Kitara: A Tale of Leinyere

"Clever Sha'ir, drawing me in with the familiar, tantalizing me with the foreign. Offering glory, immortality"

"Immortality is the gift a Sha'ir dispenses." Faisal returned "will you join us at the end, mighty Dao?"

The being, she realized now one of the Djinn, drew from its mouth an agate. "When the time is right, you may summon me with this. I am not bound, but I will come" the Dao stood, bowing its head, then melted into the earth, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

"What the fuck was that about?" she inquired, after scrambling down from the rocks. She offered Faisal a hand up, which he took with a grin. A smug knowing grin that didn't, for a moment, seem to accompany any explanations.

"One reason the Sha'ir are respected is we often make deals with the Djinn without having to bind them with sorcery. Since these deals are voluntary, they tend to be more just in the performance of their duties. Djinn have no souls. This means two things for them. Their emotions are shallow and hard to stir. In our telling of tales, we give them a semblance of human feeling, we touch them more deeply than they are normally capable of. They crave this like a man in the desert craves water. They will do nearly anything for it. The other thing is that they have a finite time in this world. Men do not, we go to heaven or hell. We are eternal. Being immortalized in a song is the closest they can experience. I offered that, in addition to your touching story."

She was cross but intrigued. It felt shameless, using her story, but at the same time, it was to further the end of it. The end was close enough for her to taste, and if his use of it meant it could be realized.... "What do we get?"

"We get an earth spirit's power added to our own at a crucial moment. Maybe he fights a dozen guardsmen, though your blade is more than adequate to that task. Maybe he kills an enemy sorcerer. Maybe he opens a wall... the Dao has many uses. Besides he won't be alone. I intend to secure us one of each. Even a Marid"

She blinked at that "Aren't they... notoriously powerful and difficult?" Faisal nodded "yeah, I'll probably have to trade him an hour in your bower." She rolled her eyes and slapped at him "ass" and he merely grinned "what? They don't see a lot of light-colored eyes around here. You'd be a hit with a water spirit for sure."

She made a rude gesture, then moved around the rocks to gather their horses "maybe we just need the three"

Faisal gave a hmmm "you know she has the powers of a man and a woman." To which he was met with rolled eyes.

"That's a purely psychological limitation you know. You've deeply enculturated some norms and have internalized them to the point you think they are real. You know this distinction between male and female magic doesn't exist anywhere else right?"

He flashed angrily for a moment before schooling his face "Just because the gods have given different gifts to outsiders does not make their restrictions for us false, or self-created. You would do well to watch your tone."

She shrugged "Faisal, I've been alive for one hundred and fifty years and I've been everywhere, and let me tell you, this is something you visited on yourselves. She took on the evil of Halldor for nothing. It seems like a theme. He always presents an easy path to something you could attain with a little effort, and in the doing he turns everything to shit."

"Well to be fair... from all accounts, he turned himself to shit. So, there's that"

***

Mahmoud's outriders reached the house early in the day, bringing news of a successful trade with the Elves and the main caravan's presence a day out. Preparations began for a feast, with the women gathering food and drink and preparing delicacies like baklava and roasted premium coffee for grinding the next day. The work was long but happy and the community of women and the few men left to guard during the men's absence took to it with relish.

At the end of the night, gathered around watching the stars and drinking date wine, they lounged in cool grass to avoid the late summer heat. Jahane was curled up, snoring quietly and Noreah watched her, nervous about the coming day. She sat a while more in quiet reflection, watching the valley in the moonlight when she felt Jahane stir. The girl sat up and shifted to be next to the older woman. In a voice loud enough for Noreah to hear but not carry over the laughter she asked "hey will you come back with me to the house? I'll be cold by myself"

Noreah rolled her eyes a moment "woman you will not be cold in this heat..." trailing off a moment when she looked down into the beautiful pools of her companion's eyes, lost in them for a minute. Jahane blushed, covered by the darkness and her dark skin "I will be cold..." she emphasized "by myself"

Noreah felt a rush headier than the wine and felt her throat go dry as she realized what the girl was saying. She looked around at the group "well I'd hate to be a bad hostess," then stood and practically dragged the girl back to the house, where they fell to the pillows, scrambling to undress and not quite making it, mouths and hands finding whatever skin could be exposed while they were tangled on the floor, clinging to each other.

