Authors: Frankie Ash
Eramane (10 page)
“Why is his body all the way over here, when the conflict took place way over there?” Samiah asks aloud. He squats to Lebis’s body. “What happened to you?” Samiah looks over the remains. “And what has become of my sister?” Samiah searches the body for wounds, picking up Lebis’s limbs and examining them. Finding nothing more than what Inandaug already stated, Samiah lifts the head, feeling the back of the skull with his fingertips. A large place on the back of the skull is sunken. Samiah looks across to the ruffled grass patches, then back to the body. “He was thrown here, and his head hit the ground when he landed; that is how he died,” Samiah says.
“I have seen many dead men, yet I have never seen a corpse look as lifeless as this one,” Aurick says.
“He looks deader than a dead man is supposed to look,” a Rider comments, and his fellows nod in understanding.
“Yes, there is a look to him that is unnatural,” Samiah agrees.
Then Inandaug asks, “What could have thrown him that far?”
No one answers.
“Search everywhere! Search the treetops, look for holes in the ground, anything!” Samiah shouts for all the men to hear. The Riders set out and Samiah trots to the brothers, sitting in wait. “Ghosts, search the river’s edge, its waters; she is a good swimmer and may have used the river for escape. I am going to the bend where it slows. If she got out anywhere, it would have been there.” Samiah’s horse taps its hoof at the ground and Samiah looks down. His eyes catch a hint of shine. He slides from his horse and kneels to get a better look. The object is partially buried, so Samiah digs at the fresh dirt that covers it. He uncovers it and pulls it from the ground. Tears fill his eyes; it is Eramane’s.
Samiah hears his parents arrive, and he dashes out of the house to greet them. He sees his mother first, her face marked with the unmistakable look of worry than can belong only to a mother. His father wears the burden as well, but his face also displays the exhaustion of harsh travels. The weather added to his parents’ tough journey home, causing delay in their return.
The ground is saturated from heavy rains that began three days ago and have only recently ceased. The horses are dressed with mud up to their shoulders and haunches. The caretakers tend the carriage and horses, and Samiah walks behind his parents into the house where they last saw their daughter.
“Have you learned anything more?” Samiah’s father asks, standing behind his wife, who sits in the brown leather chair, the wool wrap that warmed Eramane still draping the chair.
“We have searched tirelessly since we discovered she was gone.” Samiah regrets not having anything more to tell his parents, regrets that he does not have their daughter.
“Did you find anything, son?” his father asks. Samiah swallows, deep and dry.
“Only these.” He holds up Eramane’s hair ribbon and the bird-wing hairpin.
“Oh, my poor child.” His mother breaks into tears. She rises and buries her face in her husband’s caring embrace.
“I am so sorry, Mother.” Samiah’s chin trembles. He walks across the room to his parents and takes both of them in his arms. “I am so sorry,” he says again. He squeezes his father’s shoulder, then breaks away. “I will find her,” he proclaims and storms out of the house.
“Wait!” Mira shouts to her husband, who stops and turns. It has begun to rain again. “Where are you going, Samiah?”
“I am going to seek Lord Danius’s counsel. Someone has to be able to help me find her, Mira.”
She sees her husband’s despair, rushes to him and holds him tight.
“You will find her, Samiah. She is still alive, I can feel it,” Mira says. “Can you not?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says faintly.
“Can you feel this?” Mira asks, placing her husband’s hand on her belly. Samiah’s eyes flicker from sorrow to hope.
“You are with child?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“Yes, love. Our baby is the reason for my recent bouts of illness,” she admits. Samiah takes his wife in his arms and kisses her.
“You take care of yourself and our child. I will return soon.” He bends down and kisses Mira’s belly. “And you—stop making your mother so ill.”
Mira watches from the shelter of the porch as her husband rides off, out of sight.
Gratitude
THE WATER IS HOT, AND
steam rises from it, rolling over the edge of the stone tub. Adikiah’s pile of furs was of no threat to me, as I had feared. Once he finished showing me the terrace where he sleeps, Adikiah led me back into the mountain, to the washing chamber, where I am now, soaking my dirt-stained skin and exhausted muscles. I imagine that my appearance was less than presentable. My hair is matted in some places with soil and small pieces of debris from the forest, and in others with snot and sweat.
The washroom has a large opening on the wall opposite the tub. I can see the stars when I look out. The full moon sends in its glow, making the flickering candles almost unnecessary. I plunge my head below the water and listen to the sounds in my mind that have been suppressed by the distractions of my new environment. At first I listen to the immediate sound, my heartbeat. It sounds the same as it did when I last bathed at my brother’s place. Then I hear the voices of my family: my mother telling me to stay with her forever, my father’s “I love you” while he squeezed me good-bye, and Samiah’s protective “When it comes to you, I do not trust any man.” All of their words play in my head like a song of comfort. But after a while of listening to these soothing sounds, upset breaks through, and my mother’s and father’s words turn into moans and weeping, and Samiah’s voice is no longer protective but apologetic. I can hear him as if he were beside me: “I am sorry, Eramane. I never should have let you go to the river.” These noises take over, and like a song memorized to the point of madness, they are stuck in an unrelenting circle that plays over and over, again and again.
