by Beth Brower
“It feels like we’ve hardly spoken these last weeks,” Basaal said, approaching where Eleanor sat bundled in a cloak and an increasingly dirty blanket. He offered her a drink of water.
“We haven’t,” Eleanor said, accepting the drink. “I believe Annan promised we will soon come to a city?”
“Yes, the day after tomorrow,” he said. “We will stay there two nights, securing food and water for our month in the dessert.”
“Am I too hopeful to expect a bath?” Eleanor asked, wanting desperately to be clean.
Basaal crouched beside her, watching her with the same expression one would have if remembering a favorite melody almost forgotten. She handed him his water pouch, and his eyes lingered on her face before he answered her question.
“I think more comforts than that can be arranged,” he said.
Nodding, she braced herself for two more days of travel. She combed her hair with her fingers, as best she could, braiding it down her back. Basaal moved about the tent, half-humming to himself, checking his weaponry to be sure it was in order before securing it all in place. When he noticed Eleanor’s taken aback expression, he shrugged, an almost shy smile crossing his handsome face.
“I have been away from my home for a long time,” was all the explanation he gave for his fine mood.
***
Alliet was a welcome sight, and the company rode into the city mid-afternoon the next day. It was not a large city but a fair one, with beautiful buildings made from the same dark stone the company had passed the week previous. Basaal’s company wound through the streets among many curious glances, entering the gates of a large building that was beautiful and well crafted.
“A dwelling of the seven princes,” Annan told Eleanor.
“A dwelling?” she asked. “How many do they have?”
“Countless,” Annan said. “It is a large empire, and the princes are very wealthy.”
Before them, Basaal dismounted, giving strict orders to a groom before handing him the reins of his black horse. Annan helped Eleanor dismount Hegleh, and they followed Basaal through the ornately carved front doors. All the floors were covered in bright tiles, beautiful in pattern and in color. Then a woman stepped forward, and Basaal exchanged a few words with her as he motioned towards Eleanor. The woman listened carefully and bowed to Basaal before leading the company up the stairs to a suite of several rooms.
Once inside, the woman immediately whisked Eleanor away into a side room, where, to Eleanor’s great relief, there was a large brass tub, filled with warm water. Most likely, it was prepared as a welcome for Prince Basaal, but Eleanor didn’t care. She stripped off her worn clothing and stepped into the clean, scented water.
It rushed around her face as she submerged, and Eleanor brushed her hair away as she lifted her head above the water and leaned back with her eyes closed. The relief of it was so great Eleanor gave a single wobbly, unstable sigh and then, without warning, began to sob.
***
Basaal paced outside the closed door. The maidservant had taken Eleanor—tired, spent, and bound in a soft robe—into the small bedchamber after her bath. It was a long time before the woman came out, quietly closing the door behind her. Then the maidservant bowed before him.
“Is she well?” he asked. Had he been home and had his maidservant, Hannia, taken charge of Eleanor, he was certain he would have received an earful. But this maidservant would not chastise him and only nodded humbly, adding, “She is greatly fatigued, Your Grace, in body and spirit.”
“May I go in to her?” Basaal asked.
A conflicted expression weighed on the woman’s face.
“As you may wish, Your Grace,” the woman said before adding tentatively, “But, I have seen that she is asleep.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, then.”
He had heard Eleanor crying from the other room, and, for reasons unknown to him, it had almost thrown him into a panic. The maid had seen to Eleanor with care, and, for that, he was grateful and inexplicably irritated.
“See the bath emptied and refilled,” he commanded. “I also desire to rest early tonight.”
***
Eleanor slept soundly and deeply. She did not even dream.
When morning came, the light from a narrow window opened her eyes. Instead of rising, she turned over and slept again. She did not know how late it was when the maidservant finally coaxed her awake.
“I have clothes for you,” she said in broken Imirillian. At first, Eleanor was confused by this woman’s struggle with the language until she remembered that this was a woman of Alute, a country conquered by Imirillia only ten years before. Eleanor forced herself up, and the maid helped her shed her soft robe.
