Scheherazade and the King Ch. 10

Cas could not blame the soldiers for mistaking him for dead. Certainly he felt close enough to it. It took very little acting on his part to let his limbs hang lifeless as they hauled him into the wagon. Though, when he landed squarely on a corpse's elbow it took a great deal of effort to keep from grunting. He tensed his muscles as they loaded more and more bodies atop his own, trying his best to create enough space around him to avoid being crushed. Finally, he heard some sort of exchange between the soldiers and the cart began to trundle along the beach. He felt as the wheels moved from soft sand to a gravelly path and the bodies atop him jostled about, digging their bones into him as if on purpose.

Revenge for being the only one to make it out alive. He thought grimly. And then, quickly: No, not the only one. She has to be alive. She has to.

With each pothole the cart encountered, Cas focused what remained of his strength on pushing himself out of the pile of corpses. Finally, the sun broke through and he could glimpse the road behind him which was — mercifully — empty. He pulled himself further out from the heap of bodies and waited for his opportunity. The road was lined with tall grass and shrubs which he knew from experience only looked soft until you crashed into them. While they would not offer the gentlest landing, they would be excellent coverage. He listened carefully for the sound of other riders but there was only the sound of the cart.

And what good would there be sending able-bodied men to guard the dead?

He smiled slightly to himself: I am like Aanisah about to come back to life.

The cart rounded a corner, the side of the road sloped away into a ditch of reeds and Cas seized his chance. He wrenched himself free of the tangle of bodies and rolled off the carriage. He let himself tumble recklessly — just in case there did happen to be a soldier keeping watch. But the sound of the cart faded into the distance and not a soul seemed to have noticed it was lighter one body. And, if the horse noticed, he surely would not complain.

Cas chuckled to himself and then groaned as he became aware all at once of the pain that radiated through his entire body.

Who'd have thought nearly drowning and falling off a moving carriage would hurt so much?

He lay for a few moments more in the grass, watching the clouds streak across an azure sky until the sun leapt from behind a cloud and he had to shield his eyes from its brilliance. He wanted nothing more than to rest there for a while, just a little while. Just enough for his bones to shed the chill of the sea that had stolen into them. Just enough for his sodden clothes to dry.

His mind went suddenly to Yanamari, the way her damp clothes had clung to her body that day in the brig when she bested him at swordplay. Never before had anyone looked at him that way and, if he could not save her, no one ever would again.

The sun disappeared behind another cloud and the sudden gloom sent a shiver along his spine. He sat up and pushed himself to his feet. There was no time to waste — he had to find Yanamari before Ekaitz's soldiers did. He pushed himself to his feet and started along the road, following it back towards the ocean. After a few miles, the breeze freshened and he could smell salt on the air. His pace quickened as he rounded a corner and then his feet froze in their tracks.

Chaos was strewn across the roadway before him: The bodies of three soldiers lay in the dirt, impaled by dozens of arrows. Perhaps only one or two had been fatal. The rest were pure overkill, shot at such close range that he was sure the tips went several inches through the corpses into the ground. A pained whinny drew his attention off the road where an upturned carriage had pitched into the gully. The horse that had been pulling the carriage was struggling to free itself from the shaft. Cas leapt lightly down off the road and advanced on the horse slowly, murmuring soft words to keep it from panicking further. The horse lay panting, its wide, brown eyes following his every move. Cas kept speaking gently to the horse as he undid the bellyband and collar, finally freeing the poor beast. The horse was on its feet in a moment and, in the next, as far away from the carriage as its hooves could carry it.

Cas cocked his head as he walked around the carriage — it was certainly a prisoner transport, there was no doubt in his mind. He rounded the carriage and found the door open, a single soldier pinned to the wood by arrows. This one, too, had been shot at close range. Cas leaned forward to examine the soldier when, suddenly, his eyes flashed open.

Cas staggered backwards and then quickly regained his composure.

"What happened?" He asked hoarsely, his eyes frantic as they darted from one wound to the next. There was no way he could save this man.

The soldier's eyes lolled.

He tried again, in stilted Irklazken: Zer gertatu zen?

The soldier opened his mouth, his teeth red with blood, and began to mumble a reply. Cas could only make out parts of what he said: Prisoner... captured... doan jendea...

