The Cult of the Cybeline – 32

Acenath Joseph had a pretty singing voice, honed by years of choir practice at the Catholic orphanage where she had been raised. What she sang now, however, was far from a sacred hymn.  Instead, it was something Carrie had taught her, a silly little song with an infectious tune.  Carrie claimed such melodies got stuck in her head, and, indeed, Acenath remembered a number of times when Carrie would hum the same thing over and over again, absently, completely forgetting that she was doing it.

She remembered, too, how Carrie was the first to admit that she could not sing, but that she still liked to try. It made her feel happy, she had said, and chased away her ‘blues”. Even when they were held by the Cybeline, Carrie would half-sing, half-hum a tune to quiet her nerves. The one Acenath sang now was one that Carrie had taught her months earlier. It was a nonsensical ditty, but caused Acenath to think of her friend, who was still missing. When she was alone, Acenath often thought of Carrie and hoped she was well.

"Yes, we have no bananas
We have-a no bananas today.
Just try those coconuts
Those wall-nuts and doughnuts
There ain't many nuts like they.
We'll sell you two kinds of red herring,
Dark brown, and ball-bearing.
But yes, we have no bananas
We have no bananas today."

Khalid stood outside the tent, savoring the sweet sound of her voice. His ears, accustomed to the tonalities of Medjai music, found western songs exotic, and some of Carrie’s were simply strange, but Acenath’s voice was truly charming, even with such a ridiculous ditty as the one she sang now.  Long before love grew between them, Khalid and Acenath had shared a love of singing.  It had brought them together, in fact, when she was new to the village.

Stepping through the door flap, he lowered his head both in greeting and to avoid hitting his head on the upper brace.  Tall even by Medjai standards, Khalid had learned to duck when entering tents. As he straightened up, his eyes met Acenath’s and he smiled in greeting. She was such a pretty girl, he thought with pride, pretty and kind hearted, and she would be an exceptional wife. “Evening’s blessings on you.”

His entrance hadn’t been abrupt, but it caused a flock of butterflies to swirl in her belly.  He always made her feel that way, somewhere between delight and terror. She felt her cheeks turn hot and dipped her head quickly, offering the customary greeting and hoping Khalid wouldn’t think she was behaving like a silly child. “And on you as well.”

Her blush did not escape his notice, but he did not think it silly at all, but endearing. Walking farther into the tent, he spied a bowl of dates and popped a plump one into his mouth. He saw, too, that Acenath was wearing a new tunic and skirt, a very fetching one in a lovely shade of soft green. “I did not see you at prayers.  I am certain I would not have missed anyone as comely as you tonight. That color favors you.”

She had turned away slightly, embarrassed by her unruly nerves, but smiled at the compliment.  Indeed she had wanted to make herself pretty for him and was pleased he noticed. “I took devotions in Ameera’s tent. I didn’t want to risk ruining the meal. How was the service?”

Khalid pondered how to answer this. How was the service in which Safi had asked for Allah’s blessings upon him for taking Acenath to bed before their joining? It was a difficult question, and Khalid shrugged, stalled for a moment, ate a second date, and finally replied, “Enlightening.” It wasn’t much of an answer, he realized, and moved the conversation to something safer, dinner. “The food smells wonderful.  What have you made today, Little English?”

She had made several types of pastries, some stuffed with seasoned meats, others with vegetables and, lastly, some with a filling of sweet almonds, apricots, and spices. Ameera claimed that Khalid, as a boy, was always fond of them. “Something you like, I’ve been told,” she teased.

“We shall see,” he teased back. He walked towards the low cushions set up in a circle, the traditional Medjai dining arrangement, and sank into a plush pillow. “I like hearing you sing.  That must be one of the doctor’s songs. I think I remember hearing her sing it once, or twice, or thrice.” His voice trailed off as his eyes twinkled at his own joke.

Acenath laughed, as she knew Khalid was remembering Carrie’s habit of repeating a song over and over again. “Of course.” Sobering suddenly, she looked towards Khalid. “I miss her. Do you think she’s still alive?”

Acenath’s eyes showed her mixed blood. They were brown, as most Medjai eyes were, but held in them brilliant green flecks, a gift from her English father. Khalid found them entrancing, and it crushed his heart to see them sorrowful. Answering truthfully, for he would never lie to this girl, he quietly reassured, “It is possible, but when those I love are in danger and are away from the village, I never think of them in any way but living. Carrie is smart and strong, as is Ardeth, and surely Ibrahim has found them.  We must have faith, Little English, that our friends are on their way back to us.”

Khalid’s voice resonated with concern but also held a confidence that instantly soothed Acenath’s worries, although she did not immediately answer. He had always been able to make her feel safe, even when they were barely more than strangers and he was stringently formal and polite. In Cairo, he had protected her as diligently as he had Carrie, his manner intimidating to any who came near. When there was no danger, however, his gentle manner was apparent. She had not been around many men at the orphanage, and, at first, found the big indigo-clad Arab frightening, but then, she came to think of him as her friend.

It wasn’t long before she loved him with her entire being, as those tasting love’s first sip can. It carried with it all the girlish excitement of a first crush but was far more, and far deeper than infatuation. Young though she was, she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Khalid, and he returned the feeling whole heartedly.

