It Can’t Rain All the Time
We walked the narrow path,
beneath the smoking skies.
Sometimes you can barely tell the difference
between darkness and light.
Do you have faith
in what we believe?
The truest test is when we cannot,
when we cannot see.
Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.
Since the day she and her Uncle Ardeth docked at Glevum, the
The little Egyptian wrapped her arms and legs around her
uncle, only her eyes were visible over his shoulder. There were not too many
villagers around, maybe because of the weather she had thought. Nevertheless,
the ones that were there looked on with expressions she recognized – the same
faces that would look on when her father and uncle would ride back into the
Colony on their big steeds. One difference: the people at this fort looked on
as if they were seeing something for the first time. Her eyelids were heavy as
she blinked, she lowered her head down further against her uncle so less of her
face would show.
Someone led the horses away, and the two Medjai followed
Raja and Ardeth into a building. Raja’s only viewpoint was over her uncle’s
shoulder, and she was too frightened to lift her head up and look around. It
was all very different than
“I apologize Arthur, she is quite tired,” she heard her
uncle say.
“No apologies necessary,” a deep, understanding voice
replied.
Their brief words flew by her, and then her uncle took her
up some stairs, down a hall, where torches flickered. One of the Medjai opened
a door.
“Raja,” her uncle said, “I am going to set you on the bed
now, all right?”
The little girl mumbled something, not wanting to let go,
but she must have for she felt herself upon a soft surface. She finally took in
her surroundings with more care. Raja saw a trunk – which she recognized to be
hers after a few moments – at the foot of the bed. The bed was neatly made, the
material soft under her fingertips. Her uncle closed the door and bent near the
fire place, kindling it to fiery flames. She sat quietly on the bed, hands
placed on her lap. Ardeth took her cloak off, then her boots, and jacket.
“Would you like rest or food first, little one?”
Raja gazed into her uncle’s gentle eyes. The only person she
had left in the world. He had suggested going to
“Sleepy,” she replied.
He smiled and nodded, and got her prepared for a nap. It was
only
Ardeth quietly unpacked some of her things that had arrived
days earlier. It would be unwise, he knew, to leave the room and risk the
chance of her waking up in a strange place alone. Slumber was a chore for his
niece now. Nightmares plagued her, but for some time she had been able to sleep
in a room by herself. He had debated whether or not to bring her here. Ardeth
knew Lancelot had always wanted his daughter to meet his side of the family,
but as long as
After he finished putting her clothes in the drawers
provided, he set about putting some carved trinkets atop the fireplaces.
Quietly, he worked, arranging things here and there, wanting to make her room
as comforting as possible. When he had done as much as he could, he sat by her
bed near the window, and watched the clouds go by.
--------------------------------------
“What’d she look like?” Lancelot asked Arthur.
The two men were in Arthur’s study. Lancelot had not gone
out to greet Ardeth or his...cousin. He would never tell anyone, but it
unnerved him to know that he was seeing a blood relative, any blood for the
first time in years.
“I did not quite see her face,” Arthur replied, “she was
very...small, and had her head buried in Ardeth’s shoulder.”
“He was carrying her?” Lancelot asked, somewhat
incredulously.
“Yes, he said she was very tired.”
He snorted. “Tired or not. Carrying her around like some
noble brat.”
Arthur scrutinized his friend closely. Despite the caustic
remarks he had been making, referring to his cousin as “noble”, as if it were
something sinful, he could tell that Lancelot was nervous. “Lancelot, she has
been through very much. Ardeth wrote about her health and her present state.”
He nodded dismissively. “She lost her parents.”
Arthur’s mouth set in a firm line. “She watched her mother
die, Lancelot. When she was not but seven years of age.”
He hid his wince. Watched her mother die. The last time he
had seen his mother she was very much alive.
“I also doubt Ardeth would appreciate you calling his niece
– your cousin – a brat. You don’t even
know her. And, Ardeth is of noble blood, and he has never been disdainful or
patronizing to anyone.”
Lancelot sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair
haphazardly. “What the hell am I supposed to say to her? What am I supposed to
do with an eight year old cousin?”
