Broken Wing
And with a broken wing
she still sings,
she keeps an eye on the sky
With a broken wing
she carries her dreams
you ought to see her fly...
-Martina McBride
Chronology: Tristan is 19. Raja is 9.
As the knights were filing into the large room, taking their usual seats at the Round Table, they did not notice the little body sleeping under the table. But in the middle of the meeting, Arthur’s foot touched something solid. He looked down and finally took notice of a small black shoe barely sticking out by the chair. The other men took notice of their Commander’s distraction, – rare – immediately confused. Arthur bent down and saw the prone figure of a little Egyptian girl.
“Raja?” Arthur was on his knees, head under the table. At the earnestness in his voice the knights gathered around him. Raja was a difficult person to wake up. Arthur shook her gently.
She stirred awake, opening her eyes, adjusting to the myriad of facing looking through the legs of chairs at her. “Hmm? Oh.” She rubbed the vestiges of sleep from her eyes before taking Arthur’s hand to assist her from underneath the table. She swayed when she stood and rubbed her eyes again.
“Are you all right?” he asked, worried.
“Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah. I was looking for King Tut.” King Tut the Mouse.
Some of them hid their smiles while Lancelot openly snorted.
Raja decided to ignore his derision for the moment. “He’s been gone for a couple of days. Have any of you found King Tut’s droppings in your rooms?” She looked pointedly at Lancelot; the others gazed at him too.
He looked indignant. “Why would he shit in my room in particular? Did he bite another hole in my boots?”
She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “He never bit a hole in your shoe.”
“You seem to piss them off a lot, Lance,” Bors commented, which was met with another snort from Lancelot.
“Well, anyway, if you see him, just tell him I was looking for him. Sorry for disturbing your meeting.”
“Are you not feeling well, Raja?” Dagonet asked.
“Just sleepy,” she replied. “But I have to go see Penelo now.”
“Where did you get that name from?” Lancelot asked. His cousin always came up with the oddest names.
“She told me, of course. They all do.” Her feet softly pattered out of the room.
All of them reoccupied their seats, Tristan thinking that she had not been sleeping well again for a while. She went through a period of silence last week, which was broken when Tristan brought an injured hawk to her. He had happened upon it when he was hunting – bagging three plump hares beforehand – and considered leaving it where it was. It was a pathetic looking thing, but his conscience got to him and so he decided to take it to her. Since then she would spend hours tending to the poor bird, bringing it back to health. It had a wing that was a bit shorter than the other, she surmised it had probably been broken before and had healed incorrectly. Now she was trying to get Penelo to fly again.
----
“Come on, Penelo,” Raja encouraged. She held the bird on her arm. For the past hour Raja was helping the bird to spread her wings. The large grassy corral was a nice place for it. Horus was perched on a nearby tree, and Odin was idly grazing with the other horses. She tried again, and this time Penelo lifted herself about four inches off the ground. “That’s better!” Raja applauded. “You’ll be flying in no time.” She petted her under the beak and kissed the top of her head. It was important that she learn to fly again so she would be able to fend for herself.
“Haven’t given up yet?” Tristan strode behind her, bending next to her.
“Of course not,” she replied. “She’ll fly again; she just needs some encouragement is all. Look, she’s not afraid of you.” Raja held Penelo out to him. “Welcome her, Trissy.” He grumbled a little but let the bird perch on his hand. “You should be honored that she does not fear you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because birds are instinctively afraid of humans. We are a species most likely to hurt anything for no reason at all.” She cawed, imitating the hawk’s call and Horus flew down to her, and she immediately nuzzled her nose against his head.
“Why don’t you just whistle?” The first time she had cawed like that it had surprised him.
“I can’t.”
“Is that ‘can’t’ like you can’t toss Egyptians?” he joked wryly.
She giggled. “No, I mean I can’t. I don’t know how.”
Tristan’s brow furrowed in speculation, thinking she may be jesting. “All that other stuff you can do...and you can’t whistle?”
Raja looked offended. “We all have our weaknesses, thank you
very much. I’ve tried, but all that comes out is blubbering and spit.” She
shrugged. Horus squawked. “Oh, I’m sorry, boy. I’m keeping you from hunting,
aren’t I?” He squawked again. “I’ll see you later then.” She gave Horus a lift
off, not taking her eyes off of his graceful flight until he was out of her
sight. Raja turned back to Tristan and smiled when he petted Penelo under her
beak.
“Is she going to fly again, you think?” he asked.
“I hope so, but I really think she will.”
“What bird can fly with a crooked wing? She’s a cripple.” He handed her back over.
