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Kabira, blessedly, didn’t dream in her long black sleep. If she had, her dead relations would surely have stolen away what fragile will to live she had in punishment for what she’d done. Unconscious, she realized that she’d done evil that day, said and done things that should never have happened. Her mind bathed in guilt, unsure of even how she could ask forgiveness. And then, what of the wrongs done to her? Marius’ comment had been hurtful. What of that?
The first sensation the tortured Palmyr woke up to was one of a dull, thudding, albeit manageable pain. She winced from the pain moving an arm caused, which seemingly gave her away to her invisible visitor.
“Good morning,” the unfamiliar voice said. “You’ve been out for three and a half days, you will survive, and you’re safe. Oh, and no one’s angry with you.”
Not yet up to opening her swollen eyes, Kabira could only silently thank the voice for answering what would have been her first questions; he’d had practice.
She tried, ignoring the pain, to sit up. A firm but gentle hand pushed her back down onto her little pallet. “Oh no, no sitting up yet. You’re still injured.”
She grudgingly obliged, lying down complacently.
“Now,” the voice started again, matter-of-factly, “I want you to stay awake for at least a little bit while I tell you a story. Can you do that?”
Feeling babied, Kabira blushed and croaked an affirmative. She could imagine the foreign figure of her caretaker nodding his head and settling back in a chair to begin. Why he felt the need to tell her a story, she didn’t know, but had the suspicion that she wouldn’t like it once she heard it.
“There used to be a young man,” the voice started, “And this young man lived in the more barbarous provinces of the Empire. His family was loving, and he had good friends, but he was lonely. So, the young man began to court a girl from Rome. She wasn’t very pretty; her skin wasn’t milky white like other ladies’, and her hair would not curl like the fashions demanded, but the young man found himself loving her and her common features more with each passing month.
“Eventually, she came to visit him, rather than he traveling to the capital. They would take walks under the starry skies at night, and stride through wheat fields in the day, imagining they were in Elysium. One day, while she was traveling to meet him, foreigners, rogues from the Persian army, attacked her chariot, robbed the whole retinue, and beat most of them severely. The young man’s love, though under the care of the best of doctors, didn’t do well. She could have recovered from her wounds if she hadn’t then caught pneumonia. A week later, she died.”
Kabira’s uneasy guilt grew into a nauseous feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, hearing about the poor girl’s death, and not liking where the story was going. She didn’t like her suspicion of who the young man was.
“After his love died, the young man grew cold. She had taken the will to live with her to the afterlife, leaving behind a colorless mortal shell. The young man, inconsolable, grew to nasty smiles and rude behavior, spitting on friends and enemies alike when they displeased him. He became selfish as he never had before. Years later, he said something he shouldn’t have, and another girl almost died for his grief.”
The voice finished quietly, somberly, and the silence that reigned amplified Kabira’s feelings. The effect of her scathing words had indeed been just as she’d hoped; scathing, but double-edged. She’d unwittingly almost caused her own death from insulting Marius, touching on the one nerve that would set him off.
She was both hateful and thankful for hearing the story. He’d effectively explained that no one blamed her for what she’d said in response to his hurtful comment, and also that she should acknowledge that part of the blame for her injury fell on herself as well as Marius.
Suddenly, he wasn’t a malicious, evil person anymore. He was strangely like her, having lost someone dear to him, faring much the same. She’d almost turned cold too.
“Is he all right?” she croaked as quietly as she could.
A pause. “Yes, he’s fine, just shaken, and rather sorry.”
Good, she thought. He may be willing to forgive me as I’ve forgiven him.
“Who are you?” she asked next.
A sigh. “I’m the doctor that treated the girl, the Legate’s personal surgeon, Clavius.”
Kabira let loose her own sigh, feeling safe, if not content.
“You probably don’t want to hear this,” Clavius started slowly, “But Adrius is a good man. He won’t harm you unless you give him reason to.”
The Palmyr couldn’t help but give in to the incredulity that coursed through her. “Oh, I’m well aware of that.”
She could practically hear the surgeon frown. “Do you doubt me?”
