The Healer's Warrior (19 page)

She jumped at the sound of Tareq’s booming voice carrying clear across the whole city and up the hill to the palace. Jem’ya couldn’t understand what he was saying because it was in Samician, but she could hear him. His voice was surprisingly clear from such a distance, and powerful and hypnotic. The spectators were in awe, she was sure of it.

If only she could see him. She actually felt proud of him. Tareq had spoken to her in metaphor about the strained relationship he had with his father, and his desire to take over the family business once his father passed away. She’d known Tareq hadn’t really been speaking about a farm, but she never imagined the “family farm” was really a nation.

The thunder of applause after Tareq’s speech moved Jem’ya. The roar of praise went on and on. Each time that she thought the crowd would finally quiet, they cheered a minute more.

 The princesses of
Qamud
stood gossiping about the other guests at a small social gathering in Commander’s Hall following the ceremony. The brunettes kept an eye on Tareq, watching for an opportunity to speak to him. Tareq avoided the sisters, talking with important officials and the leaders of surrounding nations. Frustrated, the younger sister caught hold of Tareq’s arm while he walked by, pulling him into their midst. He glanced over their jeweled headscarves and closefitting tunics. A common woman would be beaten for wearing clothes that tight in public. The sisters resembled each other so much that they looked like twins. The only difference was that the oldest one was a few inches taller and had a small gap between her front teeth.

“Tareq, it’s so nice to see you again,” cooed the oldest. “You look so handsome, as always.”

“In my opinion, you look even more handsome.” The youngest sister’s hand continued to linger on his bicep. “Kingly robes do suit you.”

The older sister eyed Tareq’s throat like a starving lioness as she sipped a spiked drink from her personal gold goblet.

“I heard your inheritance was nearly sixty million,” the younger
Qamud
princess said, biting at her bottom lip.  

“I’m focused on the people, not the—”

“Where’s Qadir?” interrupted the older sister. “He’s so much fun!” She grinned.

Stay away from my brother, harlot.
“He’s on a trip, in
Tusci
.
Won’t be back for weeks.
Excuse me, someone of importance would like to speak with me.”

“Do hurry back,” one of them called as he walked away.

 Tareq exhaled, feeling righteous but guilty. He was projecting. He had no patience and a short temper when it came to women like the
Qamud
princesses, and it had everything to do with his shameful love-hate feelings about his mother. It was because he loved her and missed her so much that he resented the choices his mother made. If she hadn’t married for money, he and his brother would not have been fathered by a monster and wouldn’t have had to lose her so sadistically and so soon. If the promise of material possessions and royalty had not been so appealing to her, she and her sons would not have suffered as they did. He felt abandoned by her sometimes. Mostly he felt cheated and incomplete.

After socializing at the gathering, Tareq rushed to the meeting room, excited to reconvene with the councilmen to have their innovative, socially conscious, and financially responsible laws fleshed out and put down on paper.

Finally, Tareq was moving the black tip of the quill across the bottom of the parchment scroll, signing his name to the new decrees for Samhia. The new laws would lift his kingdom up to its full potential. By ending all slavery, instituting prorated taxation, promoting family businesses and trades, commanding cultural and religious tolerance, assisting the poor, providing education for women and children, and organizing medical treatment for the ill, Samhia would be a mecca for all of Africa. There would be controversy, but Tareq was prepared to put the selfish and the stubborn in their places.

The councilmen applauded as Tareq finished signing his name to the new constitution. Tareq beamed. This was the happiest moment of his life. Now he would
earn
the reverence of the people. Now their bows would be because of his accomplishments, not his bloodline. Tareq was anxious to tell Jem’ya the good news. He hoped that she was willing to talk to him and perhaps celebrate with him.

Asif
walked briskly into the conference room and went directly to Tareq’s side. “Your Highness, they’ve found Prince Qadir,” he whispered.

Tareq could tell by
Asif’s
voice something was wrong. “What is it?”

“Could we step outside first,
your
Highness?”

All the councilmen’s eyes were on Tareq, reading the King’s face for clues about what was the matter. “Yes.” He trailed
Asif
out into the hall.

“Your brother was found curled up on the floor in his closet. He’d been hiding from everyone.”

Tareq shook his head, wondering when Qadir was going to stop being so childish. They’d swapped roles as the years went by, leaving Tareq to act as the responsible older brother while Qadir acted like an impulsive teenager. It wasn’t fair. Tareq had enough responsibilities as it was. “I can’t believe he missed my ceremony to hide in his room.” 

“King Tareq,”
Asif
said softly, “there
was
an empty liquor bottle and an empty purse of opium powder beside his body.”

Tareq’s blood ran cold.
“His body?
What are you saying?”

“He had too much. He’s gone, King Tareq.”

Tareq’s eyes bore into
Asif’s
face. It felt as though his heart was ripping apart in his chest.
Asif
was quiet. Tareq was quiet. The silence was cut by Tareq’s desperate shout. “Who told you to tell me this lie?!”

Asif
shook his head solemnly. “I’m very sorry,
your
Highness.”

Seeing the sincerity in his assistant’s eyes, Tareq knew the worst was true. His hazel eyes flooded with tears.

