Chapter 13
Across the desert plains she rode, moving east at a steady, inexorable pace. Riding at the head of an army over seven-hundred strong, gusts of a stinging westerly wind blowing in her face, Zafirah found it easy to envision herself as the foremost tip of a thrusting spear, striking for the heart of the thief who had dared trespass against her. Behind her, the faces of her soldiers were set and grim; they all knew they were heading into lands few Jaharri had ever seen before, and none could guess what fate awaited them. But their devotion was fierce and pure, and Zafirah knew they would follow her to the gates of the underworld if she asked it of them. Sometimes she heard them talking in hushed and excited voices, discussing what they might find in the eastern kingdom—what wonders they might see, or what glories they might earn in battle if Hazim’s estimation of the King proved false.
She set a hard pace across the wastelands of rock and over the endless, sweeping ridges of sand dunes and scrub, only allowing a few hours of rest during the hottest parts of the day. The distance they had to cover was great and she didn’t want to waste a moment reaching her destination. At her side rode Inaya and Nasheta, the two women somber and resolute as any of the soldiers. During their brief stops they sheltered with Zafirah in her large tent, and though at first she sought to rebuff their comfort and company, it didn't take her long to realize she found it easier to gain meaningful sleep in their embrace.
They stopped to resupply at the Kah-hari oasis, but only briefly, before continuing on through the Ah’Raf Pass, whose craggy canyon walls still showed the scars of the battle fought here only a few months ago. Those who had not participated in that conflict eyed the blackened rocks and devastation gravely; the weapons they would face in the eastern kingdom would likely be the same as those employed here by Shakir Al'Jadin and his renegade army. The thought was a sobering one to even the most veteran warriors.
On they marched, ever east, chasing the rising sun. Gradually the sands began to give way to vast plains of tussock grasses and tough, resilient scrub trees, and Zafirah slowed their pace. Ahead of them in the distance lay mountains, dark purple and yet indistinct against the horizon—the first true mountains many of them had ever seen. Finally, the army passed through the territories of the Coss’an and the Biverak, the easternmost tribes of the desert, who had nurtured the ancient bloodlines of the Jaharri horses on the sparse grasslands for centuries. The towering range of mountains loomed ever larger on the horizon as they approached.
Nestled at the base of the rocky foothills they encountered their first sign of civilization—an isolated settlement of perhaps a hundred souls, managing to eek a simple living amid the harsh wilderness. Known to most travelers as Humptown—a joking reference to the large herd of camels which supplied the community with its chief source of revenue—the hardy outpost lay between the territories of the Jaharri and the Heartland, unclaimed by either nation but offering a useful service to both. Many of those who sought to cross the Jaharri paused here to trade their horses for camels, which could better endure the parched environment; an almost identical settlement in the west would then offer horses to those entering the realm of the Tasuriks. The inhabitants were a motley assortment of both Jaharri and easterners, and the style of their humble stone buildings reflected a blending of the two cultures. Though initially alarmed by the sudden appearance of the Scion and her army, they proved welcoming enough once they realized they weren’t under attack.
No-one in the settlement had seen anyone matching Dae’s description pass through, which meant her ‘liberators’ had probably taken another path through the Thunder Peaks further south. By now, Dae was likely already back with her parents.
The innkeeper insisted that Zafirah take the finest room in her humble establishment, and it would have been rude to deny her…not to mention cruel to the two pleasure-servants, who greeted the news that they would been sleeping in a proper bed with relief and a touch of glee. Zafirah suspected her bedmates would be eager to take advantage of their accommodations by inviting her to share in some carnal play, though she wasn’t sure her heart was in the mood. Focused so intently upon her march, Zafirah had found her libido strangely dulled during their trek. Rather than joining the two women, she wandered about the outskirts of the settlement, craning her neck to look up at the towering, craggy mountains ahead of her in awe.
These were the Thunder Peaks, a dangerous region claimed by neither the Heartland nor the Jaharri, yet a source of riches for both. The Peaks rose high and sheer above the surrounding plains, plagued by earth tremors (and even the occasional eruption) which could trigger rockfalls or open cracks that could swallow entire expeditions. No mines or settlements ever endured for longer than a season. Despite the hazards many still braved the terrain, seeking gold, gems, or other valuable minerals which were left exposed by the shifting earth. Though Zafirah had seen them from a distance before, this was the closest she’d ever ventured. A shiver chased its way down her spine; standing before them in the crushing weight of their shadow, Zafirah felt uncomfortably small and insignificant.
Long ago the Heartlanders, in their quest to expand trade routes to the west, had carved a passage through a shallow valley which cut through the mountains. While there were other paths between east and west, the Northern Pass was by far the safest and most well-travelled. Contemplating the road ahead, recalling the sketches Dae had shown her of her homeland, Zafirah tried to imagine what they would find beyond the mountains. Hearing footsteps approaching, she glanced back to find Hazim joining her in her study of the sheer granite walls of the mountain.