“Your old clothes,” she said. “They are worn thin. I have found new undergarments for you to wear.” She produced soft, white effects. “When you go into the desert, you will wear these.” She motioned towards a pile of white clothing and a headscarf. “You will wrap this around your face like so for protection against the sand and sun,” she explained as she demonstrated on her own face. “Covering all except for your eyes.”
Eleanor thanked the maid but dismissed her, dressing herself carefully. The skin underneath Eleanor’s eyes was tight, and her throat was sore when she swallowed. She felt as if she had slept but was not rested, and the day passed too quickly. Eleanor spent her time in her bedchamber or the common room just outside her door. Annan came into the chamber once, to inform Eleanor that he and a guard waited outside.
“What of Prince Basaal?” she asked Annan.
“He sees to the preparations for crossing the Aronee.”
“And we leave tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Annan said, and then he left.
Eleanor brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and stared at the palm trees outside the window.
***
Basaal stood with Taiz, the property steward, overseeing the purchases in the courtyard.
“I’ve packed more water than usual,” Taiz said, running through the inventory with the prince. “You shall be very comfortable.”
The prince walked slowly along the line of the newly arrived supplies, which were waiting to be packed and prepared. “How many additional animals will we need?” Basaal asked.
“I’ve already secured a dozen,” Taiz said. “Later this afternoon, I can—” A noise interrupted Taiz, and Basaal turned towards the shouting.
A man in poor clothing was being dragged over the cobbles towards him. The beggar’s legs were falling beneath him as two soldiers pulled him along, taking extra pains to make it a miserable journey. They threw the man at Basaal’s feet.
“What has this man done?” Basaal asked sharply, looking from his men to the trembling figure on the ground.
“We found him trying to leave with this,” the senior soldier said, raising his arm to reveal a small bag of dried fruit.
“From our stores?” Basaal inquired.
The soldier nodded.
On the ground, the man was trembling. His arms were wrapped over the back of his neck, and he was filthy, desperate. “Please,” he said, his small voice whispering his pathetic plea. “Please.”
The other soldier kicked the man, who yelped in pain. Basaal motioned that soldier away and frowned. Everyone in the courtyard stood, watching him. The image of the small boy who had stolen from his neighbors in Faenan fen came to Basaal’s mind—Eleanor had shown him great mercy. Basaal chafed now against the knowledge that the strict laws of his father gave no leeway for mercy toward thieves.
“Where do you live?” Basaal inquired of the man.
The wretch did not lift his head but answered, the words shaking against each other as they rose from the ground. “Here, in Alliet, in the western streets.”
“And do you have a profession?” he asked.
“I work with a carpenter.”
Basaal grimaced. “You know the penalty for stealing in the Imirillian Empire, surely.”
A whimper was t
he only response Basaal received. Silence surrounded him as all in the courtyard stood, watching. He thought of a thousand merciful answers that he could give, but then a flash of purple moved against the far wall. Basaal did not look at the Vestan’s face, but he knew his actions would be reported to the emperor.
“Which is your lead hand?” Basaal asked quietly, and the man moved his right hand. “There is nothing I can do for you,” he said more loudly. “You know the law.” The prince turned towards Taiz. “Take his left hand, and see him away. Give him the fruit,” he added. “He’ll have paid for it.”
Basaal walked away as the carpenter began to scream.
***
Eleanor could hear screaming beyond the window of her room. It seemed to be a desperate cry of pain, turning short and repetitive until it grew distant, as if someone had pushed the pain past a door.
The sound was interrupted by the stomp of footsteps on the tiled floor of the common room. Eleanor knew it was Basaal, for she could hear him cursing. Something crashed against a wall, the pieces sounding like discordant bells as they fell to the tiles. Then there was no sound. Eleanor’s door was ajar, so she slipped over in her bare feet and peered out.