It was that love that caused him to call softly to her when she remained silent. “Acenath, come and sit with me, and tell me of your day.  I missed you.” Indeed, every free moment was filled with thoughts of her.

“You were busy with Masoud, as usual.” She rarely saw him outside of the evening meal, as he was almost always conferring with Masoud and the other village elders.

“As usual,” he agreed as she sat next to him, carrying a platter of the pastries.

“Safi won’t mind if I let you have a few before dinner,” Acenath said, reminding Khalid that Safi wouldn’t mind a great many things, including his having sex with this girl.

“Safi won’t be joining us.  She is dining with our parents tonight.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say that Safi had no intention of returning at all that evening. Fragrance from the tarts, sweet, savory, and mouth-watering, wafted upwards and Khalid’s memory flashed to when he and Ardeth were boys, feasting like wild beasts on Ameera’s pastries. “Ameera helped you with these?”

“Yes.  We used herbs from her garden and her mother’s recipes. She has offered to help me select the most flavorful varieties of herbs when I plan our garden.” Medjai girls tended the small family garden when young and were expected to design their own when they became wives. Acenath was having to play catch up with these things, but was learning quickly.

Khalid, well aware that Ameera’s garden held plants used in the dark arts as well as common cooking herbs, drawled with a wink, “I hope you choose carefully.  Some of Ameera’s pretty flowers are quite deadly.”

Acenath smiled at his joke, her cheeks dimpling in a most comely way as she set the platter upon a low table.  “I’ll tell you which ones are poisoned after you eat them,” Khalid’s own smile ripened into a rich rumble of laughter and any thoughts of sending this girl away were forgotten for the moment.

“If these taste as good as they smell, then I will die happy.” He chose a meat-filled one first, his teeth sinking through the thin crust to the highly seasoned goat inside. Simmered over a fire for hours, the meat was meltingly tender, and as the juices filled Khalid’s mouth, his eyebrows lifted in appreciation.  He was instantly transported to his childhood when Ardeth and he would feast on pastries they had stolen from the stones where they had been left to cool. “Mmmmmmph,” he mumbled, his mouth full, small flakes of pastry clinging to his lower lip. As he swallowed, he nodded emphatically. “Acenath, these are marvelous. I could eat the entire platter myself.”

Teasingly, she pointed out that Khalid was not a picky eater. “Your sister says you will eat anything.”

He leaned forward, bringing his handsome face closer and she caught a whiff of the scented oils he had rubbed into his mane of black hair. He smiled broadly, his dark face filled with happiness as he agreed.  “She is right, I will, but I do not ENJOY everything.”

There was something in the way he said enjoy that made Acenath’s heart jump. The timbre of his voice, deep with manliness, played upon urges not yet fully awake in her body. Any young girl on the brink of womanhood would have felt thusly when so near the man of her heart, but for Acenath, the gentle arousing brought with it a horrible terror as it made her recall the abuse done upon her by the Cybeline.

Instantly, she shrank away from him, her manner changing like a swallow in flight, reversing suddenly and at full speed. She pushed herself up from the divan and would have gone farther had he not grasped her wrist. “Acenath?” he called, concerned.

Looking first in horror at his hand encircling her wrist, then staring into his face, she pulled away with all her strength, her panic obvious and profound. “Let me go…. let me go…” she hissed, her voice melting into a ragged sob. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Khalid did not let go, but rose to his feet, coming close to the traumatized girl. His hand still held her wrist, but gently so, while his other hand touched the tears on her cheeks.  “I will never hurt you, Little English.”

At the sound of the pet name, she stopped struggling and dropped her eyes to the ground. “You let them hurt me, Khalid,” she whispered.

He could not have been more wounded if a thousand knives, heated to glowing whiteness, had been buried in his gut. He did not argue with her, he could not, for he had often said the same thing to himself. “It is my greatest regret.  I would give my own life if it would take away your pain.” It sounded so feeble, so small, this sacrifice, compared to the misery that still haunted this darling girl he adored beyond words.

Acenath’s eyes, swimming with tears, lifted to his. She knew he loved her, and despite her inexperience with such things, there was never a doubt that her feelings matched his. She remembered how it had been before she had ever heard of the Cybeline, how the mere sound of Khalid’s voice had sent shivers of delight down her spine. The shivers were still there, but now they carried with them a terrifying reaction of unreasonable fright. “Khalid….?” Her voice was thin and tremulous, like that of a small child afraid of the dark. “I am so….I am so ….” She couldn’t find the words, and finally just pleaded, “Hold me.”

Pulling her into his embrace, he surrounded her with his powerful arms, hoping to shield her with his love. “Always, sweet one, always.” He then remembered Safi’s words to him, and again, saw the clarity of her logic. Indeed, he understood how Acenath’s wounds, which had obviously never healed, were opened anew by her own budding womanliness. Every time she felt the stirrings of arousal, remembered horrors possessed her. Still, the idea of making their physical relationship a sexual one before they were joined was difficult to accept.

