Barid's Story

by J F Mehentee

  ‘That second time we were bound, while you were unconscious and I was awake, I discovered the secret you’ve kept from me these past nine years.’

  He could only be talking about one thing. I concentrated on how my hip ached, hoping it would wipe any concern from my face.

  ‘All those years, you felt that way about me,’ Noor continued. ‘Had feelings for me, continued to have them.’ He shook his head again. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  I felt Noor’s stare, but I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed, repulsed or—worse—both.

  ‘I’m sorry for feeling that way,’ I said. ‘It’s wrong, but I couldn’t help it, and I still can’t help it. I’d never act on those feelings, Noor, believe me. I would never do anything to hurt you.’

  ‘Wrong answer,’ he said.

  I pushed the small of my back against the wall, used my hip’s pain to calm myself. ‘Why? What else do you want me to say?’

  ‘It’s not how you feel about me that’s upsetting, but that you never thought to share those feelings. What kind of person do you think I am, Barid?’

  So, he was disappointed. But why was he upset about not being told? A question rose in my throat that I was reluctant to ask. Until I asked it, I had hope, the possibility of a future that, until this moment, I hadn’t dared to consider.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Noor said. ‘What kind of person do you think I am that you couldn’t tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want my feelings to come between us, to jeopardise our friendship, especially while we were still bound.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me after the binding?’

  I shrugged one shoulder. ‘Nothing had changed. We still had to live and fight together. Telling you would only have made things difficult. And how could I have fought beside you, protected you, if my feelings had driven us apart? It was enough that I loved you. It wasn’t perfect, but given our circumstances, it was enough.’

  ‘Now that I know, what am I supposed to do?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing. We still have two years of service left.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You still don’t understand.’ He stood, his arms crossed and brows knitted.

  ‘What? What don’t I understand?’

  ‘You still don’t know why I’m upset with you.’

  ‘Is it because’—I took a deep breath—‘you feel the same way I do?’

  Noor sighed, then shook his head.

  My chest felt so heavy, I thought I’d crumple into myself.

  ‘Like the rest of the intake,’ he said, ‘you’re an important part of my life. But, binding or no binding, you’re much more than that. Sometimes, I can’t tell if an opinion I have is really mine or yours. When I saw you out there in the desert, saw you fall, I was ready to sacrifice myself to save you, because I knew that a life without you wouldn’t be worth living.

  ‘But you hid your feelings from me, feelings similar to the ones some of the brothers share, feelings that we all turn a blind eye to.’

  ‘I was trying to protect you.’ I cringed at how desperate I sounded.

  Noor nodded slowly. ‘That’s always been the problem, Barid. You’ve always protected me. But what if I felt the same way as you did?’

  ‘But you don’t. You just shook your head.’

  ‘Such a relationship had never crossed my mind, because I was under the impression it hadn’t crossed yours. That’s why I shook my head. Perhaps, if I’d known earlier, we’d be even closer.’

  ‘And what if you knew but didn’t feel the same way?’

  ‘Then we’d have found a way of dealing with it. Just like we’ve always done.’

  My mouth felt dry. I swallowed. ‘Now that you know, what are we doing to do?’

  ‘Nothing. Like you said, we still have two years of service. Then we have the rest of our lives to figure things out. You and I, we share a bond. So long as we don’t keep secrets from each other, it will only get stronger. I know I want to share my life with you, Barid. Let’s wait until we become citizens of the sultanate. After that, we’ll figure out how to share that life.’ Noor reached down and squeezed my hand. He smiled. ‘Are you still hungry?’

  I wasn’t, but I nodded.

  Noor picked up the empty bowl. ‘I’ll get you some more broth, then.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I croaked, my throat constricted.

  I watched him go, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

  30

  Boulos received his payments each year. By our tenth and final year of service, half the original intake remained. That last payment to Boulos was only possible thanks to Master Nibras.