Arthur didn’t answer. They were interrupted by a bland knock
on the door. Tristan came in when Arthur answered, his face set in his usual
flat feature. He was muddy, and wet, having just returned from a routine patrol
around and about. Checking in was required.
“You’re safe?” Arthur asked.
“I’m here,” Tristan replied.
The Commander smirked at his scout’s usual wryness. When the
man was just about to walk off, Arthur spoke: “Tristan.”
He turned around, simply waiting.
“Ardeth arrived a few hours ago with his niece and two of
his soldiers.”
Tristan glanced briefly at Lancelot.
“She was sleeping when they arrived and has yet to awake.”
“What does this have to do with me?” he asked.
“We’re all to bow down and wait on her hand and foot,”
Lancelot quipped.
Tristan ignored him. He was too cold, wet and tired to
listen to any more of Lancelot’s whiny complaints about his cousin.
“Nothing,” Arthur said, ignoring him as well, “I was just
informing you as I did Bors and Dagonet.”
Tristan nodded and left. He walked down the hall and up the
stairs, the same corridors he had become so familiar with over the years. He
knew them so well he could walk backwards with his eyes closed and not bump
into a thing. As he headed towards his room he thought he heard a cry coming
down from another passage. He knew it was where Ardeth stayed when he visited.
His room wasn’t too far off either. When he heard it again, his feet followed
until he came to the door where the noise was coming from. A child’s sobs
sounded behind the door, hitting his chest at the agony he heard. Almost
hypnotized, his hand turned the knob, opening the door just a pinch. He saw
Ardeth holding a small person – whom he assumed to be Lancelot’s cousin –
cradling her. Her hair was black as
Tristan could not help staring through the crack in the
door. Such unabashed sorrow surrounded her as Ardeth crooned and comforted
whatever ills were plaguing her. When she finally quieted, her eyes opened. And
even though they were red-rimmed from crying, Tristan could see the grey of her
irises. He was struck still when her eyes moved to the door, staring through
the opening right at him. He closed it quickly and as quietly as he could,
moving down and through the halls to his room. He stoked the fire in his
quarters before stripping himself bare. He took the wash bowl and a cloth, wiping
himself down. His hair could wait, the rain had given it a decent enough wash.
He realized he didn’t have any clean clothes handy.
“The hell with it,” he muttered under his breath.
Tristan got under the covers of his bed, grateful for
something soft to sleep on.
-------------------------------------------
Raja had only gotten back to sleep with the sleeping
concoction her uncle gave her. He stayed with her all night. In the morning, it
was still cloudy, so much so she thought it was the same day. She had
breakfast, then a bath. She put on her black breeches, black pleated,
knee-length skirt, her blue tunic, then her black coat that winged out at the
wrists. Raja’s feet were warm in her comfy socks, along with her small boots.
Ardeth braided her hair that went mid-way down her back. Raja then slipped on
her father’s dragon amulet, tucking it under her coat. She was ready to meet
the Sarmatians.
And she was nervous. Should she have brought them gifts?
What if they didn’t like her? Would they see the Sarmatian half in her, or just
see her as another Egyptian freak? Would her cousin like her? Accept her? Raja
wasn’t used to being introduced to others – or other men. The only man, or
person, really, she let very close to her was her uncle. The little girl could
barely look anyone in the eyes – especially men. What would she see in their
dark pupils? Her face screaming for mercy? Would their skin burn her, and cut
her deep, spilling her blood? Would their voices spit demonic curses, their
breath like acid, bubbling and eroding her skin? But, if her uncle trusted and
liked them, they could not be like THEM. Not at all. Plus, these were her
father’s people, they simply couldn’t be like THEM. These are her father’s
people, she repeated over and over in her head. Her father’s people...
Raja held onto her uncle’s hand tightly as he led her to a
sitting room where the others were waiting. “What if they do not like me?” she
asked mournfully.
Ardeth stopped mid-step, and kneeled down to face his niece.
“Little one, they are eager to meet you,” he assured gently. “And I will be
right there by your side. I will not leave you.”
She was slightly emboldened with her uncle’s words. She
nodded with as much confidence as she could, and before she knew it, they were
standing in the doorway of a large room, the light of outside shining in the
windows that lined the opposite wall. Five men stood up from their seats,
silent. But surely they could hear the pounding of her heart. Raja looked at
the tips of their boots – clean, yet worn.