Raja pursed her lips. “She can hear you. Don’t discourage her with your bad attitude. Besides, she isn’t any less a bird just because of a faulty wing. If you had a bad leg, would that make you less of a man?”
Tristan grunted, shaking his head at her keen mind which belied her age.
“My Uncle Memnon is arriving tomorrow,” she said quietly.
“You don’t like him?”
Raja bit her bottom lip, reverting back to her intrinsic adolescence. “I never saw him very much.” Raja sighed and stood up. The sun was going down, and she was suddenly very weary. Tristan lifted her up so she could put Penelo in the box that was securely situated in the tree. She kissed her goodnight and promised she would be back tomorrow.
----
Memnon and his six Medjai galloped down the path, slowing down when they reached the courtyard. They were a spectacle, villagers standing at a safe distance looking at the strange men in black garb with mammoth sized Arabian horses. Each of them wore the same as Ardeth, black breeches, boots, tunic and coat. Their war cloaks were embroidered with grey Egyptian symbols, their insignia patched on the cape – King Cobra, coiled for attack, fangs unsheathed, tongue hissing out.
They each dismounted, all looking serious and severe. Tattoos marked their faces – forehead, cheeks, and the back of their hands – just as Ardeth. Memnon and Ardeth were brothers, the former the older by seven years. Memnon’s soldiers stood in a straight line, backs erect, hands clasped behind. Arthur’s men stood up straight as well, but were less stiff, this wasn’t a formal meeting.
“I have heard nothing but good things about you and your men,” Memnon commented after he had been introduced to Arthur and the knights. There was respect in his voice. His dark eyes lingered momentarily on Lancelot, but all he said was “hmm.” Finally, his eyes were cast on little Raja, standing as close to Ardeth as she could. Her other Uncle was a more imposing figure than she remembered. “So this is my niece,” he said as if he had never met her before.
Raja was forced to crane her head all the way back to see him as he only offered the smallest downward tilt of his head. Ardeth had a reassuring arm around her shoulder. “Hello, Uncle Memnon,” she said softly. He didn’t quite smile, did not quite frown, but somewhere in there he offered her a silent greeting.
“Why have you not grown?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as if he were staring at a mere fly.
Her eyes opened wide, eyebrows arching up. She opened her mouth to speak at his unexpected question.
“She has grown,” Ardeth said. Something in his voice indicated that Memnon’s criticism was commonplace, which it was. Memnon had a disdain for extraneous human weaknesses, and the tiny child, whom he perceived as meek, had them.
Memnon’s tone was clipped, “She is still small.”
The knights looked at each other questioningly, the Egyptian soldiers remained stoic.
“I am sure you and your men are tired and hungry, brother,” Ardeth spoke. “Let us get you situated.”
----
At dinnertime, Memnon’s men in their quarters, the rest of them ate their meal at the Round Table. Lancelot to the left of Arthur, Memnon – guest of honor – to the right of him, Ardeth to the right of Memnon, then little Raja. She sat boosted on a pillow so she could reach the table properly, and as the rest of the men spoke of warrior things, she ate her meal daintily while scanning the floors for King Tut, just in case he might have scrambled in here. After Uncle Memnon’s aloofness towards her, she asked her Uncle Ardeth if she had done something to displease him. But Ardeth reminded her that Memnon was an old grump, trying to heal the small girl’s hurt feelings. Raja had spent the rest of the afternoon with Penelo, who continued to take one step forward and two steps back, but the little Egyptian kept her hopes up.
“Raja?”
Her reverie was broken at Ardeth’s inquiry. “Hmm?”
“Memnon asked you a question,” he said gently.
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you,” she apologized to Memnon.
The elder Egyptian grunted. “Daydreaming?”
“I was looking for King Tut,” she replied.
Memnon looked around the room; sight passing over each of the men’s faces as if he would find some answer there. Then he sighed heavily. “Please tell me she is not referring to an animal, Ardeth.”
Ardeth lifted a shoulder blithely. “King Tut is a mouse.”
Raja had a feeling Memnon wasn’t pleased, so she averted her eyes, hoping that he would not comment on it. People always teased her about her animal friends.
“I thought you mother got you out of the habit of bringing mice into a room where people eat?” His dark eyes looked at her shrewdly, reprimanding her.
Raja inwardly cringed at the mention of her mother. Yes, she had told her long ago that she had to stop brining animals into kitchens and dining areas. Which she had done, save for the few times when one of her mouse friends would hide on her shoulder covered by her long hair. The atmosphere in the room changed at Memnon’s harsh tone.
“Well?” Memnon demanded.
Ardeth looked at his brother in warning. “She did not bring King Tut in here; he has just been missing for a few days.”