  Whenever I was on leave, I was back at the Tabaqa’s forge, honing my skills, dreaming of the day when I could lay down my sword and lift only those that I’d made. I think Nibras knew, knew all along, about what we’d done for Noor.

  He offered to sell a sword that I’d just made. It was my finest work to date and, though I’d not mentioned it to Nibras, I’d made it for Noor.

  ‘I could get you a good price,’ Nibras said. ‘It would help settle any debts you might have.’

  I should have challenged him then, asked him why he thought I owed money, but I was too preoccupied with finding a reason to decline his offer. I wanted to enjoy the look on Noor’s face when I gave him the sword.

  Checking its weight for a second time, Nibras said, ‘A sword as fine as this would be worth twenty darics to an emir.’

  No one would have to contribute this final year, and what remained could be used to make our last night as warriors a memorable one. I thought of the countless opportunities I’d have to make Noor a sword, a sword that surpassed the one Nibras held.

  If only I’d challenged Nibras and asked him what he knew, I might then have prevented what happened next.

  31

  I left for Boulos’s house with a lightness of step.

  ‘Two more days until retirement,’ I said to Noor. I had to raise my voice above the hubbub of the weekly market, which hugged the road that led us away from the Tabaqa. ‘Has it really been ten years?’

  Noor looked at me, a pained smile stretching his lips. His father’s failing health had left him taciturn. According to both Master Sanna’s physician and the sultan’s magus, he had perhaps six months before the tumours they’d found overcame him.

  I reached into my pouch. ‘Here,’ I said, and handed him my father’s ring. ‘I want you to have this.’

  ‘But it’s your father’s.’

  We’d stopped in the middle of the road, causing people to grumble as they milled around us.

  ‘I want you to have it,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ I said, feeling self-conscious, ‘I want you to know that you’ll never be alone.’

  ‘So, I really am stuck with you?’ He grinned mischievously.

  ‘You are,’ I replied, glad to catch a glimpse of the old Noor.

  He slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. ‘Unlike the last one, this fits.’

  ‘I adjusted it,’ I said. ‘Two rings hanging from that skinny neck of yours and you’d topple over.’

  32

  Taking our seat amongst his numerous cushions, we declined the drinks Boulos offered.

  ‘You should refresh yourselves before we deal with the matter at hand,’ Boulos said.

  ‘Here is your matter.’ Noor tossed the bag of money. It landed at Boulos’s feet. ‘And that’s the end of our business. Now give me back my book.’

  Boulos scooped up the bag and weighed it in his hand. ‘Unlike some of my other customers, you’re prompt with your payments. You’ve never caused me the slightest concern. That’s why, Noor Halabi, I wish to continue doing business with you.’

  ‘Give me back my book,’ Noor said. ‘There’s no more business between us.’

&nb
sp; ‘I hear that your poor father is unwell,’ Boulos said. ‘It would be a shame if he learns of how you came to be an El’ Zamu before he dies.’

  I reached for Noor, but he was too fast for me.

  Noor locked his hands around Boulos’s neck, his knuckles as white as his face. ‘Give. Me. My. Book.’

  If it had been any other El’ Zamu, Boulos’s neck would have snapped.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said, lifting Noor off him. ‘You won’t get your book back if he’s dead.’

  A bull-necked servant entered the room at the sound of his master’s coughing. Boulos shooed him away.

  ‘Listen to your friend,’ Boulos said. He rubbed his neck, then wiped the tears from his eyes.

  Every fibre within me twisted when I caught Boulos staring at Noor’s right hand—more specifically at my father’s ring. I cursed myself and then Boulos when I saw him smile.

  ‘So, it’s true that my binding’s had a lasting effect upon the two of you,’ Boulos said. He adjusted his cushions. ‘It’s made the two of you, one might say, close. A closeness that would make others very uncomfortable if they knew.’

  It was my turn to lose my temper. ‘Why can’t you just leave us alone?’ Noor’s book was the only thing preventing me from finishing what Noor had started.

