The Healer's Warrior (10 page)

As Tareq watched her eat, his mouth relaxed. When she swallowed the food, he exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his body. “Your plate should be empty when I return,” he instructed. Jem’ya glanced at him with moist eyes, silent. Tareq left, locking the door behind him.

As soon as Tareq was out of sight, Jem’ya pulled the warm tray onto her lap and stuffed her mouth full of the chicken and couscous. She ate quickly, swallowing sometimes without chewing, and gulping down water to moisten her throat. In two minutes the plate was clean. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and massaged at her full belly. Her body and mind were immediately energized from the meal. Her stomach, however, continued to ache, painfully stretched by the meal after days of contracting around emptiness. Once her stomach began to relax, she stood and paced the room to stretch her legs.

Six days of her life had been spent caged in the cellar of Tareq’s palace. Jem’ya wondered how Tareq could claim to be sorry, yet keep her imprisoned. He was a mad man. One moment, he was calm and soft spoken, and in the next he yelled threats at her.

Tareq’s madness had bleached the substance from her life. It perverted her past, robbed her of hope for the future, and made the present dark and empty. The memories of her family were now tarnished by the murder of her brother and the slaughter and servitude of her tribe. Her life was like a pitch black hallway. She did not see an end to the current circumstances, and if in the end she regained her freedom and saw her family, she did not know if she could ever be truly happy again.

The foggy recollection of the dream she had earlier and the memory of waking up in Tareq’s arms disturbed her. She had found solace and safety in the arms of the Tareq in her dreams. When she awoke actually cradled in Tareq’s arms she was revolted. How could her sleeping mind create such fantasies about Tareq despite the true nightmare? Well, in a sense, she’d had plenty of practice. It’s what she’d been doing from the moment she developed feelings for him months ago. She had never completely known the real Tareq, but she had fallen for the fantasy she’d created from what little she knew.

She knew he could be thoughtful. He could be funny and spontaneous. Sometimes he was gentle and charming. Other times he was aggressive and assertive. He was handsome, and also mysterious. He hid many things. He was tortured with chronic pain by those secret things which fought him back constantly because he tried to bury them while they were still alive. Now he was trying to bury her, Jem’ya realized. He wanted to stow her away and contain her as if that would change what had happened, but Jem’ya would continue to fight him, just like the rest of his demons.

A few hours later, Tareq returned to the cellar. He wore black silky pajama pants and a matching V-neck shirt and robe. His dark curly hair was wet from a bath. The muscles in Jem’ya’s body tensed when he came into the room. She stepped back against the wall and crossed her arms. Tareq glanced at the empty plate on the tray. Then he met her gaze. His expression was neutral. For the first time, Jem’ya noticed the dark circles beneath Tareq’s light eyes. He turned his back to her as he studied the newest additions to her cell. Bahja had hung a round mirror on the wall behind the square table, brought in a narrow dresser, and placed a three-panel privacy screen in the corner of the room for Jem’ya to dress herself behind.

“So, what do your brother and your father think of me, eh?” Jem’ya taunted. “What would your mother think of this, Tareq?” Jem’ya had asked Bahja about the royal family and learned that Tareq’s mother died over a decade ago; of what, Bahja refused to discuss.

There was a silent pause, but Tareq did not turn around. “Do not rile me this evening. You know as well as I how it diminishes my strength.”

“Evening?
Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was late. I live in a windowless cellar, you see.” She glared at the back of his head. Still he did not turn to her. Her eyes fell to his rigid shoulders. “I’ve told you many times that you should listen to your body. It is telling you what you do not wish to accept: that your actions are not in agreement with the flow of God’s pure energy. That your cold mortal heart and your divine soul are at odds.”

He continued touching at the burnt-orange notebook and the quill that Bahja had placed on Jem’ya’s table, his back to her. “Well, according to you I have neither a heart nor a soul,” he said with a dispirited chuckle. “And according to your mother, you’ve believed all along that I was an arrogant, insensitive and entitled man.”

Jem’ya’s heart seized. She wanted so badly to talk to her mother and father. Her eyes started to water. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Yes, I did. And I believe it much more strongly now,” she needled.

Tareq finally turned around. He wanted to ask about Jem’ya’s half-dream, about why she’d desired to be held by him and what it was that she wanted from him but felt she couldn’t have. He wanted to ask, but the disgust in her dark eyes pushed those questions back. He asked instead, “Is that what you really believe? That I am a monster and have no human feelings?”

She wanted to yell
Yes
!
However, the vulnerability in Tareq’s eyes made her soften her answer.
“I don’t know you, so I really cannot say.”

“What do you mean you don’t know me? We have known each other a year or more! Were we not friends?”

“Friends?” she laughed. She withdrew from the wall a step and straightened her posture. “Who was I friends with, Tareq? Not the prince, or the warrior or the kidnapper.  I was friends with a farmer.
An act.”

“You knew I wasn’t a farmer. It was obvious. I didn’t tell you the truth of my nobility, but I…I was myself with you. I never lied to you, Jem’ya.”

“How dare you pat yourself on the back for sparing me your loose definition of a lie? Look at every other atrocity you’ve committed against me and my family, and then try to tell me again that your so-called honesty is worth
anything
.” She bit down on her bottom lip to hide its trembling.

Tareq’s gaze fell to the floor.

Jem’ya swallowed. “There are two of you. There is Tareq at the Coast, and Tareq at
Tikso
. I do not know which one is the real you, or if you are in fact a twisted combination of both.”

