by Megan Linski
On day four of Tajdid Alnaar, Zahid doesn’t leave my side. I know it’s on purpose. He’s making sure I don’t overwork myself again, but I’m happy to say I finished everything yesterday. Today is the day the winter festival begins in town, and when most of the public does their shopping.
Zahid and I already have our shopping done, so we enjoy the festival, take part in the games and watch the horse races.
When darkness settles and stars fall over the city, Zahid and I return to the palace to don robes made of navy velvet. The cloaks are interwoven with diamonds, traditional wear for Starlit Night.
No, they were not cheap.
We meet the people on the palace steps. Most of them dressed in navy, or, if they could not afford it, black. They cheer when we emerge. The place where Zahid died in my arms is underfoot, but I suppress a shudder and force a smile.
The priests give Zahid and I a lit candle. We proceed behind the choir, who has taken up the head of the congregation. My family is behind us, and the council behind them, with the rest of the citizens of Haya-Maa following the procession. The priests continue to distribute and light candles.
“Where do you want me? I don’t know where to go,” Shadi says, looking around him.
“Get behind me, Shadi,” I say, and I hand him a candle.
The choir begins to walk, and the rest of us follow. The journey will continue through all the streets of Haya-Maa until it returns to the palace. We will make a circle around the city and visit the houses of those who are too sick or old to join in the walk, and sing Tajdid Alnaar carols to them.
“Dark sacred night,
With light of our souls shining,
Upon this night
Our god lingers near.
Bravely, Alshams teach us,
Compassion for our brother,
And in your name
Let there be love and peace—”
“You did make the choir sound better, by some miracle,” I whisper to Shadi. “How’d you do it? Magic?”
“No magic in the world could’ve fixed that, my dear,” Shadi replies. “That takes talent.”
“Hm. Thank you, Shadi.”
I cannot sing (at all) but I like praising Alshams all the same, so I sing as loudly as I can along with the rest of the people of Haya-Maa. Shadi winces at the sound of my off-tune voice and moves away to be closer to the choir.
Instead of singing, Zahid is humming along to the tune. To be honest, he can’t sing either (I’ve heard him— we’re both awful) but I don’t believe that’s the reason he’s not joining in.
“Don’t know the words?” I ask.
“Not really,” he confesses. “But it’s a pretty song.”
Zahid doesn’t even know any holiday songs. How can I expect him to celebrate with me? He might as well be a foreigner among us. It’s almost cruel.
“The procession on Starlit Night signifies the darkness that is the world, and the light of our souls searching for Alshams,” I tell him. “It’s one of my favorite nights of Tajdid Alnaar.”
“It’s quite grim.” Zahid looks around. “Nearly like a funeral procession.”
“It is. It is death to ourselves, so that we might rise again and give birth to a better person,” I say. “Did you have these traditions in Ashana during Tajdid Alnaar?”
“My people have them all, but as I said before, I never participated.” He glances up, to the moon. “But sometimes, I watched. I always liked watching.”
The walk takes a few hours, after which the first of several parties over the next few days breaks out. Shadi immediately gets into the wine. I can tell Zahid is ready to turn in, so I bid my people goodnight and follow him inside.
After the candlelight ceremony, when Zahid is sound asleep, I sneak out of bed and put the final stiches into his present. I wrap it quietly, and slip back under the covers just as sunrise creeps over the desert.
I get a few hours of rest before I have to bustle down to the kitchens. Zahid won’t able to keep an eye on me today. As the queen, I’m overseeing all the preparation of the food, while Zahid guides the men in setting up the vast amounts of tables and chairs we’ll need, both inside and out.
“Will you be all right?” Zahid asks, curling an arm around my waist and snagging me before I slip into the kitchens.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and I give him a light kiss, out of sight of everyone. “If I need you, I will call.”
“I will be nearby.” Zahid doesn’t let my fingertips drift away from his until he’s too far away for his arm to reach. I count his footsteps as he walks away until he’s out of my sight.