“Raja,” Ardeth said her name tenderly. Then he spoke in
Arabic: “Will you not raise your head to greet them?”
Her breath shuddered. She clasped her hands down in front of
her tightly, reluctantly having let go of her uncle’s hand. With all the
bravery she could muster, she took two tiny steps forward. And to the five
men’s surprise and consternation, she bent at the waist, head down, bowing
respectfully. She peeked up quickly, looking through her long eyelashes – a
quick scan of their faces. Ardeth joined her at her side, once again. When she
heard and saw, two large feet approach her, her body became as still as a
statue. A man bent in front of her, down on one knee as her uncle would do so
she did not have to crane her head. A hand was held out to her slowly, palm up.
“My name is Arthur,” the voice said warmly.
Why...he wanted to shake her hand! For a moment, she could
only gaze at the lines of his palm. It was clean, but they looked rough. She
looked up at her uncle, and he gave her a small, encouraging smile.
When was the last time she had touched someone so
personally? Almost as if in slow motion, her very own smaller hand reached out
to his, her fingertips touching his palm. He waited patiently, not moving. His
skin did not burn, it did not scream out to her. Instead, it was more like a
gentle breeze on a warm day, butterfly wings lapping brightly. Cautiously,
Arthur’s hand closed around hers. Then, Raja brought her other hand to rest against
the back of his. Her grip tightened just a bit, and with two of her hands, she
shook his hand. Her grey eyes – that were once a silvery sparkle – locked onto
his. They were a beautiful jade. She did not see herself screaming in his black
pupils. She only saw kindness in those eyes of his. Years of life-experience
swam in them; though, she knew he was not old. Raja managed a quivering smile,
the ends of her lips twitching upwards.
Arthur disengaged himself after a moment, then another, even
taller form bent in front of her.
“I’m Dagonet,” his deep, friendly voice said.
As with Arthur, she took his hand slowly. Even more
calloused and time worn. But she felt such immense kindness emanating from him.
For such extremely large hands, his shook hers with such utter tenderness that
it amazed her. Her small hand was completely swallowed in his. With another
small curl of her mouth, she scanned his face. He had a scar down his left eye,
wrinkles around his eyes. There was sorrow there, but also understanding and
compassion.
He back away, and another more burly man bent in front of
her. “I’m Bors,” his garrulous voice sounded, making her jump and move closer
to her uncle who put an arm around her shoulder.
“Bors,” she heard Dagonet hiss admonishingly.
“Damn,” he whispered under his breath. “Ah, sorry, Raja,”
Bors’ gruff voice said, this time his volume lower. “just damned pleased to
meet ya.”
Oh there was good nature in him! Humor unbound. Raja shook
his hand, and he pumped her arm up and down energetically. She would have
giggled if she had had the energy – which she hadn’t for some time. But she
looked at him pleasantly, and thankfully for accepting her.
“You sure you’re related to Lancelot?” he asked her
good-naturedly. “You don’t look like a horse’s-”
“Bors,” Dagonet said again, this time he drawled warningly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bors said.
Another man stood in front of her now. He did not kneel so
they could be face to face. “I’m Tristan,” he said, clipped, with a forced
softness to his voice. Then he backed away.
Raja had seen his face though. Was he the figure she had
seen through the door yesterday? Tattoos, mussed hair, braids, bangs shielding
his eyes. An unkempt beard veiled even more of his face. Yet, she felt warmth
from him. He had not held out his hand, but she would have liked to shake his.
Before she could look up at her uncle questioningly, a
vaguely familiar face kneeled in front of her, rather reluctantly, and she
could not help but stare. Those eyes...that nose...that hair. It was...a very,
much younger version of her baba. Her baba...
With fascinated trepidation, she reached out, but not to
shake his hand.
Lancelot, kneeled warily in front of her, wondering what she
was going to do. Arthur was right, she was small. She looked closer to five or
six than eight. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. He flinched when put a
fingertip on his forehead, but did not move. The word “insane” flashed through
his head. She was invading his space, but still, he did not move. Lancelot’s
face scrunched slightly when her finger haltingly trailed down the bridge of
his nose, lingering for a mere moment at the tip. Raja touched him as if she
had not touched another human being, save for her uncle, in years. Then, she
touched his hair. The curls. She elongated one of them, and then brought her
braid over her shoulder, touching the ends of her own wavy curls in comparison.