Basaal knelt prostrate on the ground, his head cradled in the crook of his arm on the floor, his other arm brought up, covering his neck, as if he would hide. He was speaking the same words over and over, but Eleanor couldn’t understand them. It was a pitiable lamentation.
Eleanor pressed her cheek against the door, watching Basaal’s prayer, feeling it mirroring her own emotions—raw, rubbed too many times. What had happened? Did it have anything to do with the screaming in the courtyard?
Sinking to the floor, Eleanor leaned her head back against the wall, listening to Basaal’s unintelligible words as if they could somehow soothe her, and she wished she could be gone from this place. After a time, he was silent. Looking back through the sliver between the door and wall, Eleanor could see that Basaal was now kneeling up, his eyes towards the window, his hand absentmindedly running along his bare forearm, where his Safeeraah should be.
“If you still wish, I will help you seal your Safeeraah.” Eleanor heard these words cross her lips before she had even decided to speak them.
Basaal turned his head towards her. His face was unreadable and his eyes, as heavy as stones, wandered slowly about what little he could see of her face before he answered. “It is a very personal thing. Probably, I shouldn’t have asked you. Are you—are you certain?”
Eleanor nodded, feeling her cheek rub against the cold face of the stonewall. “Only tell me what I must do.”
“I will need some time to prepare.” Basaal stood and took himself through the door opposite Eleanor’s.
When he emerged after what, Eleanor guessed, was almost an hour later, she pulled herself up and opened wide the door to her chamber. He entered, the same small bag in his hand, handing it to Eleanor without looking at her with his red-rimmed eyes.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“You kneel—” he began. “No, I—I should kneel before you.” Basaal said these words deliberately but kept them close to himself somehow, like he didn’t want Eleanor to look at them too long.
She stepped back and sat on a small bench at the foot of the bed, and he knelt before her on the bright tiles, close enough she could have lifted her hand to his face. He removed his stiff jacket and set it aside, rolling up the sleeves of the black shirt he wore, revealing his bare forearms and the mark of his house in his skin the color of old blood.
Curious to examine the intricacies of the mark now that she understood what it represented, Eleanor reached her fingers out towards it, brushing the pattern with her fingertips. Basaal turned his head away, and Eleanor, not understanding what his reaction might mean, pulled back embarrassed.
Tugging at the corner of his mouth, he then looked at Eleanor with an edge of a miserable humility. He nodded toward the bag, and she opened it, removing each piece and setting them beside her. Then she waited, moving her fingertips nervously against the fabric of the cushion, unsettled that she didn’t mind him being so close to her again.
Basaal lifted a thick, black leather band with silver clasps. “You take each Safeeraah, one at a time, in both hands. Touch it to your brow, then to your lips, and, at last, place it over your heart. It is then secured in place.” He ran through the motions so that Eleanor could see the process.
“Were they new Safeeraah,” he explained, “you would speak the associative oath, and I would repeat it. Because I have already committed to their covenants, I repeat the oaths aloud to you as a recommitment to them. You become the witness that I have done so, and,” he said gravely, “you must repeat them to no man or woman.”
Nodding, Eleanor took the black and silver band from Basaal, and the prince held out his left arm, pointing just below the mark of his house. She raised the band to her forehead, then to her lips, and then to her heart before securing it in place as he had instructed. The clasps were difficult and strong, which was no wonder to Eleanor if they were intended to last a lifetime. She used all the strength in her fingers to close them tight against his skin.
Once the band was secure, the prince held his arm before his face, closed his eyes, and spoke his oath: “Honor in battle, strength in heart; what lies ahead is the only reality, may it be triumphant.”
His eyes opened. “Gifted to me by my older brothers when I commissioned my own army.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
Eleanor blinked. He had been so young. Although, she had yet been younger, when taking the throne, it felt different to her somehow. Turning back to the Safeeraah on the bench, Eleanor selected a bright red woven band, and Basaal pointed below the black Safeeraah now placed on his wrist.