Throughout the day, Shadi keeps slipping in to peek at all the dozens of dishes we’re making. He’s practically drooling all over the food.
“You’re getting in my way,” I say, and I shove him aside as I place a newly made batch of baklava (my personal favorite) on the table. “Can’t you wait?”
“But I’m so hungry,” Shadi whines. “I just want to smell it!”
“You act like I don’t know how you feel. Do you know how difficult it is to cook when you’re fasting?” I hiss. “It’s nearly impossible. I’m starving!”
Thank Alshams the fast ends tonight. I can’t spend another day hungry.
I chase Shadi out with a towel and get back to cooking. When we’re so blissfully close to being ready to start the feast, the rest of the women and I begin transitioning the dishes from the kitchen to the feasting tables in the throne room. The tables wrap around the entire area in a giant circle. People from all over the sultanate will line up to be served here.
It comforts me that everyone in my kingdom will have a warm meal tonight. I can’t give everyone a wonderful Tajdid Alnaar, but I can at least make sure they eat— even just for one day.
When I’m about to move the fiftieth dish of beef kabob we’ve made, my sister Pottina stops me. She grabs me by the arm and halts me in place.
“What now?” I sigh dramatically, assuming the cooks have dropped another roast lamb again.
“We need to speak with you,” my mother says. My sisters, all six of them, swarm around me like vultures on a carcass.
“Your husband has hardly put any effort into the holidays this year,” Du’a says. “It’s offensive. People are starting to notice.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, though it’s not really a question.
“It’s become obvious that he… isn’t exactly enjoying the ceremonies. If he doesn’t show up to temple tomorrow night, your subjects will be offended. No one wants an infidel lording over them,” Istilah explains.
Her voice is kind, and she means well. But her words… they make me so angry.
Yes, I’m upset with Zahid, for the same reasons my family is. His behavior isn’t presentable, and a little off-putting. I want him to enjoy Tajdid Alnaar as much as everyone else.
But, unlike them, I am not willing to force Zahid into doing something he does not want to do. I won’t do what my family did to me for so many years.
I will not make him do anything, ever. The prospect of doing that to him makes me want to call Tajdid Alnaar completely off.
I take a deep breath and face my sisters. “You will show the sultan respect,” I say harshly. “He has been through much, and has his reasons for not celebrating as much as the rest of us do. If he wants to forsake Tajdid Alnaar altogether, I am willing to let him.”
“Bennua, that is simply not acceptable,” Mother butts in. “You must demand he take a greater role! When your father was sultan—”
“No, Mother. That isn’t how it’s going to be,” I say sharply. “I am the queen, and you are living in my palace. This is my sultanate, and I have sovereignty over all of you. None of you will utter another word about my husband, in my presence or anyone else’s. He and I will celebrate the holidays as we see fit, not as you think we should.”
I storm off before I say anything else, or before I have to call the guards to haul my family away. Wouldn’t that be a scandal.
I will always defend Zahid. No matter if he is wrong or right, or if I agree with him, no one is allowed to criticize or condemn my husband.
Perhaps this doesn’t have to be the best holiday ever. Maybe, for Zahid, good enough is good enough.
I’m finally, slowly, beginning to understand him.
The feast is finally ready. Zahid returns from organizing the tables outside. His smile is bright, like he was enjoying himself. Probably telling jokes and messing around with the other men.
“What’s wrong?” he asks instantly when he sees me. I wipe the sour look off my face and replace it with a smile.
“Nothing,” I tell him gently, and I stroke his lower back lightly before anyone sees. “Let’s eat.”
I load Zahid’s plate with shish tawook, samosas, biryani and kheer before reaching for my own. A few hours later, after the food has settled and the conversation has died down, the band strikes up. People push the tables out of the way and begin to dance, filling the room with laughter and music.
Obviously, I join in. It has been forever since I last expressed joy through my body and song. Servants and subjects alike cheer when I rise from my seat, and part the way as I begin to twirl in a circle, the gap widening as I dance song after song.