Memnon said something in Arabic, and by his tenor it was not good. It was said to Ardeth but it was about Raja for when he had spat out the words she flinched and her face suffused with a crimson blush of embarrassment. Her eyes flicked towards Tristan for a mere second, and in that moment he saw the bounds of hurt she was enduring at her elder Uncle’s words. The knights exchanged discreet glances at each other, a bit lost and a bit disgruntled that the man was picking on her.
“When we get back to
Raja’s head snapped up, looking at Memnon and Ardeth, eyes wide. A discernible beat of panic drummed in her chest, and she stared at all her brothers as if she were drifting away from them already. If it was possible, Ardeth’s dark eyes turned darker, and his lips were pursed tighter than a mummy’s tomb.
“Arthur,” – Ardeth stood, bowing his head apologetically at the young man – “if you could excuse us, I have some things to discuss with my brother that cannot wait.”
“Of course,” Arthur acceded. He and the knights stood up, bidding the two Egyptians goodbye, who were followed by Raja.
They sat back down in silence, Bors immediately guzzling down the rest of his ale before refilling it.
“Did you know she was going back?” Lancelot blurted to Tristan.
Tristan shook his head. He hadn’t.
----
“Are we going back?” Raja asked Ardeth as he tucked her in. Her face was a mask of distress.
“Memnon would like us to.” Ardeth settled his eyes on hers for a moment. “What would you like to do?”
“You mean I don’t have to if I don’t want to?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Her face scrunched in contemplation. “But if I stayed you would, too, right?”
Ardeth chuckled. “Of course, I would never leave you here alone.”
Raja beamed. “Can I go tell Tristan?” When she saw her Uncle’s hesitation, she beamed wider. “Please?”
“Ach,” he grinned. “Fine, but quickly, and back to bed.”
Raja hugged him and scurried barefoot out of her room and down the hall towards Tristan’s. The flat of her palm slapped against the door. “Trissy!”
Tristan opened the door and saw Raja in her breeches and nightshift standing before him with a happy grin on her face. He had decided not to accompany the rest of the men to the tavern, his mind still too caught up in what Memnon had said earlier at dinner.
“What is it?” he asked curiously.
“My Uncle says I don’t have to go if I don’t want to! So I and Uncle Ardeth aren’t going.”
Tristan’s face did not show the lifting of his heart. “What about Memnon?”
Raja plopped herself on the end of his bed. “He is used to bossing people around, I suppose. But my Uncle said I had to tell you and go right back to my room, so I have to go now.” She stood on her tiptoes so she could get her arms around Tristan’s waist for a hug. “You’re happy I’m staying, right, Trissy?”
He snorted with a half smile on his face.
----
A few days went by, Memnon spent a lot of time with Ardeth in conversation telling him about how things were going in the Colony, it was flourishing once again since the raid and would definitely be expanding. The troops there were multiplying, more men wanted to join. He continued to try to convince his brother to return to Egypt and assume his position as Legion Commander with him, but Ardeth continually declined saying that Raja was healing here and he also thought it best that she stay.
Memnon sighed. “You call that healing? The past four days she has woken up screaming.”
“I did not say she was healed, but healing. Did you expect her nightmares to cease completely?”
Memnon rolled his eyes. “She should learn to deal with those things herself. Coddling her every time she has a bad dream is not helping.” The first time he heard his niece scream, he had followed Ardeth to her room to see her thrashing violently in bed. Ardeth had immediately cradled her in his arms, murmuring a lullaby to her until she calmed. Memnon had no patience for such things.
“You suggest I leave her there in torment?” Ardeth asked incredulously.
“I think that would be prudent. She should learn that whatever she is dreaming is not real, and when she wakes she can convince herself that they are not.”
Ardeth sighed. “I cannot do that, brother.”
So Memnon ceased his lecturing – for that day. He and his six men would join the other knights on the training grounds, and the elder Egyptian was rather impressed at their strength and aptitude. He saw that Raja would often sit under a tree watching them with rapt eyes, obviously eager to join in.
“Are you training her Ardeth?” he asked one day as they stood on the sidelines. “You aid the knights, and even Arthur. This is understandable, for he is still young.”
“Yes, Arthur does consult me at times, but I never interfere. As for Raja,” – he looked at her sitting under the tree – “I do train her. But it is imperative that I watch for her health as well. She cannot overexert herself.”
Memnon glared at his brother sternly. “She is daughter of Lancelot of the Rhoxolani tribe. Daughter of ‘Aisha of the People of Kemet, a long line of healers and warriors. You speak of overexerting herself? She is of noble blood, Ardeth; she has much to live up to.”