Holding her was all that was needed at the moment, however, and he cradled her against his chest as she trembled, her breathing ragged. She was so young, he told himself, so fragile, and had endured so much. Very few knew just how much.  In the village, her honor was unsoiled, as the secret of her rape remained within a very small circle. How could he even think of risking that, of causing her additional distress by  touching her as a man does a woman?  If it was ever discovered, she would be branded a whore by their customs….and he, a man who placed physical urges over duty and allegiance. No, it was plain that he had to send her away, that to stay here, alone with him in this tent for the entire night, was not in her best interest.

“It will be fine, hush now, you are safe, amidst people who love you.  Hush. Calm yourself and I will take you over to Masoud and Ameera’s tent.  Nuhreen will be delighted to have you to play a game of hounds and jackals. You have become quite the master of that game, haven’t you, Little English?”

At his words, Acenath pushed away slightly, just enough to look into his face. He was smiling slightly, a warm, encouraging smile, but it did not soothe her fears. “You…you are sending me away?  You no longer want me?”

The hurt in her eyes crushed him and he rushed to reassure her.  “Of course I do, of course.  It is simply that Safi will not be sleeping here tonight and it is not right that we be alone, that is all.”

Something deep within her made her take issue with this. She was not certain what it was, for she was still shaking inside, still fearful, yet she knew she did not want to leave him. Her voice did not waver as she argued, “We are often alone.  You are still the guardian of Ardeth’s household and I am still one of your charges.”

Khalid sighed deeply. This was true.  No one had ever relieved Khalid of this duty, and it had allowed them to remain alone without arousing suspicion. Still, he persisted, telling her gently, “I should not be alone with you for the entire night.”

Acenath did not relent, reminding him that spending nights together was nothing new. “We were alone in the desert for many nights.”

Again, this was true, but Khalid qualified it. “It was different.  There was no alternative. You must not be here with me, alone. It is not proper.”

She had been raised not to argue, to be obedient, but she was on the verge of womanhood and carried in her veins the blood of warriors. She didn’t know what caused her protest, but she  was certain that she did not want to be sent away.  Her voice had become stronger, the fears melting as her determination to remain with him hardened. “I do not wish to go, Khalid.”

“Acenath…you are a child….”

She realized she did not want him to think of her as a girl, and fired back, her eyes flashing with the fire of her Medjai ancestors, “I am only a year shy of being considered a woman. I am old enough to know what I want.”

Khalid, surprised by her determination, but also, somehow, pleased by it, studied her face as if he was seeing her for the first time. The perfect answer, that he was old enough to know what was best for them both, lingered on his tongue.  As he began to speak, her small hand reached up and touched his cheek, caressing it innocently, causing his words to melt away.  “I want to stay, here, with you,” she said softly, but firmly, her eyes shimmering with emotions she was only beginning to understand.

How he wished for a heart of stone, which could steel itself against her simple words!  How he wished to be able to hold to his resolve and send her away! He wished to be a stronger man, or at least a wiser one, and closed his eyes in a silent prayer for guidance. No whispered angelic voice gave him a clear path upon which to tread, but he heard his own voice, quiet and tender. “Then stay.”

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Many miles away, as evening fell on the African highlands, Ardeth rested on his side in the lee of a small tent.  His wife and first-born child slept beside him, one from exhaustion, the other from a belly full of milk. The soft shadows of the ebbing day caressed her cheek, much as he would have, had he not worried about waking her.

Caroline was still weak from her ordeal, but, praise Allah, showed improvement.  The Nubian healer, while cautious, thought Caroline’s leg would not have to be removed. This was, Ardeth believed, nothing short of a miracle. She was still unable to nurse their child, but the Nubian women in the camp who were suckling their own willingly offered their breasts.  They also prepared drink of camel’s milk and fresh blood for Caroline, saying it would help restore her ability to feed Jabrail.

Caroline always made a horrible face before downing the stuff, and reminded Jabrail that she was drinking the concoction for him and that he had better appreciate it. Ardeth laughed softly as he recalled her expression the first time she tasted the mixture. She nearly spat it out, but swallowed it in the hopes it would, indeed, bring her milk back and allow her body to feed him.

Like him, she would do what was necessary for their child.

Ardeth did not feel right in leaving her again, so soon after nearly losing her, but knew he must.  Bands of Cybeline still roamed the area, searching for the baby they believed carried the soul of their archgallus.  A large encampment of them had been located less than a day’s ride away. Tomorrow, Ardeth would lead a hunting party to find and wipe it out.  His sister and brother would ride with him, as would Tariq and Etosha, as well as a patrol of the Nubian queen’s best soldiers.

It would be bloody work, a day of much killing, but was required if his son was to grow up free of the Cybeline shadow. Jabrail would not be safe until the cult was eradicated, all its followers killed and all who knew of his son’s link to the unholy blasphemers, destroyed.

As he had done so many times before, Ardeth prepared his soul to receive the stain of committing murder, of taking life, and closed his eyes as he whispered the cleansing prayers his father taught him many years before, prayers that reached back through time to the very early days, when the pyramids were new. To be Medjai meant to be at once one with the darkness and one with the light. So it had always been, so it would always be.

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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 33