  ‘Why? Why won’t I leave you alone?’ Boulos said. ‘First, because I’m a businessman. And second, because I hate everything to do with your wretched Tabaqa. It’s a good day when I can make one of your kind suffer, just as I suffered when those hypocrites expelled me. Do you think the masters don’t know about your binding? Were the magi so dumb, they couldn’t sniff the weave of my work? You’re fools if you think you got away with hiding it.’

  Boulos stood, his face as red as the marks on his neck. ‘They turned a blind eye for you two, for you Halabi, so that your hero father might realise his stupid dream. But not me. No. One mistake and I’m out, my reputation ruined, my dream spat on by those who’d look the other way for one of their own kind.

  ‘So, no, Barid, I won’t leave you alone. I won’t leave you alone, because there aren’t enough gold darics in Tun Do to satisfy my need to see you suffer.’ Boulos stopped and adjusted his robes. As he did so, his breathing steadied and his red flush began to fade. I didn’t like the way he took his time. ‘It’s my hope that you become the best swordsmith in this tun,’ he continued, his eyes taunting me, ‘because Noor’s income from planting and cutting the Sultan’s trees won’t be enough to pay the five darics a month you’ll owe me for my silence.’

  If I didn’t hate the man so much, I would have sat down. Boulos had to know that he was asking the impossible.

  ‘Now get out of my house,’ Boulos said, pointing at the door. ‘Never come here again. A servant will come to collect my money at the end of each month.’

  As we approached the door, Boulos called out, ‘When your father dies, Noor, don’t think that it ends our arrangement. From now on, you’ll be watched closely. Every look, every touch will be used against you if payment is not forthcoming. I’m sure the Sultan will want to make examples of you both so that everyone will know that such disgusting behaviour won’t be tolerated. I hope I make myself clear.’

  We left meekly, unable to speak and utterly destroyed.

  33

  Two days after our meeting, Wallid Boulos was found by a servant in his bed, his left arm flayed, a knife protruding from his chest. Carved into the ivory handle was the name Sanna Halabi, the knife a gift to Noor’s father from the sultan.

  That same morning, Noor found his father slumped over the table in his small office. Beside him was a broken phial, a drinking bowl of cold tisane and the first edition of the book he’d written, his gift to Noor after placing first during his second year at the Tabaqa. The book was open and a new inscription had been added below the first congratulatory message:

  * * *

  You outdid the unfairness of my hopes, Noor.

  No father could be as proud as I am.

  * * *

  It was Nibras who found me, alone in the stables, grooming my horse. In two hours we would ride out, receive our medals of service and dismount our horses as citizens of the sultanate. He told me about the knife, how Noor’s father had tortured and killed Boulos before taking his own life.

  The evening after our meeting with Boulos, Noor had told me that he’d had enough, that he’d done everything to fulfil his father’s wishes. ‘Being an El’ Zamu was a part of my life that I chose to live for him,’ he’d said. ‘Retirement and what comes after it is my choice.’

  It never dawned on me that Noor would tell his father about Boulos blackmailing us. Knowing what he’d done for his son, I saw Master Sanna in a new light, saw why so many within the Tabaqa were prepared to look the other way. How, I wondered, would Noor see things?

  ‘Where’s Noor?’ I asked Nibras.

  He shook his head. ‘He surrendered himself to the Sultan.’

  ‘Why? Why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘To protect you,’ Nibras said. ‘An investigation has already started. By placing himself at the centre of it and admitting that he was being blackmailed by Boulos, Noor hopes to divert attention away from you and the other El’ Zamu.’

  ‘But he’ll be punished,’ I said.

  Nibras wiped sweat from his bald head.

  ‘You’re right, he’ll be punished,’ he said. ‘But for him, it would be far worse if the rest of you are implicated. Noor’s admitted to having Boulos prepare a potion for enhancing his strength. He didn’t mention the binding.’