Zahid doesn’t join in, but he watches me. I don’t think his eyes leave me the entire time. It only makes me dance better.
My sisters and mother observe us with judgmental eyes. Let them. I do not care for their opinions.
When I’m tired out and can dance no more, I return to Zahid’s side. “I think I’m done for the night,” I rush. “Far… far too much wine.”
“Then you’d better stop, or you won’t be sober enough to enjoy tomorrow,” he teases. Under the table, he tugs lightly on my skirt. Through the buzz of the wine, my curiosity is tickled.
“What do you mean? What do you have planned for tomorrow?”
“It’s something you’ll like,” he promises, and his eyes glitter. “You’ll see.”
I have no idea what Zahid has planned on the sixth day, but I follow his requests to meet him the next morning at the bottom of the staircase without asking any questions.
“Are you down there?” Zahid calls from up above. I haven’t seen him all morning— he was gone when I got up. What’s he up to?
“I’m here!” I shout. I even wore the colors he requested today, a red and green mantle. “What’s all this about?”
Zahid steps out. He wears a velvet red robe, with the hood hiding his hair and tall black boots. A fake white beard is tied around his head. He holds his arms out as he descends the staircase and grins.
“Oh, by Alshams.” I put a hand over my mouth and chuckle as he reaches the bottom. “You’re Qdis Amaan!”
“Don’t laugh,” he says. “You’re my helper.”
He opens the door. Outside, a camel is hooked to a cart, and large velvet bags stuffed with toys sit inside of it. Servants are circled around the cart. They are dressed in robes that are less elaborate, but in the same colors as mine. A few musicians are positioned at the front of the cart. They play a Qdis Amaan song.
Zahid gets on the cart and takes the reins. I sit beside him. He tells the camel to go forward. As the cart clatters through the city streets, children come screaming out of their homes. They have wide smiles and large, sparkling eyes. The servants begin distributing toys among them— wooden horses and leather balls, tiny dolls with handmade dresses, and soft cakes and sweets.
The children are more preoccupied with the presence of their hero, Qdis Amaan, than presents and shiny things. The children climb up onto the cart and sit on Zahid’s lap and pull on his fake white beard and whisper in his ear what they want for Tajdid Alnaar.
I want one so badly.
Zahid plays the part well. He deepens his voice and holds the children, and lets them ride on the camel as we go down every road and side street in Haya-Maa, until even the poorest districts have been visited and every child in the city has a toy.
It’s ridiculously attractive how good he is with kids. He really loves giving things away to children. He’d make such a good father.
And you’re the reason he isn’t—
“Stop,” I whisper to myself. Zahid catches me at it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as we start to head back to the palace. By this time, it’s twilight, and the land is growing even colder— we’ve been at this all day. I shiver.
“Just… bad thoughts, I suppose.” I wrap my mantle closer around my body. “They’ve been plaguing me recently.”
“Care to share?”
“No.” I look away from him. “I don’t want to bother you with it.”
“You aren’t bothering me.”
“They’re not real, in any case.” I let out a short breath. “Just… scary. And a little mean.”
Zahid raises an eyebrow and gives me one of those looks that I can’t escape from.
“I… I merely wish we had one of our own,” I confess. “It’s nice being able to give the children in our sultanate a good holiday, but Tajdid Alnaar is more special when you have a son or daughter to spoil. And if it wasn’t for me—”
“It’s not your fault,” he says instantly. “We’re trying.”
“I know we are.” I settle against the cart. “But I want to know why it hasn’t happened already. Or, rather, why Alshams doesn’t see me fit to be a mother.”
“Don’t say that. The time isn’t now,” he replies.
He waits for a moment, then adds, “It’s not just that, though, is it?”
“No.” I shrug. “My thoughts— they’re about a lot of things, I suppose. And I don’t believe they’ll go away anytime soon.”
