Scheherazade and the King Ch. 10

"Printzesa," Kolete breathed, "you just remembered something."

Yanamari's eyes widened as a shiver ran up the length of her back.

"Do you remember anything else?"

Yanamari shook her head and pushed forward, drawing her cloak tighter around her body. She glanced down at her arms and swore she could see the faint glow of her tattoos even through the dark fabric.

Kolete did not press her further. They walked in silence for the next couple of hours, the glow of the makeshift city growing brighter and brighter as they drew closer. The wind that had seemed so bitter just a few hours before was warmed now by snatches of traditional bertso, sung low and slow, and the spicy heat of tapas and pintxos shared over a fire.

The Deusto river was a ribbon of moonlight twisting across the moor. A single bridge crossed the divide, one flanked quite clearly on both sides by Ekaitz's soldiers, the azure of their downturned hoods shining in the torchlight.

"Kolete, look there! The soldiers are guarding the river," Yanamari said.

"Aye, printzesa," the warrior muttered grimly.

"What are they doing?" She hissed. "They have no right to interfere with udaberriko jaialdia."

"And yet here they are," Kolete said, keeping her cloak pulled low. "They've patrolled the roads leading to the spring festival ever since Ekaitz took power to make sure we don't make any trouble. That's how the arinomenaldia began, as a way to grieve without giving them an excuse to crack skulls."

"The light tribute?" Yanamari asked. "What is that?"

"I couldn't tell you who started it. Just that one year a dozen or so candles were set floating down the river to commemorate those lost to Ekaitz's soldiers. The next year there were a hundred. Now... Well, you will see soon enough."

Another shiver shot up her spine. Her stomach was twisting in knots. She had remembered something. After waiting so long to experience a tangible memory, the experience should have filled her with happiness. Instead, it felt like every fibre of her being was on edge, preparing for a fall.

Each step they took towards the soldiers guarding the bridge felt like a step closer to death. She envisioned all the ways they could be found out. All the ways their plan could go wrong. And yet, when they came to the bridge, the soldiers hardly spared them a sideways glance. They waved them along with the tips of their spears, seemingly more concerned with keeping the flow of caravans moving than with searching for rebels or wanted fugitives.

Yanamari cast a backwards glance over her shoulder as her boots hit the grass on the other side.

"It can't have been that easy, can it?" She breathed to Kolete.

"Oh, you just wait. They haven't had any liquor yet."

Yanamari threw another glance over her shoulder and scowled at the backs of the soldiers' heads.

They made their camp on the outskirts of the makeshift "Spring City" but, before too long, their own tents had been hemmed in by more travellers. Yanamari busied herself tending to their stocky little horses, ensuring they were secure, fed and watered.

"Come on," Kolete said, pulling Yanamari away from the caravan. "We're heading to the gune."

"The gune?"

"The centre of the Spring City. Tonight is festilargi, the last night before the udaberriko jaialdia. With a Resurrection Moon overhead, there is no doubt that tonight is going to be a party like nothing you've ever seen."

"I'm not sure I am in the mood for a party," Yanamari said sombrely. "Has there been any word from Arossa yet?"

Kolete shook her head: "If the rumours about a Persian ship were true, she will send word. In the meantime, don't worry."

"How can I not? I don't understand how you can be so calm!"

"Worry won't help the falcon fly faster, printzesa, of that I can assure you."

"And what if it is them?" Yanamari asked. "I don't know if I can bear to face Shariyar again, not after everything... Not after Cas."

Kolete's hold on her arm softened and she pulled Yanamari towards her, wrapping her in a powerful hug.

Yanamari stood motionlessly for a moment, taken aback slightly by the contact. In another life, she had had a sister. Perhaps this is what it would have felt like to be hugged by her. Yanamari sighed and wrapped her own arms around Kolete.

"Thank you," she murmured as they drew away from each other.

Kolete held her at arm's length, her hands on her shoulders: "Printzesa, I know how you are feeling now. When you have known so much loss, hope can seem outrageous. Who are we that we should live when others are dead? Who are we to be brave when others live in fear? Who are we to dare to change the world? But tonight we are alive, tonight we are fearless, tonight we have the world at our feet. That may never be true again. Now come on, I thought you said you always wanted to see the Spring City?"