Ardeth shook his head at his brother’s lack of understanding. But before he could say anything his brother spoke: “Look at her; she stares at the skies watching birds fly.” Ardeth gazed up to see Horus’s spread wings in flight. “And she dotes on that brown hawk that cannot fly.” Now Ardeth turned to his niece once again who was petting Penelo who was perched on her arm.
“And why does this displease you, Memnon?”
Memnon smirked, and grunted in bemusement. “Raja has no direction.”
“She is just a child.”
Under the tree, Tristan walked over to her, sweaty in his sleeveless white shirt. She handed him a flask of water which he chugged thirstily. She said something and he half-smiled, taking Penelo on his wrist, heedless of her sharp talons.
“What is their relationship, Ardeth?” Memnon’s eyes were narrowed, but there was no rebuke in his voice, but mere curiosity. “They spend a good deal of time together.”
Ardeth was silent for a moment. “She and Tristan have formed an enduring bond. I think they understand each other. Raja has a deep fondness for all of them.”
He nodded. “And the young Lancelot? How is she with her cousin?”
The younger brother chuckled at this. “They were at odds in the beginning, but day by day they become closer.”
“He bears quite a resemblance to Raja’s father.”
“He does, indeed.”
“Excellent with his twin swords. Are you sure he is not Lancelot’s son?”
Ardeth laughed heartily. “Surely.”
Then the jest was gone from Memnon’s countenance. “You trust all these men with Raja?”
“Unequivocally.” There was not a trace of doubt in Ardeth’s assertion.
----
Tristan stalked through the dew in the woods, eagerly expecting good prey. Raja had not bothered him since her Uncle had arrived, and so he was regularly bagging all the hunts he had been deprived of. And there was a buck in clear sight. Like mist, he became one with the forest...aimed...
“Trissy!” Her call caught the buck’s attention and it pranced off.
Tristan growled and looked around for the woodland creatures’ advocate – the enemy of all hunters; but she was not in sight. “Trissy, up here!” He followed the voice, looking up, up...and saw Raja from the shoulders up standing high – too high – in a tree, waving a feather, Horus circling over her.
“What the hell are you doing up there?” he shouted. “You’re going to break your damned neck...and you lost me a buck!” He couldn’t hear her ‘pfft’ of dismissal, but he saw it.
“I was here first!” she yelled down. “You look really tiny!”
“Get down,” he ordered. Her Uncle Ardeth was constantly telling her to not climb so high in the trees, but it seemed to be one of the commands that she would not heed.
“Come up here with me!”
Gods, she was insane. She looked as small as a fairy surrounded by the branches and other large trees around her. Raja had her head turned away from him. He sure as hell was not going to climb up there, but his heart beat faster at the thought of her falling. “Get down, Raja! You got what you wanted, you ruined my hunt, we can go now.” Tristan saw the bewilderment on her face as she stared down at him.
“I did not come here to ruin your hunt.”
He grunted. “Just get down, dammit.”
“Are you afraid I’m going to fall or something?”
He had never admitted to fear before...he could not quite bring himself to openly agree with that conjecture, so he did not answer. From up above, Raja squinted at him, seeing the golden speckles in his eyes as the sun shone. Well...she had been up in the tree for over an hour...without a word she climbed down as expertly as a chimp. Tristan only saw the rustling of the leaves, until she appeared on a branch, seven feet from the ground, hung herself upside down, and lithely flipped backwards, landing lightly on her feet.
“You should have gone up there with me,” she said, not the least out of breath, as she plucked the leaves and twigs from her hair.
Raja followed him as they headed back to the fort. He had his bow slung over his shoulder, quiver as well. Tristan slowed his strides so her little legs could keep up with him. “Are you afraid of heights?” she asked.
“No.”
“My Uncle leaves in four days. He still wants us to go with him.”
His eyes flicked down at her. “Is Ardeth thinking about it?”
“He said he will not go unless I want to, and I still don’t want to. Unless...” – she looked up at Tristan, so much taller than she, so much stronger – “you want me to go. If you tell me to, I will.”
Tristan stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes. “Why would I want you to go?”
Raja shuffled her feet, unsure how to explain her uncertainty. “I heard my Uncle Memnon talking...he said I was too attached to you all...and might become a burden like I became with my Uncle Ardeth.”
His jaw ticked, pissed at Memnon’s constant haranguing of Raja. “What did Ardeth say?”
“He said that I was never a burden to him, and that the rest of you like my company.” She shrugged and looked down at the ground.
“Hmm. Ardeth is right.”