After, as they laid partially dressed on the floor, faces flush, bodies sated, they tangled fingers with each other and rolled to smile at each other across the gulf of pillows. "I... well I hope I successfully conveyed that I'm staying" Jahane squeezed Noreah's hand, and the older woman leaned in, kissing her softly "yes. You did my love."

Jahane curled in against her, despite the summer heat "so. I will marry Mahmoud too. I know that's important to you, so it is important to me" she ran her nails along Noreah's side, tracing the ribs of the leaner woman, then ran her fingers along her breast before planting soft kisses on it. "This... feels like home."

At that Noreah let out a slow breath, relaxing for the first time in weeks. She was glad she waited; was glad she was patient. So many times, after they'd first made love, she wanted to press the girl, to push her to answer, to choose them. To choose this. She knew though that as hard as it was the space was needed and, in the end, she had what she wanted...what she needed.

***

The summer heat had broken with the return of the men, into a stunningly chill autumn. After a hasty harvest, and preparations for the journey north through the winter, Mahmoud and Jahane were married at a small gathering. She was a second wife, and unconnected to any important allies. She didn't merit the kind of celebration that a more important union would garner. Still, the affair had been pleasant, the food plentiful as the harvest had just come in. wine flowed like water, and at times, Jahane wondered how anyone in the tribe would be ready to leave for the desert in the morning, which was the plan.

Now she sat in Mahmoud's small house. Her arms were curled around her legs and her large eyes stared expectantly at her husband, who had spent the better part of the first hour of their time alone drinking wine from a jug and staring sullenly into the fire. As he took a long pull from the jug, he finally looked over at her.

"Is something the matter husband? Am I not pleasing?" she shifted a bit, resting her chin on her knees. She was at a loss as to how to handle this. Noreah had prepared her to be vigorously taken, and while nervous as she'd never known the touch of a man she was just now confused. Her husband turned his attention back to the fire and sighed, visibly deflating.

"Do you love her?" He asked, before taking another long pull at the wine.

"What?"

"Do you love my wife?" the question seemed almost a reproach. The hurt in his voice was thick, and the look on his normally proud face was that of anguish, a man drowning.

"I..." She considered for a moment, and thought honesty was best "I think so.... But I also think that perhaps I'm not experienced enough to know." She stood and walked closer to the fire, not quite daring to put her hand on his broad shoulder. She swallowed "She was a lifeline for me here. She took an interest in me..."

"So I've noticed." His sigh was resigned, his words tinged with bitterness. "And I've nobody to blame but myself really. I stole you. I brought you here. Then I left you two alone knowing that you were everything she wants that I cannot give her. That you are sweet and kind and soft where I am hard edges that have never managed to be rounded by her. Not really."

She stood quietly, listening to the sounds of the night, and finally reached for him, threading her fingers through the still black curls of his hair. She drew him gently against her breast "do you not think... husband... that perhaps you could love me too?" her voice was soft, hopeful, but inside she had her doubts. Those doubts were confirmed when he spoke.

"It's only ever been Noreah, Jahane. I pretend, for her sake, to take a lover on the road." He drew a pull of wine from the jug "because I know it makes her feel better about her dalliances with women while I am away... but from the time we were ten, standing in front of that fountain... it has only ever been her."

Jahane nodded, thinking as she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him somewhat in his inebriated gloom. "Your poems... about seducing all those women? The women at my oasis who've claimed to have been ravaged by you?"

"All for my reputation. Some men think that grand. Some men will only follow a man who is not just wealthy and wise but a famous lothario" he took another pull at the jug then tossed the empty clay into the corner "meaningless bullshit. Every woman in every poem is my wife. Why should it be so strange that a man is married happily? Or was."

She swallowed and looked down, then inhaled and exhaled slowly "When we reach the oasis of my parents, I will ask for your permission to stay with them. I will make up some story about my mother's health. Every year when you come back around, I will request the same. Eventually. I will be just a memory. In exchange though, I want your promise that you will be honest with her."