He nodded and rubbed at his mouth. “Then you know as much as I.” His tired eyes met hers. “Goodnight.”

The rippling sheen of his robe’s silky black material caught Jem’ya’s eye as Tareq left the cellar room. Her eyes then scanned the room and noticed something else. Her folded arms fell to her sides as she walked up to the square table. The pearl and gold earrings were sitting on top of the orange notebook. With her pointer finger, Jem’ya touched one of the twinkling spheres. Seeing the earrings elicited in her a tender feeling that disgusted and confused her. She quickly replaced it with annoyance. Did Tareq think that she was as materialistic as him? Earrings were not going to quiet her.

Or maybe it was payment. By this time, Tareq would have arrived at her house by the sea, aching and grumpy, seeking the comfort of her hands.

As Jem’ya suspected, Tareq sent Bahja the next day to bring Jem’ya upstairs for a healing session.

Jem’ya refused.

“Please, Lady Jem’ya,” Bahja urged. “He is genuinely in a lot of pain.”

“So am I,” was Jem’ya’s answer.

Bahja sighed and left the cellar. She returned with Tareq. His tan long-sleeved shirt was completely unbuttoned. The woven belt in his dark brown pants was lax, allowing the pants to fall low on his hips. With a slight limp he walked up to the gate. He was squinting from pain. Jem’ya did not feel an ounce of sympathy for him. Bahja walked away to let him speak to Jem’ya alone.

“Good morning, Jem’ya.” Humbly, he bowed his head.

She stared at him as she sat in the chair at the small square table, unimpressed.

 “You told me once that…that you don’t work only for your own enjoyment, you do it for your Creator as well.”

Jem’ya rolled her eyes.
How dare he question my faith?

“You said that your Creator tells you, through your hands, who to heal and who to pass on. I am wondering, what are your hands telling you now, about me?”

Jem’ya glanced down at her hands in her lap, shocked. They were tingling. She immediately pulled them into fists. The tingling increased. A sore lump formed in her throat. Of all people, God wanted her to heal
Tareq
? The thought of being anywhere near Tareq, let alone touching him, made her skin crawl. But the thought of defying her Creator upset her more.

She swallowed. “I will do it,” she said, the words bitter and forced.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Tareq. God is the one taking pity on a man like you. Not me.”

Somber-eyed, Tareq nodded. “Bahja will take you to the room,” he said as he walked away.  

Bahja made Jem’ya put on the black
burqa
which covered her completely and had black mesh across the rectangular cutout for a woman’s eyes. Bahja opened the gate and led Jem’ya through the darkness to the cellar’s entrance. Bahja paused at the door. “I advise you to stay with me. As I’ve told you before, the palace guards have been instructed to kill intruders on sight.” Jem’ya held her breath as the door was opened and they stepped into the brilliant natural light. She followed Bahja down the halls of the magnificent palace. Bahja moved quickly. Jem’ya managed to keep up while gaping at the luxury around her. Polished ivory, glittering gold and velvety royal red were the color palette of the fortress, and every fixture or furnishing was spotless or gleaming. It was beautiful, and Jem’ya did not miss the irony of it. Terrible crimes were being committed to maintain such a heavenly place.

Bahja took Jem’ya to Tareq’s private study. The walls were packed with books and there was a desk and leather chair in the center of the cylindrical room. A massage table was set up in front of the desk. Stripped down to his black shorts, Tareq sat at the edge of the table. His long legs swung gently back and forth. A bowl of water and a flask of oil were already on the desk. Bahja helped Jem’ya remove the
burqa
and then left the study.

Jem’ya did not meet his eyes. She stood silent, looking at the marble floor, until Tareq took the hint and lay stomach down on the massage table. Then, though her stomach was in knots, she neared him. She held her hands an inch above the curve of his lower back and tried to hold an image in her mind of Tareq in perfect health.

She couldn’t. Instead she saw a bloodied sword fall from his hand into the dirt and behind him was
Kibwe
quivering on the ground. Her hands began to shake. If she had been strong enough she could have gone to
Kibwe
. She could have been by his side and she might have healed him. A miracle might have been performed through her to spare her brother’s life. Jem’ya brushed her face against her shoulder to dry the tears from her cheek. Instead she was here, trying to ease her captor’s pain.
God, if this is what you want me to do, please help me.
She passed her hands over Tareq’s back, waiting for her palms to heat up, the sign that the pain was being lifted from his body.

A vision of Tareq suddenly overtook her sight. She saw Tareq lying down, in the same way he was now, but in a bed with white sheets. His whole body was trembling and his eyes were clenched shut. Tears spilled from beneath his thick lashes and splashed down his handsome face. She didn’t understand why he was crying but she could feel his emotions like they were her own. It was pure heartache, raw and incessant like a fresh deep wound, an ache Jem’ya knew well: grief. It was almost unbearable. In a flash the vision cleared from her eyes.

Stunned, she glanced all around at the study and at Tareq. He wasn’t crying. His eyes were open and focused on a bookshelf across the room. Jem’ya realized the heat growing in her hands. She began to breathe again. She was lifting his pain.

Had God just allowed her to see the future, or was she given a glimpse of the past? Either way, God had aided her with that vision. It had created a moment of empathy that subdued her resentment enough to let her heal Tareq. As she continued the session, it felt as though a light was being shown on her spirit. It had always felt good to heal people, but the radiance felt so much sweeter as it permeated the shadows of her suffering.