Her expression still portrayed a grain of doubt, and her heart suddenly felt heavy, her mind weary. And in the vast forest, even with Tristan standing in front of her, she felt alone somehow. Coming down from the tree, her feet hitting the ground made the burden of her life settle on her shoulders once again.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan kneeled down so he could face her. Worry befell him at the veil of tears in her eyes.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, closing her eyes shut to hold back her tears. She sniffled, composing herself, not wanting to cry like a baby. How do you tell someone what is wrong when nothing is right? She wanted to scream, she wanted to climb back onto that high branch and feel the wind that Horus felt, and breath the air that he breathed. Breathe the air of the creatures of the sky. Raja had also heard Memnon speak of other things to Ardeth. He spoke of Them, of what They did. What They had done to her was the reason why she had become an encumbrance to Ardeth. They would always be with her, holding her down...that darkness, the gaping hole.
Raja didn’t notice Tristan picking her up, or the haste in his steps as he carried her back to the fort. All she saw was the darkness...that darkness...
A few hours later Raja’s eyes blinked open, adjusting to the afternoon’s sunlight streaming in from her windows. Ardeth was sitting next to her, as always, patiently waiting her arrival from slumber. “How are we feeling, little one?” His comforting, worried face filled Raja’s vision. He saw the confusion on her face and explained: “You were with Tristan in the woods and you became remote.”
Raja nodded after a moment when she fully registered the information. Going into the darkness in one place and coming to in another often made things more unsettling. “Is it the same day?”
Ardeth smiled softly. “Yes, you have only been sleeping for a few hours.”
Instinctively, she reached for King Tut the Mouse, but he was not there on her chest or by her shoulders. Her mouse friends were always there with her during these times. “King Tut is not here,” she said.
“I suppose this King Tut will be become a mystery as well,” Memnon’s deep voice filtered in through the door. He stopped at the end of Raja’s bed. “How are you feeling, niece?” He had not seen that soulless expression on her face in almost two years.
“Good,” was all she could manage to say.
“Of course you are.” He spoke as if it could not be any other way. “Tomorrow, you and I shall have a round of training, hmm?”
Raja looked at her Uncle Memnon, surprised and pleased. He had hardly spared her a word when she sat out there watching everyone else spar. Ardeth glared at his brother.
“If she is well,” he maintained.
Raja sensed her Uncle’s hesitance. “Please, Uncle Ardeth,” she piped up. “I’ll rest all day today.” And she was still fatigued, but she was determined to not let it show, especially with her Uncle Memnon in the room.
Ardeth’s jaw was set. He knew his brother disapproved of
Raja’s state of health, as if she could control it. He still wanted the two of
them to return to
----
As it was, Raja developed a low-grade fever that night and was confined to bed the next day and the next, despite her feeble attempts to convince her Uncle that she was well enough to train with Uncle Memnon. She could barely lift her head, her whole body felt as heavy as iron. It was not until the day before Memnon and his men were to leave that she awoke rejuvenated, and Memnon was still willing to spar with her. Ardeth was speaking with Arthur in his study, and Memnon’s men were out on the training grounds with the rest of the knights. Seeing Memnon and the little Egyptian stroll onto the grounds made the Sarmatians give into pause.
Their wary expressions had Amun, the quietest Medjai, approaching them. He was tall, broad shouldered and had short, cropped black hair. He beard was neatly trimmed, and he had a stoicism that could rival Tristan.
“Sarmatians,” – he bowed his head slightly in respect – “I have a feeling that you all will have a strong need to protect your little sister this day” – he was never one to beat around the bush – “but I implore you not to.” With that he walked away, back to his solitary stand post.
Without any further explanation the others turned the five Medjai that still stood around them. Omari, a young Medjai that was one of the more sociable of the bunch was stared down by the Egyptians and Sarmatians. All right, so he had a big mouth. “Amun is right,” he conceded. “Memnon is a demanding leader, and never doles special treatment, no matter the age of his pupils. Defending little Raja when Memnon criticizes will surely make it worse for her.” He could not help but put his eyes on Tristan when he said this.
“Criticize?” Lancelot scoffed. “He’s been a downright boar to her since he got here.” To the insult, Dagonet shushed him. “No offense,” Lancelot mumbled.
Tor, a more seasoned Medjai spoke sedately: “You did not know Raja before her downfall.” There was a profound look of regret in his dark eyes as he went to stand next to Omari. The three others followed Tor, Omari was the only one who stayed next to the Sarmatians.
“My brothers are not being callous,” he said. “We just know Memnon.”
“Downfall?” Bors said roughly. “That’s a helluva way to put it.”
Omari sighed and his dark eyes mirrored Amun’s glom of regret, only with a small smile of the same feeling accompanying it. “Memnon sees it as a downfall. He believes she lost something vital when she...” he trailed off.