  And there it was: Nibras’s indirect admission that he knew about what we’d done. Boulos had spoken the truth.

  ‘If you knew what we’d done, why didn’t you do anything about it?’

  Nibras shook his head. ‘What was there to do?’ he replied. ‘The binding was a brilliant idea. The money you paid Boulos made and kept you all a tight unit. I admit that when I learned that you were doing business with that man, I and the other masters were concerned. But a former student of mine, a member of the Sultan’s spy network, kept a protective eye on you and made sure that Boulos received nothing other than the money he was owed.

  ‘In battle, no master can hold his student’s shield for him. The same applied to your agreement with Boulos. That Noor cheated was wrong, and what I and the other masters did, especially keeping the truth from Sanna, was dishonest. But life is complicated, Barid, and sometimes, one value must displace another to stop things from getting worse. Dishonesty was a price worth paying if it meant helping Noor and protecting Sanna from himself.’

  ‘When can I see Noor?’

  Nibras shook his head again. ‘Attend this afternoon’s ceremony, receive your medal of service, then leave Tun Do.’

  ‘My life is here in Tun Do. I won’t leave.’

  ‘It’s what Noor wants. He doesn’t want you here. He doesn’t trust you.’

  ‘What do you mean, he doesn’t trust me? Why, after all these years, would he say such a thing? How could he possibly think that I might harm him?’

  ‘Calm yourself, Barid.’ As he’d often done before, Nibras placed his hand on my shoulder. Again, I felt the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on me. ‘Noor will be punished. He knows that. And he also knows that you’ll worry that he might not survive the twenty lashes required for such a crime against the Tabaqa. That’s why he wants you gone, before he’s sentenced, and before you try to interfere. Noor doesn’t want your life ruined because of him. Everyone knows how close the two of you are. You could be implicated. That’s why Noor wants you to leave.’

  Nibras exhaled so loudly it sounded like a sigh. ‘It would be worse on Noor if you shared his disgrace,’ he continued. ‘His father died because of him, Barid. Sanna knew that killing Boulos was the only way to break his hold on you and Noor. He must have been certain that Noor would survive the flogging, and he was prepared to sacrifice himself and his reputation to free his son. Noor must live with that sac
rifice. Don’t burden his conscience by staying.’

  My childhood friend, the man I’d served with and the man with whom I hoped to share my retirement was being ripped from me.

  ‘Here,’ Nibras said. He handed me a book. ‘Noor wanted you to keep it safe for him.’

  It was the first edition Noor had given to Boulos.

  ‘Go to Tun Bistse,’ Nibras said. ‘Find somewhere that needs a man with your skills and wait for him.’

  ‘Why Tun Bistse?’ I knew nothing of the place.

  ‘You’ll be easy to find. It’s a tun filled with farms and kots and little else. You’re to take some saplings from Sanna’s shed. Plant one wherever you settle so that Noor will know where to find you.’

  ‘How long does he plan on being away that he’ll need a tree to find me?’

  ‘After the flogging, there’ll be a financial forfeit, perhaps the amount that was loaned to his father when Noor joined the Tabaqa. It could take him years before he’s paid what he owes and is allowed to leave Tun Do.’

  Noor’s plan sounded absurd.

  I felt the smoothness of the book’s leather binding against my palm. So long as I held on to that book, and so long as men like Nibras remained in Tun Do to watch over Noor, there was hope, not as much as I wanted, but at least some. Standing in the stable with Nibras’s hand resting on my shoulder, I knew I had to be strong, as much for Noor as for myself. I had to leave so Noor had a reason to survive his punishment.

  I thanked Nibras and watched him leave. Once he was gone, I went back to grooming my horse.

  What else could I do?

  34

  Barid looked up from his wooden bowl. Shadows now filled the corners of the forge, and a grey hue had transformed what he remembered of the morning light. His buttocks and hamstrings ached from sitting in the same position.