Yanamari let herself be led through the winding mass of tents, caravans and roughshod lean-tos. Everywhere the air was filled with music and the scent of food. Flags bearing the three dolphins of the Irlazken crest and hanging lanterns were strung up between the tents, lighting a pathway to the gune where a rustic stage had been constructed.

But, for the moment, the stage was empty. All attention was fixed instead on the river beyond, where people crowded the marshy banks.

"What's going on?" Yanamari whispered.

"The arinomenaldia," Kolete said. She nodded her head in the direction of a line of people moving steadily towards a group of women gathered beneath a towering oak tree.

Kolete and Yanamari joined the line and were soon before the women. Kolete bowed her head and held out her cupped hands. One of the women placed a short, round candle in her hands. Kolete straightened her spine and stepped to the side so that Yanamari could follow her lead.

Candles in hand, they walked towards the water, joining the throng of people lining the banks.

"When the time is right, the first candle will be lit," Kolete murmured.

For a few moments more there was silence and then, the moon broke free of its cloudy veil, cast silver light across the valley, and set the tribute in motion. A warm glow started to the east, spreading slowly from cupped hand to cupped hand. Eventually, the flame reached Yanamari. She turned her candle to light the wick and then passed the flame on to Kolete.

She watched the little flame dance in her hands. Such a small, fragile thing. And, yet... she glanced around her and saw the amber light of a thousand candles flickering in the darkness. Each flame was nothing by itself but together, perhaps they might be enough.

The first floating candle was let go with a sob. Then another and another and another. By the time it was Yanamari's turn to set her little light free, the river seemed afire.

She took a deep breath and waded out into the water until she was waist deep in its inky depths. All around her, flames swirled on the currents. She lowered her cupped hands into the water and said a prayer, the same one that had come to her lips when she returned the family to the sea.

"Bury me 'neath the flashing waves —"

The burned bones in the garden.

"That guard my island deep —"

Shouts in the night. Torches on the horizon.

"And let my spirit wander still —"

The pirate's weight on top of her. Silent screams in the dark.

"And let my soul never sleep —"

A flash of lightning on the waves. Her lungs burning as she gasped in air.

"Till the mountains raise my land to me —"

Shariyar's grip on her arms. Fingernails digging into her skin.

"And the stars fall from the sky —"

Cas' dark eyes shining in the dark. His lips against hers.

"For my heart is with Irlazken —"

Her father's sword in her hand. A river of fire around her.

And, by the grace of all the gods above, so am I."

With her eyes still closed, she let her candle go. Whatever she thought she would feel when

she let the little light leave her hands was nothing compared to the sudden welling in her chest. She felt like her heart was ready to leap out of her mouth and join the candles on the water.

She opened her eyes and spread her hands to the sky. She wanted to cry but there were no tears in her eyes. She wanted to scream but there were no words on her tongue. She wanted to laugh but the sound died in her throat. So she simply stood in the water and concentrated on simply being — on the warmth rising from the candles around her, the tingling of her feet as the river stole the warmth from her limbs, the sound of a thousand broken hearts thundering behind her. And then the whispers: Printzesa. Sorgina.

She opened her eyes and saw her tattoos glowing brightly in the darkness. She whirled around. The tear-stained faces of her people stared back at her, their eyes wide. Kolete wore a smile. Yanamari walked slowly out of the water, pulling her hood over her head and clutching her arms close beneath the dark fabric.

The crowd parted before her silently. And, in each face, she saw a flame.

The time for mourning was done now: A txistu sighed, a tambourine flexed, a danbolin pulsed, and the crowd set to replace their tears with txakoli. Beneath the music pulsed a rhythm, muttered low and shared with furtive glances: Printzesa. Sorgina.

A group of colourfully clad men and women took to the stage, boots stamping against the wooden floor and hands clapping in unison.

While Yanamari watched the dancers from the shadows, Kolete disappeared for a moment and then returned with a cup of sparkling txakoli in each hand. She thrust one glass at Yanamari and then held out her own.