“And what do you and your brothers think?” Lancelot pushed, challenging him to say something demeaning about his cousin.
“As Tor said, Lancelot, you did not know the Raja we knew. She had much changed in her tragedy. And I and my brothers mourn for the lost Raja, but we have hope that she will overcome her hardship. Memnon does as well, but with him, he expects nothing less.”
“She is just a little girl,” Dagonet said grimly.
“She is,” Omari agreed. “But you see her eyes, and therein lay the parts of her that is missing. Memnon believes that is the hidden warrior within her. She comes from two lines of warriors, no?” He raised his eyebrow at Lancelot. Omari turned his head to the approaching man and girl. “Well, here they are. Please, go about your training Sarmatians, lest you put undue attention on the small one.” He bowed his head respectfully and went to continue his own exercises with his brothers.
Raja walked purposefully next to her Uncle Memnon, and stopped in front of him when he ceased his movements. She had noticed that the other men were going about their business, which was good because she was a little nervous. She held her short stave that was cut down to size for her.
“Raja, your archery is satisfactory,” Memnon declared, “so we will begin with your stave exercises. Please begin.” He stood aside now and watched as she cautiously began twirling her stave in circular motions in front of her, over her head, passing it with one arm over her shoulder and grabbing it with her other. She picked up speed, taking forwarding steps as she continued to twirl, and move the stave and herself in circles before she ended the cycle in a crouched position, her back knee bent and the other straight out as the stave came down on the ground with a thwack to lie parallel with her outstretched leg.
Raja gulped a nervous ball of spit, daring herself to meet her Uncle’s eyes with a confidence she did not quite feel. She did not feel the same comfort practicing as she did with her Uncle. When she met his eyes, there was no approval, but no disdain either.
Memnon nodded. “Try it faster.”
Raja wiped the moisture from her palms before starting over. She went as speedily as she dared, not wanting to drop the stick, which she almost did near the end, but she recovered just in time to end her warm up with another thwack.
“Again. Faster.” His tone was commanding, brooking no concession.
So she did, faster, falling into a concentration of her movements.
“Do not think,” she heard her Uncle say. “Faster.”
Raja tried to stop thinking, the stave going through the air in whooshing sounds calmed her to a certain degree, she still heard her Uncle telling her to speed up, and when she finished, to start back up again immediately, without pause. The little Egyptian did not know how long she kept it up, she did not count how many of the same routine she completed. She paid no attention to the others watching her as she spun and twirled maniacally, it just repeated, until, with a sickening feeling, she felt the stave slip from her hands and clatter on the ground. She opened her eyes to see tiny black dots around her, and she swayed but managed not to go down with her stave.
“Pick it up,” her Uncle’s harsh voice sounded through the haze of dizziness. And when she rubbed her eyes, not reaching down immediately, the harsh tone became a stinging whip: “I said pick it up!”
So she did, the black dots receding.
“Are you tired?”
“No.”
“You should not be. This is basic stave exercise, which you should have been able to do without any miscalculations.”
The men could hear the din of Memnon’s harsh voice from where they stood. Omari looked at the Sarmatians who were immobile as he and his own.
“Had Ardeth taught you how to fall?” Memnon asked. And before she could even answer, he used his own staff to trip her, causing her to fall on her rear. But she had processed his question, and in two seconds she put her palms on the ground by her head to push off the ground, while using her hips to lift up, arch her back, landing on her feet. She teetered, but managed to stay on her feet. She rose slowly, the wooziness coming back.
“You look pale,” he said.
Raja muffled a cough, and blinked her eyes. “I’m all right.”
“Hmm.” He tripped her again, Raja landing on her side, she stood up swiftly, seeing the staff swing again by her feet, and this time she avoided it by jumping up. They continued this exercise, Raja’s eyes like a hawk, listening to the staff whip through the air around her. Memnon increased the speed, merciless. The little Egyptian ignored her body which was telling her to stop, it was faint, and tired, still not fully recuperated from its fever.
Her vision swam, the sun bore down on her, her legs were heavy, aching. She barely felt the staff hit the side of her knee, or the thump of her body as it hit the ground, head first, her forehead landing on a rock. Memnon made no move to help her as she shook it off, straining to get back on her feet. Raja had her hand on her forehead, and when she took it away, a gush of blood ran down her face. The break in her skin was not big, but deep enough. The Sarmatians rushed over, Dagonet instantly bent down to inspect her wound.
“She is fine,” Memnon barked. “Go about your business.”
Dagonet looked up at him incredulously. “She needs stitches.”
The Egyptian scoffed. “It is a flesh wound, I have seen many.”