“To the outlanders it is known as the Great Divide, Scion,” Hazim commented to her conversationally. “The range extends all the way to the Shattering Sea in the south, where its peaks sink beneath the waves…to the peril of any ship brave or foolish enough to sail it. Its northern tip is said to be the Exile Isles. Once we move beyond it, we shall truly be in the watered lands…the Heartland.”
“The Heartland?” Zafirah gave a quiet snort of disdain. “Let the country keep its name longer than five generations, wazir, and I shall call it so.”
Ever the diplomat, Hazim gave a thin-lipped smile but did not respond to the derision in her tone.
Although the nation had been known as the Heartland for over a century, because so many of its previous rulers had adopted a policy of renaming the kingdom to mark it as their own, it had changed names many times over the course of its history. Zafirah's people had always viewed this habit as a weakness born of petty pride. The desert had always been called the Jaharri; its dunes shifted and rolled under the ceaseless winds, its oases and springs flourished and dried with the passing of the seasons, but the Jaharri endured the rise and fall of each new Scion who ruled it without ever truly changing. Having little respect for the shiftless, self-aggrandizing nature of the outlanders, the Jaharri people had always referred to the watered lands simply as the eastern kingdom.
“You are certain you will be able to chart a course to our destination?” Zafirah asked. “The longer we remain wandering about the kingdom, the greater the chance the outlanders will find the courage to attack us.”
“It will take time, Scion, but I am familiar enough with the geography of the land to approximate a location for Lord Everdeen's estate. For instance, we can assume the slavers who first abducted your Consort would not have risked venturing near the capitol city of Farlon; that eliminates most of the far eastern coast. And as it is in the Jaharri, the southern regions are an untamed and uncivilized wilderness. Only outlaws and renegades are desperate enough to make a home there.”
“That narrows it down some, I suppose…but still, the kingdom is vast. You understand better than most the prejudices harbored by these outlanders, wazir. Every day that passes is another day my Consort must suffer the judgment of her own people…her own family.”
“I understand, Scion,” Hazim said, his expression grave. “Have faith. The winter winds are already blowing, and I have even less desire to linger in outlander territory than you do.”
“Hmph.”
“Moving forward, I might suggest we shift to marching through the daytime rather than under starlight,” Hazim offered. “The sun’s heat never lingers long in the Northern Pass this time of year, and it is never wise to walk an unfamiliar path when blinded. Falak’s scouts will need their eyes sharp if they are to help us navigate our way in foreign lands.”
Zafirah had noticed the shift in temperature as they approached the mountains…sensed the change in the air as they moved from a land ruled by the heat of the sun to one ruled by clouds and rain. She gave her wazir a nod. “I suppose we could all use a moment to recover before we take the next step,” she agreed. “I shall let the troops know—”
“I am capable of delivering the order to Falak, and she will see it done,” Hazim interrupted her, taking her by the arm and turning her back toward the inn. He gave her a gentle push. “Go, Scion. Best see to your bedmates and take whatever sleep they allow you. We are not likely to see another comfortable bed in many weeks.”
Zafirah rolled her eyes, but the swift march had left her weary and aching, and she knew she would need her strength and focus before long. Leaving her wazir to attend to the task, she began making her way back to the inn… and any comfort her pleasure-servants might offer.
* * *
Though her initial reception had been strained and hurtful, Dae did what she could to repair her relationship with her parents over the next week. It was obvious her mother had spoken with her father regarding their heated exchange, for as his shock passed and he calmed down, Richard seemed to make a similar effort not to inflict any further pain.
Dae remained in her room for much of the time, though when the rains eased she quite enjoyed strolling aimlessly through the gardens around the estate, much as she had done as a child. If the weather was clear enough, she would take off her shoes and burrow her toes into the lush grasses, closing her eyes and imagining she was barefoot in the seraglio gardens once more. In the evenings she would join her parents for dinner, where the conversation remained stilted. All three of them avoided discussing the topics of Zafirah, Dae’s time in the Jaharri, or her fervent and continued desire to return.
Though they were content to give her space and time to adjust, her parents seemed determined to re-establish the old patterns and routines of life from before she was abducted, and for the most part she didn’t protest. As much as she longed to be back with Zafirah and Inaya and all her friends, it was obvious to Dae that her parents had suffered tremendously in her absence. She felt it would be cruel to add to their anguish.
There remained a lingering tension though…something Dae felt most keenly from the servants and soldiers she encountered around the estate. Although everyone was polite and cordial to her directly, Dae was extremely conscious of their eyes following her wherever she went, the whispered conversations that stopped any time she came within earshot. Stories of her experiences in the desert and the fact that she refused to show what they all considered to be an appropriate regret and shame for her actions had spread among the commoners quickly, and they all appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the juicy scandal.