"Eskerriska!" She cried.

"Topa," Yanamari answered, taking a sip from her glass. Though she knew the tart, dry wine was not very strong, the bubbles seemed to set her head spinning.

Slowly but surely — and with the aid of several more glasses of effervescent txakoli — Yanamari felt her sadness ease. She found herself whooping along with the crowd, stamping her feet upon the ground and even singing along with the bertsolari, words she could not remember learning springing effortlessly from her lips.

Kolete was soon pulled to her feet by a handsome, moustachioed man and the pair whirled around the grass around the stage. A bearded man extended a hand to Yanamari and she shrugged, knocking back her cup as he helped her up. She laughed as he spun her around, her feet twirling one way and then another. More and more couples joined in until the musicians called the dance to an end. The couples broke apart to clap for the musicians and the dancers on stage.

The next act was a pastoral, a traditional play with actors dressed in red to portray the villains and blue to portray the heroes.

After the actors bowed to the audience, the play's narrator leapt up to the stage and cast her arms wide, settling silence over the audience.

"Tonight we tell a story, not necessarily new, but not told in years. The story of a princess —" Here, one of the actresses dressed in blue stepped out from the line and gave a regal wave.

The crowd cheered thunderously.

"A pirate —" An actor dressed in red burst forward with a fearsome growl and then retreated, the audience booing in unison.

"And an evil king." Another actor dressed in red stepped forward with a smile, a golden crown glinting on his head. The crowd hissed and booed.

Yanamari's skin pricked but she could not tear her eyes away.

"Do you know this story?" The narrator asked, stretching her fingers out to the crowd. "Do you remember the truth?"

The audience answered with cheers. Printzesa. Sorgina.

"This is the story the evil king tried to steal. This is the story of the princess stolen by pirates, sold as a slave in foreign lands and, at last, returned home to save her people from the traitor who had taken over her kingdom."

Yanamari sucked in her breath as the crowd around her began to chant her name. The narrator lifted her hands again and then bowed to the actors, signalling the play to begin.

Yanamari watched in rapt attention as her story was told in song and dance. Parts had been eliminated, others greatly exaggerated, some happened at the wrong time and others in the wrong place. But there was no doubt it was her story.

Eventually, the story caught up with the present:

"The princess, leading the Doan Jende, the saviours of the people, led her troops to the castle walls in disguise. Not a soul suspected a thing and those of us who knew better — those of us who had seen the printzesa sorgina with our own eyes — kept our mouths shut, ready to spring into action when our princess called. The evil king had been warned of her coming, but nothing could prepare him for the wave of fury that swept through the castle gates that morning. They cried REVENGE! for each life stolen! They cried JUSTICE! for each coin taken! They cried LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!"

The crowd was on their feet now, each person swept up in emotions they had kept closely guarded for years.

But then the narrator blanched and her outstretched arms suddenly clamped to her sides. A gasp rippled through the crowd as a small battalion of Ekaitz's soldiers pushed through, sending men and women alike sprawling to the ground.

They sent plates of food flying and tore at the banners and lanterns, leaving a small path of destruction in their wake.

"Get down from there, whore, you're under arrest!" The commanding officer growled, motioning towards the narrator.

The narrator's voice shook but she held firm: "Nothing illegal is happening here!"

"What I just heard was nothing short of treason!" The officer snarled.

"No," the narrator said, holding up a quivering hand. "Ekaitz will not steal another story from us."

"Get down or I will cut you down."

Yanamari's eyes met Kolete's burning gaze and they nodded at each other. Yanamari felt at her hip and found the hilt of her father's sword. Yanamari nodded to the Doan Jende warrior to her right and she passed the signal along, while Kolete did the same to the left.

Slowly, without drawing any attention to themselves, the women made their way to the front of the crowd and then they turned their backs to the stage and stepped backwards, ringing the wooden platform.

That was one of the advantages of being a woman: Although the crowd seemed to be picking up on what was happening, the soldiers had not yet noticed. In fact, the commanding officer did not notice Yanamari until she stepped in front of him and broke his line of sight to the narrator.