“There’s a carriage waiting for you outside, King Tareq.”

The horses, six of them, thundered through the streets pulling the king’s white carriage. Tareq sat in darkness inside it, listening to the coachman clear a path with his loud voice. An emotional breakdown was hovering around Tareq like smog. He could feel it looming, suspended by a fraying thread of disbelief that Qadir was gone.

Tareq got out of the carriage before it made a complete stop within the palace gates. He raced past the fountains and into the palace. His lungs burned with the need for oxygen but he could hardly breathe. Every hallway seemed twice as long and it felt as though every stairway had double the steps. Maids and guards with somber faces lowered their eyes and bowed as he ran past them on his way to his brother’s room.

Finally, Tareq reached the tall double doors and burst into the bedroom.
“Qadir!”
Tareq’s strides came to a halt once he saw his brother.

Six tearful maidservants dressed in white carefully stepped away from the bed and bowed to Tareq. Qadir’s body lie on the bed, eyes closed, dressed in a deep red tunic; unmoving. Tareq went to him. He scrambled onto the bed and pulled Qadir into his arms. “This can’t be!” He gently shook Qadir’s frail body and pat at his cool cheek with his trembling hand. “Wake up.
Please
wake up.”

Tareq studied his older brother’s thin, ashen face for any movement, hoping that his lips would pull into a smile and his brown eyes would open, hoping that this was Qadir playing some kind of practical joke.

A tear fell from Tareq’s glistening eyes and landed at the corner of Qadir’s brown lashes. The teardrop ran down Qadir’s face as if it were his own.

He always thought Qadir would turn away from his destructive lifestyle once their father was gone. He always planned that they would rule Samhia together.
Why did you do this, Qadir?
Why?

Tareq realized that the last thing he’d said to his only brother was an insult. “I’m so sorry,” he sputtered. “I’m so sorry. You’re all I have left. How am I supposed do this without you?” Tareq picked up Qadir’s heavy hand. He squeezed it and rubbed at his skin, trying to warm it again.  Broken, he kissed Qadir on the cheek and began to wail with the intensity of an ill-fated child. He pulled the white and gold
keffiyeh
from his head and pulled at his hair.

When they were kids, the brothers showed each other their bruises from their father’s discipline. When Tareq was mute after
Mariza
was killed, he wrote letters to Qadir, and no one else. They shared years of secrets and bonded over dirty jokes. Tareq deeply regretted not laughing with Qadir more. He would give anything to take back the last jab he’d made. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

Tareq didn’t know if twenty minutes or two hours had passed before he noticed Bahja was standing at the doorway, weeping and watching.
“Bahja?”

She went to him. Tareq released his embrace of Qadir’s body and buried his face in Bahja’s neck. Together, they sobbed. “It’s
all my
fault,” he cried. “I should have checked on him myself this morning, but I got caught up in the attention.”

“This is not your fault. My prince has been troubled for a long time now.” With the end of her headscarf, Bahja wiped at Tareq’s tears and then dried her own tears. “Your father’s death meant the spotlight would be on you as well as on him. He was afraid to face the scrutiny and the high expectations. He always turned to the wrong things to escape his worries. This time he went too far.” Bahja wanted to fall to her knees and scream, but she kept strong for Tareq. She rubbed his back and rocked him. Suddenly, she felt Tareq jolt as if he’d been frightened by something, and then he began to gasp and tremble.
“Tareq?”

Tareq pulled away from Bahja.
“Oh God, oh
God
!
I
killed him!”

“That’s madness!”

“I killed Jem’ya’s brother, so Allah took Qadir to punish me!”

“Stop it! This isn’t your fault. Please, Tareq, hear me or you will break what’s left of this old heart!”

Tareq continued to tremble and breathe irregularly, but he went completely silent.

“Tareq?”
Bahja’s heart wrung. She feared he would go mute again. He was the King now. She couldn’t let him deteriorate. “My King, this is too much for you right now. I beg you, go to your room and lay down. I’ll give you something to drink that will put you right to sleep. When you wake up, everything will be better. Come this way.”

Tareq slid down from the bed and stood up. His face was pale and drawn. His eyes were empty. Bahja held his arm and led him toward the door. His legs froze when he reached the footboard of Qadir’s bed. Tareq gripped the bed post and cried out as immobilizing pain overwhelmed him. His muscles were seizing all over. Spots of white light were flashing before his eyes. Bahja yelped when he fell to his knees. He couldn’t walk. This was the worst his pain had ever been. It even hurt to breath.

Two guards ran to his aid. They lifted the King and began to carry him to his room. Tareq managed to speak, just above a whisper. “Put me in the tub.
Hot water.”

Bahja shook her head. “No, you need Jem’ya.”

In the library, Jem’ya was having a lesson in Samician taught by the mixed blood young man who was Tareq’s translator at
Tikso
and was also the palace librarian. He identified her accent when she greeted him in Arabic as she walked into the library. Jem’ya was delighted when he greeted her back in
Rwujan
. It was so comforting to hear her first language. They began a conversation and Jem’ya expressed how she wished she knew more Samician so that she could have understood King Tareq’s speech that afternoon. The librarian offered to help her learn. Twenty minutes into the lesson, Bahja burst into the library.