"Who do you think you are to make such demands of ME?" he roared, pulling away to stand, swaying, drunk.

Jahane did not flinch in the face of his anger. In part because it was justified, at least in her mind. Still, she would not be roared at. "I am your wife" she spat "you swore it under the eyes of the priests. More importantly, I am the woman giving up the only thing I want for myself to preserve for you the only thing you have ever wanted so I am appalled by your lack of gratitude." Her eyes flashed with rare anger, and she straightened in her rising fury. "I will be damned if I will be spoken to in such fashion. I have suffered all manner of indignities at your hand Mahmoud and you owe me at least a courteous tongue."

He stared at her a long moment and laughed "you look like her when you say that. Who knew you had such steel in you, soft oasis girl?" He collapsed onto the pillows again, his drunken rage spent as swiftly as it came upon him. He closed his eyes and groaned, rubbing his temples "the world spins."

Jahane sighed and sat, drawing his head into her lap "you might have if you had spent any time with me or tried to learn anything about me." She massaged his temples, looking down at him as he passed out in her lap.

The ride the next morning was awkward, Noreah inquiring how the night went "Differently than expected" Jahane answered, "I wasn't truly prepared." She assumed that the answer would be sufficient to put the other woman off without inviting further question, and was relieved to find she was correct.

***

Zahalldor was, infuriatingly, quite popular with the people of the city. Their beloved Zahra was now the heir, and the people of Qasin were ecstatic. None of the contacts the Chosen or Faisal had carefully cultivated would lift a hand to assist with their entry to the palace. The princess had opened the coffers of the kingdom to buy bread for the poor and lavish gifts upon the wealthy. She gave inspirational speeches from a palace balcony. She opened schools and used her magic to heal the sick and cure the lame. She was, in short, untouchable.

Chosen seethed. Her erstwhile companion Faisal had taken to whiling away his afternoons with a widow who lived near the apartments they had taken. So much for his undying love for the girl Jahane. The Chosen rolled her eyes as she thought about it, and considered heading out into the autumn day for some coffee. The cooler weather made daytime excursions bearable, and the city had resumed a more normal rhythm of wakefulness during the day and sleep at night.

Instead, she spent the day in training, having purchased a western-style longsword she found a master in the city and sparred with him, preparing for the moment the blade she carried lost its power and hoping to take some of the princess' guard with her in her death. She had given up thoughts of escaping this alive some time ago, but she would be damned if her last moments were spent futilely fighting with her meager skills.

She returned home to an empty apartment at dusk, bathed and fell into a slumber from which she woke being slapped heavily across the face "Dammit woman!" came Faisal's voice through the fog. She dropped her hand to her sword and was surprised to find it strapped to her waist. Indeed, as she came around she found herself armored, standing next to her saddled horse in the street. "Faisal? Take your damn hands off me. What is going on?"

"What is going on? What is ever going on? I found you in the street. AGAIN. Girded for war and riding off to meet your death at the palace." The expression on his face was anger tinged with genuine worry."

"Again? What do you mean?"

He sighed "do you know what I do at the widows'? I sleep. I sleep all day because at night you dress and ride for the palace. We've had this conversation a dozen times and you never remember!" he threw his hands up, and turned away. She felt a thrum from the blade, angry at being so close to its quarry and yet stymied.

"I... I'm... I'm sorry"

He turned and shook her "You might not care for your own safety but I do. I am your friend; despite the fact you won't even tell me your real name. I have had ENOUGH." He threw up his hands and then stalked about the street "get on your horse." He moved to take his own from the stable, already saddled "we ride for Aqba. My cousin lives there, he's a Sha'ir in the court of Darius. I have word from him through a trader that a court in exile is forming there. Partisans of Jafar, priests who find Zahalldor to be violating the tenets of the gods. Sycophants rejected by her and her father who think they might find an ear in Darius. We need allies. While you have been stewing, I have been planning."