Again following the motions of the ritual, Eleanor tied the red band securely in place, and he repeated his next oath: “Life unto death, as one soul, fealty forever.”
Eleanor had never wondered if there was someone in Zarbadast, waiting for his return. The expression on her face must have betrayed her surprise, because a quiet smile broke through his face as Basaal answered, “Annan. Friend, not lover.”
Eleanor moved her eyes away from his. A silver band with fine Imirillian inscriptions was next, and he held up his right wrist so Eleanor could clip it into place.
Basaal then breathed in deep. “Those who are gone before gaze upon those who come after; I hold my place in reverence, steadfast as the immovable one,” he vowed.
A beautiful, delicate-looking piece then caught Eleanor’s attention. She picked up a thin gold chain, set with square cut diamonds on a diagonal. It glistened between her fingers, and she thought it, perhaps, the finest bracelet she had ever seen.
Basaal closed his eyes, not watching Eleanor until she had secured it on his right wrist below the silver band.
“I promise you this,” Basaal said slowly, “that the same stars grace every land.” Eleanor watched him speak these words, their significance evident.
“My mother,” was all he said.
Eleanor looked again at the bracelet, thinking of the words Basaal had spoken, wondering what Edith would have thought of her son. Eleanor wanted to ask what the oath meant, but, instead, she picked up the final Safeeraah: a brass band, stamped, painted with rich colors. The prince pointed to a place high on his right forearm. Eleanor performed the ritual and secured it in place.
The prince closed his eyes and brought his arm before his face. “What has been given man save the Illuminating God declared it so? Obedience to his word, therefore, and honor.”
Eleanor had no more Safeeraah, but Basaal kept his right arm before his face and touched the knotted black piece of leather he had worn while in Aemogen. “Though I wander, I am the deep well; I seek transcendence by honor, as the seven stars.”
When he finished, Basaal kept his head bent in reverence, breathing slowly in and out. Feeling the need to close the cer
emony, to seal it somehow, Eleanor reached her hand to his cheek and lifted his face towards hers.
She moved to speak but couldn’t think of the words to say.
He covered her hand with his own, his fingertips pressing into her palm. “Thank you, Eleanor. I—” he began, but he paused and studied the bands on his left arm. “Thank you.”
When Basaal looked up at Eleanor’s face, he was fighting back a sad smile, as if seeking refuge, as if asking for strength. Eleanor moved her thumb slightly across his cheek.
“We are friends, are we not?” Basaal asked, weight behind these familiar words.
“Are we?” she said, in turn.
“Are we?” he asked, and his inquiry seemed earnest.
Eleanor’s lips turned upward ever so slightly, and she nodded her head. “Yes. Despite it all.”
Chapter Five
Their journey to the North continued, more arduous than before, stopping late in the evenings and beginning again each morning before the sun rose in the sky. Three days out from Alliet, they came to the edge of the Aronee desert and its waves of purple and black sand. For Eleanor, it was a sight of wonder, very much like the southern sea before a wild storm. She wanted to tell this to Basaal, but he was back at the head of the company, distant, occupied.
The wind in the Aronee was steady, lifting the purple grains off their dunes and flinging them about in unexpected patterns. Eleanor could feel the sand form a light layer covering her skin below the white robes and headscarves the Alliet maidservant had procured for her. No imaginary landscape could have been more fantastic and surreal than this dry, raging sea.
“You appear as the moon,” Annan told her at dusk one week into the journey. “We fade into the darkness with our black, but your white robes shine against the coming night.”
“I am Seraagh, the messenger angel, remember? Cast into the sky during the life of the world for leaving my post,” Eleanor replied, shifting uncomfortably in her saddle.
To her surprise, Annan laughed. “Perhaps.”
Then Hegleh tossed her head, sending a spray of purple sand at her face, stinging Eleanor’s eyes. Eleanor and Hegleh were both taxed. Water was doled out in careful measures, but not stringently so, and the food was simple: dried fruits and meats and bread.
