by Lewin, Renee
Excited about preparing a comfortable life for his wife and future children, Tareq began writing new decrees for Samhia as soon as he returned. Jem’ya helped him, inspiring him, and also distracting him. He had no choice but to take regular breaks to the bedroom with her. It took a few days for all the loose ends to be tied together, but with the help of his council he successfully drew up new borders and delegated power to new leaders. The capitol of Samhia would remain a center for international business and a model of a benevolent government. Jem’ya wrote a letter to her parents in Euclid, telling them that she and the man she loved would meet them in Tikso.
Crying, Bahja waved Tareq and Jem’ya goodbye from the palace gates. She waved her white handkerchief and watched their caravan depart for Middle Africa. The Samhizzan family palace was now Bahja’s to run. There would be a child in every room to fill the halls with innocent laughter, as Tareq had wished, because Bahja was going to run it as an orphanage. The King’s magnificent bedroom suite would be preserved, however, always kept ready for a visit from King Tareq and Lady Jem’ya.
CHAPTER NINE
Six days later
They neared the village of Tikso with a caravan of twenty camels laden with goods and gifts. Jem’ya began to cry, thinking about how her brother would not be there to greet her.
“Are you thinking of Kibwe?”
Jem’ya nodded.
Tareq brought his horse closer to hers. He reached out and lovingly massaged Jem’ya’s neck, and then he leaned sideways in the saddle to kiss her cheek and her temple. “I’m so sorry. I love you,” he said.
Jem’ya nodded and wiped the tears from her face. She could see people from her tribe forming a crowd on the perimeter of the village. “Keeeeyah!” she called. Her heart fell when they didn’t answer. Her family stood in silence, watching Jem’ya and the fair-skinned stranger near their home.
One of her father’s wives cried, “ZeeZee! Are you alright?”
“Yes. I am wonderful, Auntie,” she answered as she jumped down from her horse.
“That’s the Arab man,” one of her little girl cousins said. “He took my father into slavery, but then he freed him.”
“It’s true,” the girl’s father said. “He is the King of Samhia. He released all of the slaves in his kingdom.”
Tareq didn’t understand what they were saying. He hoped they weren’t frightened of him. He got down from his horse. Jem’ya took his hand in hers.
“He and his warriors killed seven men of our tribe! Why are you holding his hand?” her great uncle spat.
“I am his wife.”
The crowd riled at the news. “My God!” her great uncle cried. “Your brother is dead because of him!”
“See her ring?!” her father’s wife exclaimed. “Look what he’s done to our Jem’ya!”
“No! Please! He is good! I have known him many months, as a patient of mine. The battle was a tragic mistake. Look at all the things he brought for you. He is here to apologize.”
Some frowned, some stormed away, some cried, and some stared in confusion. Word spread of Jem’ya’s arrival and soon her parents were at the front of the crowd.
“He forced you into marriage?!” Papa shouted.
“No, no,” Jem’ya smiled sadly. “I am of sound mind and spirit. I have been in love with him for a long time. Please trust him. His heart is good. There is something he wants to say to you and Mama, and to everyone.” Jem’ya squeezed Tareq’s hand and nodded at him. She released his hand and went to her father’s side. She held her father’s arm to calm his anger. “He loves me. Listen to him,” she urged.
Tareq had written a speech. He’d practiced the Rwujan translation for eight days. Standing before a hundred of Jem’ya’s people, he was very nervous. He dropped to one knee in front of her parents. “Your daughter has healed me, your daughter has humbled me, and your daughter has fulfilled me. I want nothing more than to have her hand in marriage. Yet I know that the blood of your only son is on my hands forever.” He paused, wiping tears from his face and swallowing away the lump of emotion pushing against his vocal cords. He wanted so desperately to be forgiven and accepted by Jem’ya’s family, especially her parents. Tareq glanced at Jem’ya for strength. She pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss. He inhaled and continued. “I have given up my throne for you, and for Jem’ya, the woman I love. I cast off my royal title and I reject the material things of that world. I vow to protect you, all of you, with my life, for all of my life. I want to be a Tikso warrior, a warrior who fights only from the heart. Can you accept me?”
A long, heavy silence followed. Everyone stared at the Arab man, some with tears in their eyes. Did they believe him? Did they hate him still? Tareq waited for the answer.
Jem’ya’s mother shuffled toward the kneeling young man. Her husband grabbed her hand to stop her but she waved it off. Mama bowed so that she was eye level with Tareq. Her face serious, she gripped his chin and studied his eyes. She saw in them that he was being truthful. Her face softened. She touched her forehead to his. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Ye kudia,” she nodded.
“She hears you,” Jem’ya translated, smiling through tears of happiness.
“He really gave up his riches?” her father asked.