"Who? Prisoner who?" He pressed.

The soldier managed to choke out one word before all life left his body: "Yanamari."

Cas sighed as the soldier's body slumped against the carriage, blood oozing from his wounds. He pushed the man's eyes closed and ran a hand over his own face.

They took her... rescued her?

He opened his eyes and stared at the arrows. There were at least twenty embedded in this man alone. These free people were clearly well armed enough not to have to worry about wasting arrows and angry enough to believe such wanton carnage justified.

Cas gave another quick, determined sigh and climbed back onto the road. He did not have to guess which way they went — he too had memorised the map and knew where Santutegia Kala lay — but at that very moment a group of mounted Irlazken soldiers appeared on the horizon. A cry came from the lead rider and a cloud of dust flew up around the horses as they spurred into a gallop. He swore under his breath and ducked low, disappearing into the undergrowth.

Though the mossy forest did its best to throw him off track, Cas kept his heading north as best he could. He did not stop to listen for the sound of soldiers on his trail. Even if he had managed to shake them, there was no time to rest. If his memory of the map was correct, a small fishing village lay to the north. His legs grew heavier and heavier with each step and he could only pray his strength held for a few more hours.

It was almost dusk by the time Cas' feet took him past the edge of the forest and onto a green meadow that rolled towards the ocean. The village lay at the foot of the pastureland, cradled in the rocky coastline which afforded it a natural harbour. There was a single ship at port — a great, towering vessel that seemed to dwarf the town itself. As Cas narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the ship's colours, a gust of wind unfurled the flag and the soldier laughed to see the Persian pennant streaming from the masthead.

"Shahzaman," he croaked, his throat parched.

He pressed ahead with renewed strength, gritting his teeth against the exhaustion that threatened to overcome him if he faltered even the slightest. He made his way into the small town, ignoring the curious glances that his ragged appearance drew from the villagers.

Cas staggered along the dock to where the ship was berthed and tried to call up to the ship but he could hardly raise his voice louder than a whisper.

He growled in frustration and then whistled out the call of an owl that had been the rebels' signal in the desert: "Hoooo-ho-ho-ho-ho! Hoooo-ho-ho-ho-ho!"

A dozen faces appeared over the rail in a moment, crying out his name in chorus and hollering for the gangplank to be lowered. As soon as the plank touched the dock, Shahzaman rushed off the ship and positioned himself beneath one of Cas' shoulders so that he could help him aboard the ship.

"I thought Asto Vidatu had you this time, brother," Shahzaman said.

"Almost did," Cas murmured, each word grating against his parched throat.

As they climbed onto the deck, Shahzaman called out to Jafar: "Get Hazim! He needs help!"

Shariyar emerged from below decks and took in the scene before him: Cas was there — half dead by the looks of things — but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

He shouldered his way through the throng of sailors until he was at Shahzaman's side.

"Where did he come from?" Shariyar growled. "What happened? Where is Yanamari?"

Cas threw a fierce glance at the king and then pushed Shahzaman away.

"I can walk," he rasped. He took a few faltering steps and then crumpled to his hands and knees.

"Oh no you don't!" Hazim's voice parted the crowd. "Shahzaman, help me get him up."

The men flanked Cas and pulled him to his feet, guiding him towards Shahzaman's cabin. They lowered him gently onto the bed and propped up his head with pillows.

"I feel like I might pass out," Cas whispered.

"No, no, no," Hazim tutted, working deftly to mix a potent-smelling brew. "You need to hold on just a little bit longer, or sleep might claim you forever. Here, Shahzaman, put this to his head."

Shahzaman sat on the bed and pressed a compress against his forehead, the fabric saturated with the smell of herbs. Cas' eyes opened a little wider and he breathed the smell in deeply.

"You have to stay with us, Cas," the prince said quietly. "We need you. Yanamari needs you. You know more about this country and its king than any of us. You hear me?"

Cas nodded: "Aye, sir."

"So what happened to you?"

"I drowned," he muttered.

"Well we can add that to the list of ways the demon of death has tried to claim your soul."

Cas managed a wan smile.

"She's alive," he murmured.