There were moments of true pain and sadness for Dae; her handmaidens, whom she had known since she turned thirteen and who—despite her father’s admonitions never to grow too close with the commoners—had been the closest thing she’d ever had to friends (at least before meeting Inaya), could barely look her in the eye. In fact, they almost seemed afraid in her presence…as though these animal lusts she had indulged in might suddenly overwhelm her at any moment and cause her to attack them in a sexual frenzy!
Though it hurt to see that fear and distaste in their furtive glances, as time wore on Dae found their reactions more pitiable than painful; eventually she dismissed the three handmaidens from their duties entirely.
It was yet another clear demonstration of how much she had grown during her time in the harem, and rather than shame or embarrassment, the strongest emotions Dae felt were pity for the ignorance and prejudices these people clung to so desperately, and a sense of pride in herself for the fact that she had been able to move beyond those limitations to discover the joy and pleasure she’d found with Zafirah.
Indeed, the more time that passed, the more Dae realized just how weak a connection she felt to this place, and to the people who lived here. She still loved her parents, and their refusal to accept the awakening she had undergone still hurt her deeply, but there was little else here to which she truly felt any attachment. This was her past…her future lay in the Jaharri. As strange as it was, those lingering feelings of guilt and shame were fading as she confronted them properly.
Perhaps, she mused, not everything about her return to this life was a bad thing. Perhaps those feelings had needed to come home before they could truly be laid to rest. Each night as she lay in her bed, bundled up in warm woolen blankets against the bitter winter chill, Dae would close her eyes and drift off to sleep yearning for the touch of silken sheets, the smell of burning incense…and the warmth of her lover’s embrace.
Given how much she longed for Zafirah and how many hours she spent thinking about her and all her friends in El’Kasari, it was unsurprising that on occasion Dae’s dreams at night turned wildly erotic. Writhing in her sleep, the blankets would drag across the silver ring that pierced her nipple—the ring her parents mercifully knew nothing about—sending sparks along her nerve-endings. Dae would sometimes wake to a body inflamed with lustful desire, already stirred to arousal by hands which had guided themselves as she slumbered. Accustomed to enjoying the pleasures of Zafirah’s expert touch, her body clearly didn’t appreciate the absence of those ecstasies now, and Dae did not deny those needs when they arose. Her fingers would seek the molten wetness between her legs, stroking and caressing with practiced skill while she pressed her face into the pillows to muffle her sounds of pleasure. It felt so deliciously wicked to touch herself like this in her old bed, in her old room, indulging in memories of all the delights she had shared with Zafirah and the others…and letting her fantasies run wild contemplating future passions yet to be sampled.
During her first few weeks in the harem Dae had spent a lot of her time drawing and sketching images of her homeland; they had helped her to maintain a connection to a world of thick forests and lush farmlands, easing her homesickness. Now she spent hours painting watercolor images from the harem and her time in the desert—the streets and exotic buildings of El’Kasari…the lush gardens of the seraglio and portraits of the other pleasure-servants…the vast and awesome expanses of the desert, and scenes recalled from her time among the Herak.
And just as she had done throughout her time in the harem, Dae painted the regal, proud, beautiful face of her beloved Zafirah.
One day she returned to her room to find her paintings had been taken during her absence; Dae’s fury at this theft echoed through the halls of the estate, and nothing her parents could offer in their defense had been sufficient to calm her outrage. The paintings were reluctantly returned. After this incident, her parents only studied the pictures with disapproval and made no further comment. Dae didn’t care; she understood these were depictions of a world as alien to her parents as the images of her homeland had been to Inaya and the other girls in the harem. Still, they reminded her that her true home was waiting for her…that she would feel the desert sun again.
Her faith that she would return to the Jaharri never wavered, though she began thinking she might be forced to take the initiative herself in escaping her father’s estate…something which might take some time to plan out, since she was rarely left unattended or unguarded. And there was still a hope that Zafirah would come for her. Despite how unlikely, how impossible, it seemed that the Scion would enter the watered lands personally, Dae couldn’t quite part with the idea. She had always felt connected to Zafirah, ever since their very first meeting…as though their two bodies were somehow magnetized, and it was inevitable and natural that they would be drawn together. As the days drifted by there were moments when Dae could have sworn she felt a familiar little tug, somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know quite what to make of the sensation, but it was there nonetheless…as though the magnet of Zafirah’s body was moving, perhaps even drawing closer.
Thinking it would be a shame not to make the most of her time here, Dae also spent hours sorting through her old possessions and putting together a collection of items she planned on taking with her back to El’Kasari—mostly books, a few treasured items from her childhood, and some art supplies. She also included some things she thought she could offer as gifts to her friends in the harem…little curios they would surely find intriguing, like an old spyglass, a glass snow-globe with a miniature castle within, and the clever little mechanical, wind-up toys she had played with as a girl.
It would be nice, she thought to herself as she sorted through the items, to hold on to a few touchstones from the past.