She shrugged. “Not at all. I’ll have to keep in mind how justified he feels in beating me for, oddly, not wanting to serve him, forced slave as I am.”
“You make it sound as if you don’t believe it’s right.”
“You make it sound as if you do.”
“There’s no sense in his taking you as a slave, then neglecting to let you know your boundaries.”
Kabira felt evil touch her as she scoffed. “I’m a free woman born. I have no boundaries.”
“Clearly,” Clavius said, his amusement evident, “You have a few. More than us…pagans, right?”
Kabira’s breath stopped. His amusement had gone before the end of his statement, sending up warnings in her mind. “You know?”
“You said some things in your fevered state that left little to the imagination,” he answered with some brevity.
Despite herself, the Palmyr was trembling. “You won’t…tell them, right?”
“…No,” he said at length, “Though I don’t think they’d mind if they knew. It may even help them understand you.”
Shame burned within her at her own reluctance to bare her faith, but she would not be a martyr. No one asked, so she didn’t volunteer the information. Just because the Emperor didn’t persecute those who followed the gentle carpenter didn’t mean that his subjects wouldn’t. It just meant they’d get a slap on the wrist for killing her over it.
“I’d rather not risk it just yet.”
“Suite yourself,” Clavius said off-handedly, “In any case, there’s someone who seems to be in want of your attention.”
Kabira had some idea who that someone was. As she heard Clavius’ sandaled feet leaving, she heard a bare pair come closer. A rough, warm hand enclosed hers.
“Are you feeling well?” Lazarus asked.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk to this man. She remembered well why she’d been angry with him before. But all the same, it seemed as if he knew something of Yosefu, and that she meant to hear. For the sake of her fiancée’s memory, she was the picture of politeness.
“Quite. Just a little sore.”
He was silent for a few minutes, just gripping her hand tightly. She was at the point where she might have thought he’d fallen asleep when he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
This took her by surprise. “Whatever for?” she blurted, wishing suddenly to see his expression.
“I…I didn’t protect you,” he muttered quietly. “Yosefu wouldn’t have approved.”
“How do you know him?” she asked, concerned and a little disappointed. She thought she’d known all his friends.
Lazarus spoke slowly. “I didn’t, until some weeks ago. I was with a caravan, and we came to the village you’d been staying in. We found a few…survivors, and he was one of them.”
His voice wavered, as if on the verge of tears. “He told us what happened, who died, but he was most distressed over you, kept asking if we’d found your…your body…”
His grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. She hid her wince, enraptured in his tale, tears leaking out between her swollen eyelids as he continued.
“We never did find you, but we asked around the roads. Someone said they’d seen a dark-haired girl like you riding with the Romans, so I went up north with him.”
Kabira seized the moment, the glimmer of hope, even as despair and reality sought to dampen it. “He came north with you? He’s alive?”
She felt a tear drop onto her hand. “No, Kabira, no. He died before I got here. His gut wound was deadly no matter where he went, but he made me swear to take care of you when I found you.”
Her chest instantly filled with more emotion than she cared to identify, and couldn’t if she wanted to. She missed Yosefu terribly, and to know that he’d lived on while she despaired – it made her angry at herself. But what could you have done? A rational voice asked. You knew no better.
But I should have, she answered herself sourly. She should have known that he would not have died so easily.
“I failed him and you,” Lazarus said quietly.
Kabira looked toward his voice sharply. “No, you didn’t. I failed him for thinking that I would have been better off dead. I brought this upon myself. You are not at fault.”
Even as she spoke, waves of fatigue born of grief swept over her, and her muscles went slack.
“Please,” she continued gently, “I’m tired now.”
Lazarus understood and got to his feet, ready to leave. “He did love you,” was all he said, and the room was once again quiet.
A boy in a ragged cloak stood by, shaking despite himself as he watched the frenzy. Suddenly, a big, heavy hand clapped down on his fragile shoulder. The boy jumped, looking up into the worn face of the General.
“Oh! Siyavash, it’s only you…” He shrugged, likely subconsciously, away from the hand. Siyavash made no move to replace it.
“Are you sure about this? I don’t like surprises.” He asked gruffly.
The boy nodded, though timidly. “Yes.”