"All in good time," Hazim said, bringing a cup of steaming brown liquid to Cas' side. "I've sent Jafar to get some stew and water from the galley. But you must drink this first."

Cas sniffed the potion and his nose crinkled: "Thank you, but I think I'd rather die."

"Oh, well, good to know you haven't lost your sense of humour! Now, drink."

Shahzaman helped Cas take the cup in his weak fingers and raise it to his lips. Though he recoiled again at the scent, Cas quickly downed the amber concoction.

"Now can I pass out?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Hazim said with a chuckle. "Food and water, then rest."

After so long going without food, Cas half expected the stew to surpass anything his lips had ever encountered before but, to his disappointment, it tasted like nothing. It warmed his belly but did little else. Even the water went to ash in his mouth.

It was because of Yanamari. He was certain of it. Until he knew she was safe, food would have no taste, and sleep would offer him no comfort.

But he surrendered to slumber without a fight, his body overcome with exhaustion. As he slept, Hazim checked his vitals and seemed satisfied enough that the soldier would survive the night.

"He's given the Asto Vidatu a run for his money, that's all I know," the doctor said, packing away his tools. "But he will be alright by the morrow, I think. Certainly, much weakened but alright nonetheless."

"It would be better not to move him," Hazim continued, glancing down his nose at Jafar and Shahzaman.

"Not to worry," Shahzaman said, wrapping an arm around Jafar's waist. "We can string up a pair of hammocks in here, can't we?"

Jafar nodded: "I think it's best if we stay with him... just in case."

Hazim nodded: "Call for me if anything changes."

++++++++

Yanamari held her hands out in front of her fire, smiling at the warmth that spread through her fingertips. Against all odds, she had found the doan jende. Or, more accurately, they had found her. Her thoughts flashed to Cas and she tried to think about how happy he would be if he could see where she was now but all she could see in her mind's eye were the dark waves swallowing him over and over and over again. One moment he was there, the next gone without a trace. She shuddered and rubbed her hands over her arms as her tattoos began to tingle.

"Still cold?" Kolete's voice came over her shoulder.

Yanamari glanced up and saw the cinder-eyed warrior was holding a steaming bowl of stew in her direction.

"No, just lost in my own thoughts, I suppose," she said, reaching out to accept the bowl.

"What happened to you, printzesa?" Kolete asked, settling down a few feet away. "Why did it take you so long to return?"

Yanamari glanced up from her meal and saw that almost every woman within earshot was looking her way, waiting for her to answer the question. She took another sip of stew and then set the bowl down on the ground. The women gathered closer as she told her story, detailing the horrors she endured as the pirate's captive, explaining how Ekundayo had healed her with magic, how Jafar had found her on the beach and inadvertently brought her into Shariyar's captivity. She told them how the king had come to care for her and how his attempt to help her find her home ended up alerting Ekaitz to her survival.

The women listened in rapt silence, letting their food go cold as she explained how Shariyar's exiled brother had sent a rebel soldier to keep her safe until they could rescue her. She told them of how the Irlazken ships had thwarted the rescue and how she had lost Cas in the waves.

She wanted to tell them more about Cas — about his smile, about his heart, about his love — but she could not put a voice to his memory just yet.

She simply said: "The rest of the story, you know."

Kolete shook her head: "It makes my blood boil. That you should have finally fought your way back to find your name sullied and your crown stolen."

"If you will let me join you, then maybe we can take it back," Yanamari said.

"Let you join us?" Kolete blinked in surprise. "We are at your command."

"Oh no," Yanamari said. "I am in no state to command anyone. But I am practiced in swordsmanship and Cas said archery would come just as naturally."

Kolete grinned: "Only one way to find out. But tomorrow. Tonight, you must rest."

++++++++

Yanamari hefted the longbow with some trepidation. It was almost too much to hope that her muscles would remember how to work the mighty weapon. She pulled a feathered arrow from her quiver and set it against the bowstring, drawing it back until the feathers brushed against her cheek. She set one narrowed eye on the target and loosed her fingers, setting the arrow into flight. A split second later, the arrow hit its mark: Not quite a perfect bullseye but definitely a shot to kill.

"Again," Kolete said. "Have to make sure that wasn't beginner's luck."