The Chosen swung up on her horse, surprised at the boy's initiative. Surprised also that he didn't just cut her throat in the night since what he was after was the sword. "I... thank you,"

As they left out the southern gate to take the river roads to Aqba, she asked "So you really don't fuck the widow?"

He laughed in response "don't be absurd, I mean a man likes to be worn out before he gets a bit of rest."

She smiled at the response, feeling like at least something in the world made sense, even if it was just the pig of a poet she had saddled herself with in her quest.

***

The first weeks on the road had been awkward to say the least. Jahane and Noreah had stolen a few furtive moments, but the girl had quietly encouraged Noreah to spend every night with Mahmoud. Jahane had convinced the older woman that she was too nervous to repeat her wedding night, and Mahmoud for his part expressed no interest. While this had, at first, worked out for her Noreah eventually packed a lunch and saddled the horses as the band spent a few days at a lush oasis near the coast. "Come with me loves"

She had led them to a rocky outcropping among the nearby dunes, and they sat quietly eating dates and cheese and drinking water from the wells of the oasis. "I'm not going to say anything until you speak to each other" She had announced, and the incredibly leaden uncomfortable silence that followed made her sigh. "I feel like the two of you are not telling me why you moon about when you think I'm not looking. Now tell me what it is. I can handle it. Tell me the truth."

"The truth, my love, is that I killed some men on the way home..." Mahmoud started in, shooting a look at Jahane, who nodded her support.

"You told me that when you were in your cups." Noreah snapped "now tell me why the two of you never speak. We cannot work any of this out if we don't talk. For twenty-six years I haven't been able to shut you up for a moment and now you can't even discuss what going on with me? Gods above."

Noreah expected the flash of his anger, to fight with him and make up like they always did, but he rose, calmly and inhaled, and his uncomfortable look was heart-rending. She started to speak when the girl's voice broke unexpectedly through the air.

"Dammit, woman. He doesn't speak to me because he loves you. He is walking on eggshells because you are his whole world. Can't you respect that? Let him come to it in his own time"

By the look on her husband's face, Noreah could see he was as stunned as she was. This was not the proper kind of talk for a second wife to a first and certainly not about or in front of her husband. The lapse in propriety was like a bucket full of cold water. "How dare you?"

"How dare I? He is my husband and I won't have you harangue him." Jahane crossed her arms over her chest "because it is hard for us both, to love you. We are married but why? We are rivals. If I was a man he'd duel me over you, or at least engage me poet to poet. But I'm not a man and he can't. He can't raise his hand to me. He can't rage against me. He can't tell you how heartbroken he is that there is room enough in your heart for another person when there's room only for you in his. I know this because I cannot find the words either. I cannot bear your disappointment and I am terrified even now as I speak that telling this to you will make you choose between us. I'm terrified that in telling you this you will drive me away. That I'll find out that..."

"That she's not enough." Mahmoud sighed "it's true. I can barely look at her." He sat heavily on the dune and looked back towards the camp "And I could not tell you because I cannot deny you anything. But yes, looking at her is hard, knowing... knowing she's not temporary."

Noreah sat, unprepared for this though she should have been. She looked over the two and then buried her face in her hands "fuck. Just... fuck." She stared up at the sky a moment, then turned to face the girl first "Jahane. I know it is hard for you. You go sometimes days without being in my arms. My love for you... it is like the desert wind. Some days it is hot and heavy and will scour you to nothing if you stand before it, and some days" she gestures at some sand, moving slightly in a barely perceptible breeze "it is soft and gentle, but it is always there even when you feel it is absent." She placed her hand on Mahmoud's shoulder "but husband, my love for you is water. After Twenty six years... Eighteen as your wife...if I were to go without it I would die. You are the father of my sons. You are..." she starts to say everything, but pauses knowing it to be a lie and knowing they would both know it. "I want you to be friends... but I won't... I won't force it."

***

Jahane left her tent, a few days later, to find her husband. He quietly helped her into the saddle, the first interaction any of the three had since that lunch in the dunes "I brought you a pomegranate" he swung up into the saddle of his horse and rode next to her "You should not talk to Noreah like that. She is the first wife" his voice was firm, reproachful but... "And yet, thank you for saying what I could not."