He silenced himself, looking to the ground. A soldier laughed in the distance.
“Sire,” the boy started, looking up again, “Do you…I mean, do your men know…the deal?”
Siyavash’s gaze showed some pity. “Yes, they know, but why? Why do you care?”
The boy shrugged and stayed silent, though the General could see that this was no whim of his. Whatever the reason, though, it didn’t matter. It was likely, sadly, that the men would not distinguish one dark-haired slave girl from any of the others in the Legate Adrius’ house, soon to be burnt.
“Ava, are you alive?” Hadria asked thickly with sorrow.
The mental image was too amusing. The Palmyr flashed a smile, trying to open her eyes.
“Yes, Hadria, I’m alive.”
She managed to crack one eye open, and saw Pollox gazing at her in awe.
“Hey, you really are alive!” He said. Castor, beside him, rolled his eyes.
“Didn’t you know about my amazing ability? I’m always alive when people think I’m dead.” She replied, her slight sarcasm thankfully lost on the three young minds.
“So,” started Hadria, scrunching up her face with the effort of the thought, “If we start thinking you’re alive, you’ll die?”
Clever of her, but…a little too morbid. “Don’t think too hard about it, Hadria. It…only works one way.”
The blond girl seemed to accept this, and cheerily hopped off the bed. Kabira was actually somewhat surprised she’d said anything. Hadria was often silent around her brothers, and certainly not thoughtful. She vaguely wondered if it had anything to do with her…fiasco.
A small cry from the girl drew Kabria’s briefly frantic gaze to the doorway, where she’d stood. A shadow darkened the threshold, and its name was Marius.
Kabira opened her mouth, expecting to tell her charges to leave so that they could talk, but their older brother beat her to it.
“Mother’s looking for you,” he grunted, flicking his head to the side.
Kabira wasn’t sure of the truth of this statement, but it worked better than a ‘get out.’ So she thought, but none of the children moved.
“You’re mean, Marius.” Hadria said with narrowed eyes, Castor and Pollox nodding their agreement, as if this explained everything.
His eyebrow twitched, as if what he was about to say didn’t agree with him. “I won’t do anything. Out.”
A little frightened, they gingerly slipped around the lean man, his glaring eyes following them as they went out into the courtyard and over to some servant.
His dark curls bounced when his eyes swung back to take her in. his eyebrow twitched again. He breathed in, as if in preparation to say something, but then didn’t.
Kabira spoke for him. “I forgive you.”
The way he regarded her, this new Kabira with intelligent, if enigmatic, eyes, he didn’t seem very surprised. Just a little confused.
“…Why?” he said at length.
“Why what?” she replied evenly, her other eye now successfully open and taking him in. This muscular man could have killed her, without a doubt.
“Why did you act so mindless?”
A ghost of a grin graced her face for a moment. “From meeting your father, I guessed that you didn’t suffer intelligence from mere slave girls.”
Marius stiffened, his face contorting in a would-be denial. Then his whole form seemed to deflate, a sure sign she was right. He didn’t meet her eyes again.
Neither of them spoke for some minutes. Kabira wasn’t usually talkative, and Marius just didn’t want to apologize out loud.
A sudden thought occurred to her. “Where’s Roxio?”
Marius, though clearly relieved with a change of subject, arched an eyebrow. “Who…Septimius’ slave?”
She nodded.
Marius shrugged his powerful shoulders. “Don’t know. They left, I suppose.”
So, Roxio skipped out. That was probably for the best, she thought.
Faintly, for a moment, Kabira swore she heard an ominous clinking of metal. She quickly dismissed it as a household sound.
“We should forgot this ever happened, I think.” She said.
Marius, after a pause nodded his head. “That seems wise.”
With some worry, the Palmyr noticed that he had his hand on the hilt of his gladius.
“What’s with the aggression?” She snapped before realizing what she’d said.
Marius missed the hostility, shrugging as if distracted. “I don’t know, I just felt uneasy for a moment-”
And then they heard it; the first scream. It was down the road some ways, but far too close – and horrific – for comfort.
The word, cold and terrible, unwittingly slipped past Kabira’s lips: “Persians.”