My bath is no longer relaxing; I step out and wrap a robe around me. I see a dress hanging on a metal bust, and I reach for it. I hold up the garment left for me to wear. It is a deep burgundy with gold embroidery in a pattern along the edges of the sleeves and hem. A high collar stands up from the neckline, and black shiny gemstones form thin slanted lines along its length. The dress is regal and extravagant and heavy. I put it back on the wire frame and look around for my yellow dress. Finding it lying on the floor next to the tub, I pick it up to examine it. The skirt has a small tear, and it bears the stains of grass and dirt in several places. I dip the soiled parts of my yellow dress in the tub and scrub each spot until they are all lightened, but somehow, because of the events that caused them, the stains seem to stand out more than ever. I scrub harder, but no amount of water and soap will erase them, just as a bath and a beautiful burgundy gown cannot suppress my memories of Lebis’s death. I hold my dress to my face as I sob into it. I know that I should be grateful for Adikiah’s hospitality, but I miss my home, and I know my family must be in agony wondering where I am, whether I am alive or dead. I need to go home and relieve them of their torment.
Finally, the stains are mostly gone, and I slide my dress on, taking comfort in its familiarity. I can do nothing for the small tear; it is hardly noticeable anyway. My foot is healing quite fast, faster than it should, really, and again I am grateful to Adikiah for that. “It is a special ointment; your foot will heal very soon,” he said earlier when I asked him about the new bandages. I cannot reason with myself about my apprehension of telling Adikiah that I want to return to my home. He has never told me that I am a prisoner, has never treated me as a captive, but in my gut I feel that I am trapped here despite my wish to return home to my family. But I must tell him that I want to go.
“You do not like the gown I had placed in the washing chamber for you?” Adikiah asks, seeing that I am still in my yellow dress. He orders away the servant who escorted me to the terrace. We are alone there now; my eyes find the furs. I look away and find the courage to answer.
“I thought the dress was lovely,” I say, giving him my honest opinion. My
most
honest opinion is that it is not something I would have chosen for myself.
“Yet you do not wear it.” His speech is tight; I have offended him.
“Adikiah,” I say, moving closer to him, “I do think the dress is lovely. But I do not feel that it is appropriate for me to accept such an extravagant gift. It looked as though it cost many coins.” I see that my words have not changed his expression. He stands facing out toward the ocean; his feet only inches away from the ledge. I have been so concerned with having to tell him that I desire to leave, that I have not noticed the spectacular view. I walk over to the edge of the terrace and look down at the ocean. I cannot believe how high up we are. Adikiah’s palace is on top of a mountain, surrounded by the ocean waters. I look in all directions. In the distance I see the shoreline; it looks like a hazy dark smear across the ocean’s surface.
As I reach for his hand in an attempt to show my sincerity, his expression changes. His eyes are fixed on mine, and a hint of a smile graces his lips. My courage to tell him falters.
“I am not concerned with coin, Eramane. You are the singular thing that presses my thoughts,” he says, his eyes content with having me in their gaze.
“I do not understand. Why am I a burden to you?” I ask. Adikiah takes my hand in his.
“You misunderstand me, Eramane. You are not a burden to me. I am concerned because I want you to like it here. I want you be happy here. I want you to stay here with me. Yet I see it in your face even now as you look at me; you wish to leave.” Adikiah drops my hands and turns back to face the ocean. He wants me to stay with him. I am unsure of how to respond.
“Adikiah, I will never be able to repay you, or thank you enough, for saving me from that creature. I cannot imagine how you managed to defeat it. But you did; you saved me,” I say. I hear the words aloud and realize how horribly ungrateful I will sound if I reject his offer to stay. He saved me. I am alive because this man risked his life to salvage my own; I owe him my life. Yet did he not intend to possess it anyway? Is that not what he meant when he said that he would come for me? “I want to see my family, to let them know that I am alive.” His attention is back on me again.
“I brought you here to be with me, to fill my empty existence.” He pauses briefly, then continues, “I will give you everything you have ever desired, and everything you do not yet know you want.” He leans into my ear and whispers, “I will give you what your soul is ashamed to desire.”
“Yes, you
brought
me here. Here, instead of my home. But I do not want to be here. I want to go home.” I see his face tighten, his nostrils flare. “I cannot give you what you want, Adikiah. I do not feel love for you. I feel gratitude, beyond measure. That alone is not enough.” I look to him for a reply. He stands motionless, his jaw clenched. I try to understand what he is feeling, why he chooses to remain silent. “I am sorry” is all I say. We both stand looking out over the ocean. It feels like an eternity of silence before Adikiah disrupts it.
“You are my not prisoner, Eramane. I will take you to your family. First, though, let your wounds heal, your body and mind recover. It is a long journey back.”
The Torbiuns
“
B
RING THEM IN FOR JUDGMENT.
They will be tried and condemned to the cells below Eludwid Hall,” Lord Danius orders, pacing behind a large table, papers and maps of the territories strewn atop it. Samiah watches his lord, the ruler’s face creased with hard lines and deep scars. He knows that Lord Danius has not finished. “Those Torbiuns have been running free far too long. I should have ended them when the opportunity was there.” His voice lowers and his pace slows. “To think that they have your sister sickens me, Samiah.” Lord Danius goes silent, his head turned toward correspondence on his council table. “This is one of hundreds of accusations against those hooligans.” He looks up, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “They will not see the daylight if they live to be a hundred.” He bellows a deep laugh.