Yanamari's mouth curved in a smirk and she drew another arrow from her quiver. This time, the arrow was even closer to its mark. Then again, and again. It was no fluke — Cas had been right.

She threw a glance at Kolete: "Convinced yet?"

Kolete laughed and jostled Arossa with her elbow: "Pay up."

Arossa scowled good-naturedly and flipped a coin into Kolete's outstretched hand.

"You bet against me Arossa?" Yanamari asked, feigning anger.

"You bet your hide," the warrior said. Arossa was a stocky blonde whose brows were constantly knitted in a way that made her look furtive even when she was completely at ease. She was Kolete's right hand and frequently the voice of caution.

"I think she's ready for a raid, what do you think?" Kolete said.

Arossa's brow furrowed even further: "So that she can be killed before she's even been here a week?"

"You both need to think strategically about this," she said, noting the disappointment on Yanamari's face.

"You're right, you're right," Kolete said. "Yanamari, you're too important to our cause to risk being lost in a raid."

Yanamari sighed but nodded: "I know that. It's just, I can't explain this feeling. I have never been a violent person but the chance to finally be something more than a prisoner... the chance to help save my country..."

Arossa's eyes widened suddenly and she pointed at Yanamari's arms: "Printzesa, you're glowing."

Yanamari glanced at her arms and saw her tattoos had transformed again into an icy blue.

"They've only started doing that recently," she said. "I think it's the magic from the healing ritual. They burn if I ever feel sorry for myself."

"So what are you feeling when they glow like this?"

"That I belong."

Yanamari spun on her heel and, in one fluid motion, loosed another arrow. This time, it hit the bullseye. She crowed triumphantly into and her tattoos glowed even more brightly.

If any of the women had questioned her story, the glowing tattoos erased all doubt from their minds. She was certainly touched by magic.

As the women gathered to eat lunch, Yanamari found herself staring around the cavern.

"What exactly is this place?" She asked Arossa. "It looks like a stronghold."

"It is," she said. "We are directly beneath the summer palace."

"You mean —" Yanamari's blood ran cold. "You mean where I was kidnapped from?"

Arossa swallowed, suddenly aware of the memories she had stirred up.

"I want to see it," Yanamari said firmly. "Would that be possible?"

Kolete glanced at Arossa and then nodded: "I can show you."

"Please? Can we go now?" She asked, setting her plate aside.

Kolete wiped her mouth on her sleeve and then set down her own plate and rose to her feet: "Follow me."

Kolete led the way deeper and deeper into the cave until they left the light of the fires behind and had only the faint blue glow of the fungus that crowded the cavern walls to guide them. The walls grew closer and closer until they had to turn on their sides to pass between them. Eventually, the narrow passage emptied into a circular room with a stone staircase that spiralled upwards into more darkness. Yanamari and Kolete wound their way around and around, upwards and upwards, until they came to a door. Kolete lifted the iron handle and shoved all of her weight against the door. The wood groaned against whatever was keeping it closed on the other side.

Yanamari threw her own weight alongside Kolete's and the door finally gave way with a groan, opening just enough for them to squeeze through. They stumbled into a cavernous chamber and were both forced to shield their eyes against a shaft of blinding light that pierced through the ruined ceiling.

Yanamari lowered her arm and glanced around the room. The remains of rich tapestries hung like spider webs from the walls and scorch marks decorated the stone in their place.

Kolete led her along the trail of destruction into the hallway which, if possible, seemed to be in an even greater state of ruin. Each room they passed into seemed worse than the one before: splintered furniture scattered across the floor, the ghosts of flames licked at the walls. But, one room gave Yanamari pause. She stepped inside and glanced up at the skeleton beams, recalling something like a memory of a time when wooden shingles spiralled around the turret. The heavy, wooden bed lay on its side halfway across the room and the upturned table in the centre of the room was gored by the marks of swords and arrows that still stood straight at their mark.

She stepped inside the room and walked slowly to the toppled bed. Carved vines blossomed along the wooden frame — flowers she swore she knew by name — and wrapped around a single name at the foot of the bed. She leaned in closely and ran a finger along the elegantly carved letters: Y... A... N... A... M... A... R... I...

She breathed in sharply and took a step backwards.