"Get out of the way, wench!"

Yanamari laughed and threw back her hood at the same time that she pulled her father's sword from its sheath and held it before her, pointing directly at his sternum.

"Weren't you listening to her?" She asked, raising her voice so that the entire audience could hear her. "My title is printzesa."

The officer gaped: "It's not possible —"

The crowd began to whisper, their voices a low hum: Printzesa. Sorgina.

With one hand, Yanamari tugged on the clasp of her cloak and let it fall. Her tattoos glowed more brightly than ever before and the sight of them was enough to send the officer back a step.

"Here me," she said, her sonorous voice lilting on danger. "Leave now and no harm will come to you."

The officer regained his bravado and jeered, throwing a glance over his shoulder to rally his men.

"If you are Yanamari then you're not a princess, you're a traitor," he sneered. "Put down that sword before you hurt yourself."

She regarded him carefully before addressing him again: "What is your name?"

The soldier's jaw hardened: "Erregearen ezkutua naiz."

I am the shield of the king.

"Who are your kin?"

"Erregearen ezkutua naiz."

Yanamari's gaze narrowed: "You serve a false king."

She threw out her arms, addressing the crowd: "Ekaitz has abused your trust! He has killed your mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers... He has wronged you! He has wronged my name!"

There were grumblings in the crowd. The soldiers shifted their weapons.

The officer glanced around and snarled: "Your name?"

"I am Yanamari. The shield of the people. The spear of their will... Will you serve the true queen?"

For a moment, the officer paused. But it was only for a moment.

"I am a shield of the king," he repeated again. "And you are a traitorous whore."

Perhaps, had he not uttered that last sentence, Yanamari might have granted him mercy.

Yanamari drew her arm back slightly and then stepped forward. She barely seemed to move and yet, the next moment, the officer fell back with a choking gasp, blood spurting from his chest. No one moved or made a sound as his body hit the ground.

The soldiers gripped their weapons nervously and then, all at once, the Dona Jende flew into action. And they were not the only ones: Every able-bodied man and woman suddenly threw themselves at the soldiers with a bloodcurdling cry.

The frenzy lasted only a few moments, the soldiers quickly overwhelmed by the wave of anger that fell on them.

Yanamari watched as the peasants dragged the bodies towards the stage, pillaging the armour and weapons as they went. Perhaps in another life she would have felt horrified at the bloodlust. But this was a new life and tonight there would be a pyre to avenge the burned bones she had returned to the sea.

She pointed her sword towards the moon and cried: "Revenge! Justice!"

And the crowd answered just as the narrator had told them they would: "Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!"

Kolete leapt onto the stage, grinning in spite of the blood spattered across her face.

Yanamari lowered her sword and offered a grim smile: "Down with the king."

Kolete threw her fist into the air and whooped: "That's my queen!"

++++++++

Ah, you must be Cas.

Cas stood beside the helmsman, a hand on his shoulder, the other pointing ahead of the ship. Though he was still weak, Shahzaman had put him in charge of captaining the ship and its crew to the Irlazken capital.

As soon as they were out at sea, they were to raise the royal pennants and sail for the harbour at Areetan. If all went according to plan, Shariyar would be taken in as Ekaitz's guest, providing an additional layer of protection for Yanamari inside the palace.

At a call from Kuiril, Cas headed to a nearby table where the old Irlazken was bent over a map, pointing out various currents and dangers along the route. If their luck held, the ship would reach Areetan before Yanamari and the Doan Jende did.

Ah, you must be Cas.

For all they had learned today, why was it that phrase that rang in his ears? He heard it again and again.

You must be Cas.

Cas.

Why did that woman know who Cas was?

Shariyar turned his eyes away with a scowl. He could feel anger coiling inside his chest. What a fool he had been to think he had banished the beast entirely. There it was again, right next to his heart, where it had lived since Nasrin's death.

It was a familiar feeling. One he was ashamed to admit he did not mind. It felt almost good to feel anger there again. Love had not been enough to fill the void.

Love.

All at once his gaze snapped back to the soldier.

That son of a bitch.