his elbow, she asked, “Walk me to the hill overlooking the training arena?”
“Of course, but there are no novices practicing tonight.”
“The sunset is pretty from there. Do you think I only go to watch the young men?” she teased.
“You used to.”
She slipped her brother a sly look. “Only when Ibrahim was among them.”
Safi’s baby had rotated, slipping low in her pelvis as the birth neared. It gave her a heavy, awkward feeling low in her belly and she walked carefully lest she lose her balance. Khalid slowed, not wanting to rush her. It gave him ample time to ask why she had submitted his name for prayers. “Do you know something I do not?” he began, taking the oblique path towards his question.
“I know many things, some of which you do not know. Of which do you ask?” She looked at him beguilingly, with those luminous eyes that had entranced so many men.
Khalid knew his sister was considered a great beauty, had seen what such a look from her could do to most men, and rolled his own eyes at her attempt to use them on him. “I am your brother. I love you dearly, but do not try to turn those eyes of yours on me. I speak of my impending assignment to dangerous duty… or whatever it was that caused you to request my name be read tonight.”
Safi grinned, patting her brother’s arm affectionately. “Why do you think it was me?”
“Our parents have no reason to do this and Acenath would not. You are the logical choice.”
Her slight smile did not confirm or deny this. “Can I not do so because I love you?”
Chuckling warmly as he nodded, Khalid observed, “It is allowed, but I think there must be more.”
“Hmmmmmm. You are smarter than you look, you know.” It had always been a joke between them as most people incorrectly assumed the strong, quiet man was slow of thought. “You will need the guidance of the heavens tonight. I wanted to ask the angels to watch over you.”
They were almost to the ridge, and Khalid fell silent as they walked the last few yards to its crest. He was not certain of his sister’s meaning, and tumbled her words in his head. Finally, as they stopped on the rise, the setting sun aflame on the horizon, he pressed for more. “Again, why? What danger am I in?” He stopped to look into his sister’s face, searching for an answer.
Cupping her palm to his cheek, she laughed softly. “No danger, but you will need to have an open heart and a willingness to see beyond your vows tonight if you are to help Acenath overcome the horrors that still haunt her.”
Khalid furrowed his brow at the deepening of this riddle. “Tell me what you mean, little sister. I will do anything I can for Acenath, you know this. Speak clearly.”
“This concerns things that occurred in Cairo about which we have sworn to never speak.” Her voice lowered in pitch as she whispered the words that signalled the conversation had taken a serious turn.
Khalid realized that Safi meant their shared secrets of the life in the brothels, of which both had an understanding. He knew now why she had requested he take her to one of the most isolated vistas in the village. Obviously she had intended to speak to him of this and had chosen a secluded venue. “If you refer to Najima’s house I will caution you, as your brother, that it is unwise to speak of this.” He stared hard at her, wanting to impress upon her the seriousness of this matter. If they were overheard, there would be definite repurcussions.
Safi returned his stare without an iota less of determination. “It must be done, so let me be quick. When I was at the Garden of Delights, I learned many things. There are men who do not value those lessons a wife learns in such places, but Ibrahim has found them pleasurable.”
Despite is concerns over the topic of discussion, Khalid smiled slightly and answered, “Ibrahim would have loved you whether you had answered the call to duty in Cairo or not.”
“True, but I am thankful for the knowledge I gained while serving our people. You, also, were a dedicated student of Najima’s house.”
“As are many men, and I do not yet see why this must be said.” He became serious again as his eyes continued to sweep the hillside for any unwelcome ears that might overhear.
“Oh, Khalid, you are not like many men. Did you not think the other women would not tell me of your kindness and consideration? You helped many of them through the shame and heartache the service causes a virtuous woman.”
This was uncomfortable for Khalid on a personal level as well as an ethical one. Again, he urged that they move away from this topic. “We should not speak of this. We are not in Cairo and what occurs there is not to be discussed.”
“This is a silly rule. Why should we ignore the lessons given us in Cairo simply because of custom? Is it not taught that the lessons we receive in life are to be used wisely?”
“It is, as you well know, but I do not understand how this can help Acenath.”
“Tell me, Khalid, for you well know, what would be done for a girl at Najima’s if she had been abused during her duties?”
With the subject of rape now broached, Khalid now found this conversation doubly disturbing, as would any Medjai male when discussing the dishonor of a woman. He shifted his boots in the sand as if he were a youth who wished to be anywhere but where he was, and responded quietly, for he knew the answer quite well. “She would spend time in the bed of a man who would not cause her harm.”
“You were often this man, Khalid, and I am proud of your good and gentle heart. Having been raped, I understand how much this meant to those women you helped.” She smiled at her brother and wished she could lessen his extreme discomfort. Safi knew her brother felt guilt not only at Acenath’s rape, but her own. Khalid had taken onto himself the horror of her abuse, as had their father, despite neither having been in a position to stop it. Her father was aged, and Khalid was feared dead at the time, having gone missing from a skirmish months before. This did not matter, as it was the Medjai way for the males to take the sexual mistreatment of their female relatives as a personal affront. They felt shame not so much in the act, but in their inability to prevent it.