“To convince yourself otherwise would be cruel. But you seem better today.”
Softly, he adds, “It’s the first I’ve seen you truly happy since Rukuh left our borders.”
“I am happy.” I adjust my veil. “But a little sad underneath it all.”
He takes my hand. “We’ll get through it. Together.”
Then adds, as an afterthought, “And as far as children… well, let’s get around to making some so they can be around by next Tajdid Alnaar.”
“I don’t think it’s possible. I can’t conceive,” I say sorrowfully.
“How do you know we’re not trying hard enough?” Zahid laughs lowly.
I smirk. “I think we’ve got that part handled.”
Zahid laughs again, and I lean against him as the camel jogs into the stables. I can only hope for a bit of Tajdid Alnaar magic.
Maybe next year, my wish will be granted.
I wake up to the sound of birds singing the next morning. It is as if the whole world is proclaiming Alshams’ glory.
And today is my most favorite of all days.
As if shocked by lightning I bolt upright, jump out of bed and rush to the window. I yank the curtains open, feeling like belting out a Tajdid Alnaar carol.
It’s a beautiful morning. Quiet. Still. And the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen. A giant red orb rises over the desert. The light of Alshams bathes everything in a white and golden haze. Today, it’s almost like heaven has reached earth.
I run back to bed and jump on it, on top of Zahid. He makes an oomph when I land on his stomach.
“Wake up!” I say. I grab his shoulder and roughly shake him awake. “Zahid, wake up! It’s Tajdid Alnaar!”
Zahid groans and pushes me off. “It’s barely sunrise!” He grabs his pillow and puts it over his head. “Go back to sleep!”
“Nooooooo!” I keep shaking him until his head turns. One mischievous eye peeks out from under the pillow.
“All right. You win.” Zahid yawns as he sits up. I clap my hands eagerly, and he chucks the pillow at me. It hits me in the face.
We dress quickly with the clothes the servants left out for us last night. Well, I dress quickly— Zahid takes forever.
Zahid staggers to the side table and taps Shadi’s lamp on it. “Hey! Get
up, you lazy djinn! It’s Tajdid Alnaar, and apparently everyone cares!”
Smoke filters from the lamp’s spout. Out comes Shadi. He’s dressed in a silk robe and nightcap, holding a goblet of what looks like coffee and looking bleary-eyed.
“Who’s everyone?” Shadi asks, looking around.
“Bennua,” Zahid says simply.
“Oh, by Alshams.” Shadi rubs his face like he’s having a crisis because we woke him up early.
“Hurry up, you two!” I say. “Presents are waiting for us underneath the tree!”
“Was she like this last year?” Shadi asks Zahid.
“Even worse.” Though sleepy, Zahid gazes at me fondly. It’s almost as if he thinks I’m being cute. Oh, I’m so nervous. I hope he likes my present.
Although it’s not dignified, I practically run downstairs. I light up and squeal when I see all the beautiful gifts piled underneath the tiny, crooked tree Zahid planted. Tiny candles burn around the tree and all throughout the throne room, illuminating it with delicate light.
My sisters and mother are already downstairs. The servants aren’t here. It’s just my family and I. I gave the rest of the sultanate the day off.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Zahid?” I ask him
“Yes,” Zahid says, though he’s not looking at the presents. He’s looking at me.
I have everyone else open their presents first. I more or less don’t care about mine. I get more excited watching everyone open what I got them. My sisters and mother complain about the handmade dresses and matching veils embroidered with priceless jewels I gave them, but I ignore them. Even they’re not ruining today.
“Here you are, Shadi,” I say, and I hand him a small wooden box as my sisters and mother go to their rooms to try on the dresses. “This is for you.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything, Bennua,” Shadi says, though he snatches the box out of my hands.
“You know I would never do that. I get Tajdid Alnaar presents for people I don’t even like,” I reply.
“What are they?” Shadi asks, peeking inside the box.
“Earplugs,” I tell him.