“Yes, Papa. He gave up his entire kingdom for me, and he wants no other wife but me.”
Papa was quiet for a while, struggling with this surprise. The Arab king had sacrificed power and wealth for his daughter and committed himself to only have her as his wife. In his heart, he wanted a son-in-law to appreciate his child that deeply, but in his heart was also hatred and despair. Anger began to mold his features. He clenched his teeth in bitterness. “I lost my son because of you.”
Mama stood straight. She put her hand on Tareq’s shoulder and looked at her husband. “And we can gain another.”
“This man could never replace Kibwe!”
Other members of the tribe chimed in. “Never!” “He’s a murderer!” “Don’t let our enemy into our tribe again!” “If Kibwe were here, he would beat this Arab himself for kidnapping and ruining his sister!” “He deserves to be killed.” “Brother, find your spear and make things right!” “He could never be one of us!” “Kill him!”
Jem’ya exclaimed, “You do not know his heart! There will never be a day for the rest of his life that his heart is not wounded with shame over what he’s done to us.”
Papa’s eyes were brimming with tears. “And there will never be a day in my life that I do not miss my child!” Distressed, Papa studied Jem’ya’s eyes. “Don’t you miss him, Jem’ya? It’s…as though you have forgotten him.”
“Oh, Papa.” Jem’ya embraced her grieving father. “No, I could never forget him. I’ve cried every day since he’s been gone. Just because I love Tareq, that doesn’t mean I don’t love Kibwe or don’t love you.” Jem’ya stepped back from her father and addressed her tribe. “I love all of you. I have faith that you can forgive Tareq.” She cast a loving glance at Tareq kneeling beside her mother. “Life has punished him enough.” Jem’ya scanned the now quiet crowd. “It is a blessing, our tribe. We keep each other safe and whole. Tareq didn’t have what we have. As a child, I never watched my mother’s execution, a killing ordered by my own father, the king. I was not beaten and berated by my father throughout my childhood.”
She shook her head at Papa. “I’ve never gone to battle hoping my life would end. I did not one day find myself the murderer of a man I didn’t know was the brother of the person I loved with all my heart. My father and my beloved older brother did not die in the very same day, leaving me with no one who shares my blood. I am Tareq’s only family now. He is my family, my soul mate. I cannot leave him behind. If you love me, allow me to have him in my life without losing you. Please. Look at him kneeling before you. Can you accept him?”
Her aunt cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said softly. “I can try.” Slowly, other tribe members agreed. They nodded and offered to give Tareq a
chance. Hopeful, Jem’ya looked at her father. Papa was silently crying. “He makes you happy?” he inquired.
Her lips quivered. “Thoroughly,” she smiled.
Finally, Papa looked at Tareq. Papa nodded at the man, a sign of his approval, and walked away, his wife following him. Jem’ya grinned and ran to Tareq. He stood up and they embraced, grateful and relieved. “We can be together.” She smiled and stroked the nape of his neck.
Tareq closed his eyes and held her tight. Shila kef. Thank you.
Jem’ya traced her finger through the sandy soil over her brother’s gravesite. She wrote ‘I love you’ in messy Arabic script. “I miss you so much, Kibwe. You know what I miss the most sometimes? I used to hate it when you flicked at my ears, but now I miss that. Isn’t that funny? Hmm.” She smoothed the words away with her palm. “I wish you had met Tareq as my brother instead of as my warrior. I know you two would’ve gotten along very well.” Jem’ya laughed. “And even if you didn’t like him you would pretend to like him to protect my feelings.” Her eyes watered. “You always protected me. You were fighting for me and our tribe when you died.” Jem’ya took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. “A few days ago, after my marriage ceremony with Tareq, Papa threw a celebration. Tareq wore the tribal clothing and he was given a spear. He danced in your name, in your honor,” she smiled. “I see now that I should hold on to the memories of your life tighter than I am holding on to the painful memory of your death. From now on, Kibwe, I will try to always remember you dancing.”
One year later
Tareq stepped out of the house and into the sand. It was windy, and late in the afternoon. The blue sea was dotted with the white crests of waves. He had worried about how cool the breeze was outside, but Jem’ya assured him it was safe. She was a healer, so Tareq took her word for it. While Jem’ya went for a walk on the shore, he had cooked a pot of honeyed porridge with dates. His time in Tikso had advanced his knowledge of cooking a great deal. Tareq’s bare feet pressed into the sand as he neared his wife. Her white dress fluttered around her figure. Tareq wrapped his arms around her from behind. “The food is ready, Mahsalom,” he said. She sighed, appreciative. They watched the water rushing in and out, like the sea was breathing. Tareq kissed Jem’ya’s shoulder, and then he kissed the soft, curly-haired head of their sleeping baby boy who was cradled in her arms. The past faded away. There was only love and the future.
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