Safi knew these things for she had heard Khalid speak of them with their father while she was still recovering from her injuries. They had both thought she was asleep, but their words had been clear, as had their shame.
Khalid’s eyes were focused on the far hills, and Safi reached towards him, her hand resting on his forearm. As his eyes met hers, she tried to explain “Women look at rape in a different way, you know, from men. You see it as an insult to yourselves and your families. We, who have to live through it, understand it is not sexual, but violent. Rape is not really sex, Khalid. It is simply someone using our bodies for a brief, terrible moment. If we have something of lasting beauty with which to compare it, and if we have a good man to love us, it sweeps over us like a night wind and is gone the next day, for it was of no import. I thank Allah for the gift of my first night with Ibrahim, for I held the memory of that with me all the while I was in Cairo. It sustained me, even when I was in Nubt, with those pigs, may they languish in hell.” Her eyes sparked with a warrior’s fire, then, for she had wished each man who had abused her into an eternity of demonic torment. “I knew nothing they did could overcome the love of my Ibrahim. I knew how it was supposed to be between a man and a woman, and I could let their perversions fall away from my soul.”
Khalid now understood his sister’s meaning. “Acenath did not have such a memory to shield her from the Cybeline.”
“No, and this is why you must give her such a night now.”
This suggestion shocked him even further. His sister’s implication that he should violate their customs and bed Acenath, here, in the village, where the rules of behavior in such matters were far different than in Cairo, caused Khalid to shake his head firmly. “Safi, I cannot believe you would say this. We are not at Najima’s, and I could never allow dishonor to fall upon Acenath, Ardeth’s house, nor our family, and definitely not by my own actions. I can only assume the stress of being without your husband in this difficult time has caused your sensibilities to leave you.”
Safi was not dissuaded by her brother’s emphatic words. If he had not protested, she would have wondered if he was an imposter. “What is more important? Customs and sensibilities or Aceneth’s spirit? Is it dishonor to show her the love you hold for her?”
“She is not even of age. She is a child…”
“Who has lived through what no child her age should have, particularly one who was raised in such a sheltered way. She does not know that it will be different when you touch her. All she knows is the rape, and she is terrified. She knows none of the gentleness of sex, only the horror of the Cybeline.”
“Safi….” Khalid’s dark eyes pleaded with his sister, for, despite his protests, the logic behind her words reached him.
Smiling at her brother’s consternation, Safi continued, undeterred. “I will not return to my tent this evening. I will stay the night with our parents. Mother has prepared some amulets for the birth and we are having the holy man’s blessing on them tonight. Acenath should already be in my tent, preparing dinner. She knows nothing of this. If you wish, send her to Ameera’s; she is always welcome there. I pray the angels will guide your heart, Khalid, for that girl loves you most truly and needs your help to overcome the terrible wound in her soul.”
“Safi…” he began again, but she placed her hand gently over his lips.
“It will all be as it should be, dearest brother. I have faith that you will know what must be done if you will but trust in yourself.” She gazed towards the west, where the setting sun had painted the sky a brilliant rose. As she did, her baby squirmed, causing her to rub her belly and chuckle softly. “Your nephew is somersaulting.”
“Nephew?”
“I think so, yes, although the midwives are non-committal. I think a son first for Ibrahim, a strong boy who will fill his father’s days with pride, and then, next year, a daughter, who will fill his nights with worry.”
“Because she takes after her mother, my little sister, who is filling this night with worry.”
Safi’s light, clear laughter filled the air. How she adored Khalid, how she had always adored him, her great, warm, kind-hearted brother. “Your sister who must ask that you take her now to our parents’ tent before they worry.”
Khalid laughed as well, although still troubled by the situation his sister’s manipulations had created. How could he touch Acenath as a man does a woman, without violating their traditions? Even deeper felt was the concern that by doing so, he would break his word given to his friend and chieftain. A promise between Medjai was as binding as any law, and Khalid took this most earnestly.
Minutes later, when he bade a good night to Safi and his parents, Khalid was still at a loss as to what to do with Acenath. He would most certainly take her to Ameera’s, but he did not want it to look as if he was sending her away or rejecting her in any way. He would wait a few minutes, he decided, and share some moments of conversation before taking her to Ameera’s. He would tell her of the gazelles he came across on patrol that morning, of how lithe and swift they were. She would enjoy that, and then he would explain why she must not stay in the tent with him, not even to eat the meal. Surely she would agree that this was the proper course when he explained that Safi would not be in her own tent that night. Acenath understood their ways and would be content to adhere with them after he convinced her that it was the correct thing to do.
He had almost convinced himself of exactly this as he walked through the village.
Almost.
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 32