“I’m okay,” Raja said, wiping the blood from her cheek in vain as it still ran like a bloody tear.
“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Dagonet told her gently. All the others noticed her grey face, the loss of color in her lips.
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, stepping away from him. “You all go on ahead, I still have practicing to do.”
“Hey, come on,” Bors said with his gruff easiness, “you can come back tomorrow.”
Dagonet tried to take her by the hand, but she stepped away again.
“She does not need your coddling,” Memnon snapped. “You all have enfeebled her with such behavior.”
“No one is coddling her,” Lancelot spat, “she’s hurt.”
“I’m not hurt!” Raja repeated.
Tristan tipped her chin up at him with his forefinger. “Raja.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help!” she blared.
And Tristan did not like the look in her eyes, straining to hold back her tears. Her face was hard, an expression he had seen regularly as a young boy. It was the look of someone restraining themselves from feeling, pushing down, warding off the outside world – like he knew he did.
“What is going on here?” Ardeth’s voice rang out like a knife through the tension on the field. “Raja?” She tried to wipe away the blood so she would not see, but her Uncle had already seen it. “What happened?” He slammed his eyes on his brother.
“She fell,” he replied.
“Come, Raja, you need rest,” Ardeth said.
“No!” she shouted. The blood pounded in her ringing ears, her lungs burned...Ardeth caught her before she could fall.
----
Three hours later, after Raja had bathed, eaten a bit, and had her injury attended to, Ardeth and Memnon convened in Ardeth’s study. He was incensed at the his brother’s lack of consideration with Raja. She had been a mass of bruises under her dirty clothes, clammy to the touch.
For the first few minutes, the brothers said nothing to each other in the large room. The opinions varied so disparately that it was doubtful they would come to any sort of agreement about how Raja was to be cared for. Ardeth believed she needed tenderness and patience, Memnon believed that she needed to be driven and forced to confront her demons head on.
The elder remembered the incessant attention Ardeth had paid her after the raid on the Colony. Ardeth was the only one she would let near, she panicked when he was not within sight, and the only sounds she made for close to a year was screaming. He stayed in the same bedroom as she to assuage her fear as much as possible. The outer wounds took months to heal, but on the inside much damage was done. After a time, Raja could stand her Uncle to leave for short periods of time. But one day she woke up and he was nowhere in the house, because he had gone to a meeting at the Council Hall.
Raja thought her Uncle had left her alone, never to come back like her father. Her angst knew no bounds until someone rode to the Council Hall to retrieve Ardeth. He went swiftly, finding his niece in a state of hysteria. It took hours to calm her down, holding her in his arms as he walked back and forth, soothing her like a baby.
Now that she was able to get up and walk around, she followed him everywhere. No place was safe without him. Ardeth’s patience was infinite, he was willing to do anything to care for his little niece. When her legs became tired, he would carry her, no heavier than a grain of sand. When he attended Council meetings, he had tried to explain where he was going and when he would be back, but panic would seize her at his departure, so he went to his last resort – he took her with him. He was met with confusion from his contingent of men, but they all knew what had befallen the young girl, and despite their misgivings at the unorthodoxy of her presence, they did not question their leader.
Raja would sit astride his lap in implacable silence, never moving, never looking anyone in the eyes. Eventually, she would take a seat next to her Uncle, quietly knitting, absorbing the steadfast presence of her Uncle. And still, she never met anyone’s gaze, until a time came when she simply became a regular at the meetings, not a hindrance in the least.
----
Tristan passed near Ardeth’s study as he walked to his room. But when he heard the terse voices of the two Egyptians, he stopped and listened.
----
“I try to bring out the warrior in her, and I am met with opposition,” Memnon said. “One bruise and her Sarmatian kin are up in arms.”
“You pushed her too hard,” Ardeth rebuked.
The elder scoffed. “Too hard? That was a child’s exercise!”
“Child or no, you were not thinking of her health,” he said. “You were always too harsh.”
“Better harsh than too easy!” he rebutted. “You all are making her into a simpering fool! She comes from-”
“Two lines of warriors,” he interrupted. “Yes, you have said as much. But you do not understand that she is not a warrior, and is not meant to be.”
Memnon smirked. “Because she is weak, but she was not always so. Raja used to have a spark about her,” – he shook his head ruefully – “but now...that dark shroud just hovers above her like a pestilence.”
“She is not beyond saving, brother,” Ardeth stated.
“Oh yes, those empty eyes tells me she is healing quite well,” he replied sarcastically.
“And she is. She left
“Then why does she still scream at night?” he questioned.
“Do you truly expect her to just forget about it?”
“No, but I expected her to deal with it better than what I have seen. Raja should have come to accept her darkness by now, for it will never leave her. In time she may outdistance it, but it will always be there in sight.”
Ardeth nodded solemnly. “That I agree with. The darkness shall never leave her, but she had an insurmountable measure of love that will counter this. You want her to fight because you think her feeble, yet she is anything but that.”
Memnon quirked his brow in dubiety.
“You think her dead and empty inside,” – he shook his head – “not so, brother. Have you any idea the magnitude of courage it takes to reach out to someone and let them reach back? Raja does that, even after all she has been through. Anybody can pick up a weapon and kill someone, Memnon, but it costs to love, and Raja has never been afraid to pay that price. Not everyone has that sort of bravery. Her faith in those she loves never waivers.”
Memnon walked to the window, hands behind his back as he stared at the window. “For someone who is such a raving savage in battle, Ardeth, you have quite a soft heart.”
“That is because I made sure to leave the battlefield with my ka, as father taught us. He never wanted us to live a half-life. Unfeeling, unable to reach out to others because our hands are bloody. Attempting to wash away that blood with more blood – that is what you want Raja to do.”
Memnon remained silent.
“But Raja’s ka is here, with her, she has only to look within herself to find it. And no matter what hardships she must overcome, she will leave this world having lived a whole existence. That, brother, is true strength.”
“I want her to be strong enough to defend herself from...men who want to hurt her.” Though his dark eyes betrayed little emotion, Ardeth now understood what his brother had wanted.
----
Tristan did not hear the rest of their conversation, what he had listened to was enough. Instead of going to his room he turned around and went for the stables, going out the back door. The sun was still out, though it would set in a few hours. He took Penelo from her box in the tree, her sharp eyes piercing him as she perched herself on his hand. Her wings fluttered.
He clicked his tongue to get her attention, petting her under the beak. “We’re going to get you to fly,” Tristan said.
----
Raja was still out cold when Memnon and his Medjai left. When she came to, she was quiet, replaying her session with her Uncle over and over again, embarrassment and shame filling her at not having lived up to the greatness of her ancestors. She could only stare blankly out the window while she sat on her overstuffed armchair. There was no King Tut to cuddle in her hands, Penelo wouldn’t fly, and she was incapable of remedying either of those problems.
A week she spent in silence until she saw one of the miraculous sights ever to grace her. She rushed to the window, her nose and palms squished against the glass.
Ardeth was in his study when Raja ran past screaming: “She’s flying! She’s flying!” Raja did not care that it was early morn, or that her yells might wake someone, “She’s flying!” Ardeth heard her shout from down the hall.
The little Egyptian ran full speed to the stables and out the back door. Odin whinnied and reared, forelegs in the air. And up in the sky, Horus and Penelo circled in a magical winged dance. Tristan stood next to Raja, looking at her face that was masked in awe, her hands clasped together over her heart, as she watched them fly.
“How’d you get her to fly, Trissy?” she asked.
He shrugged. “She did it, not me.”
Raja nodded, and two fat, happy tears fell down her cheeks. “She’s flying,” she whispered. “Isn’t the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen?”
Tristan didn’t answer that day, but years later he would think of her question, and would answer that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Raja dragged all her brothers outside that day for them to see Penelo, she said that even a bird with a crooked wing could still fly true.
----
Tristan felt Raja pounce on his bed in middle of the night.
“Look who found me,” she said, holding out King Tut. Tristan obliged King Tut with a soft pet on his small head. “I can’t sleep.”
Tristan moved over, pulling back the blankets so she could crawl under. Her featherweight body laid on his chest comfortably. He pulled the blankets up, securing them around their bodies. King Tut lay still next to Tristan’s shoulder as Raja softly stroked her thumb over his back.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to fly, Trissy?”
He grunted. She mocked him with a grunt of her own, causing his chest to rumble beneath her as he chuckled.
“I think it would be,” she answered.
“You don’t have wings,” he reminded her.
“I know,” she said wistfully. “I’ve never had a dream about flying. Have you?”
He thought back. “Yeah.”
“I never have good dreams.”
Tristan wrapped his arms around her tighter. Raja melted in his arms, the rise and fall of his chest like soft waves as she twirled a lock of his around her finger.
“Will you do something for me, Trissy?”
“Hmm-mmm.” And when she spoke her words, he thought how could he have it any other way? Ardeth spoke of a half-life, and that was what Tristan had been living until he met Raja, and if it was difficult to fly with a crooked wing, it would be damned impossible to fly with only one.
Raja said: “Next time you dream about flying, take me with you.”
Meanings:
Ka = life force
People of Kemet = People of the
Medjai = soldier