Raja turned back to her uncle, her fingers still touching
Lancelot’s hair and said something in her language. “....baba,” she said softly.
Lancelot’s eyes popped in shock. All he heard was a word
that sounded frighteningly close to “papa.” Does
she think I’m her father? Is she mistaking me for her father? He thought
frantically. She really must be insane.
He stood abruptly, her hand falling from his hair. He looked
at Ardeth with questioning alarm. “She thinks I’m her father?” he blurted.
At his tone, Raja realized she must have made a serious
mistake. She huddled next to her uncle, burying her face in his leg.
“No,” Ardeth told the young man, placating his panic. “She
said you resembled her father. Your nose and hair and eyes.”
“Oh,” he said, his breath going back to normal. He looked
back at the small girl who was hiding in her uncle’s side.
“Christ, Lance,” he heard Bors mutter under his breath.
“...idiot.”
Lancelot shot him a scathing look.
“Quite all right, Lancelot,” Ardeth assured him. “You have
done nothing wrong.”
He nodded and stood back.
Ardeth said something to Raja soothingly, and a moment later
she came out from hiding. But her head was down now. “I think she needs to lie
down,” Ardeth said to them.
“Of course,” Arthur said.
“It was nice meeting you, Raja,” Dagonet said.
“Yeah,” Bors echoed heartily and sincerely.
Raja stopped for a moment, hearing the geniality in their
voices. She looked up at them all quickly, hoping they could see that she
enjoyed meeting them as well. She bowed again in respect. Then waved
cautiously, a child’s gesture, to them in goodbye.
-------------------------------------
When the two of them were gone, Bors said: “You have a
bigger mouth than me,” he said to Lancelot.
Lancelot snorted. “If she spoke so I could understand, I
wouldn’t have thought she said something different. Besides, she obviously
doesn’t know how to greet anyone properly either,” Lancelot mimicked.
Arthur sighed and sat down. “Have some patience.”
“She’s only a young girl,” Dagonet said.
“Eh yeah,” Bors said speculatively. “I thought Ardeth said
that she was, what, eight? She looked about five, six.”
“Not her eyes,” Tristan said stoically.
The four other men looked at the taciturn scout, startled
that he had taken any time to notice – or even speak of what he saw.
Tristan ignored them and turned to Arthur. “We done?”
He paused. “Uh...yes, we are finished here.”
With a slight nod, Tristan exited the room. He left the keep
and headed for the stables, needing the quiet of animals. He hadn’t shaken her
hand, or bent down to face her, but he could the oldness of her. He wondered if
she had remembered him from the previous day, looking through the opening of
the door. If she had, she hadn’t said anything to her uncle. Or if she did, the
Egyptian hid it well. The little girl had seemed so lost and sad, obviously,
only anchored by the presence of her Uncle Ardeth. It brought out feelings in
Tristan that he could barely recognize. Sympathy? Understanding? He shrugged it
off.
He knew he had felt impatience, and the inclination to smash
his face in, when Lancelot continued to complain. Obviously, he did not
appreciate the rarity of being able to see blood family. Most of them would
never even see their families again, and here Lancelot was – bitching about the
fact that a connection to his home was present.
---------------------------------
“I’m sorry,” Raja said to her uncle when they entered her
room. “I made him very angry.”
“Oh, no, not at all, little one. He was simply nervous to
meet you. Just as you were.”
He set her down on the large, cushioned armchair in front of
the fire. He wiped a tear that trickled down her face. “How about some warm
tea?”
She sniffed and ran her palms across her cheeks. “That would
be nice.”
“I will have to leave the room,” he told her.
“How long will you be away?” she asked, as if he were going
on a journey.
“Not long at all.”
She pressed her lips together. “All right.”
“Very good,” he said. He kissed her on the head before
leaving the room, the door clicking closed quietly.
Raja sat stiffly in the armchair, her ears alert for any
noise. She closed her eyes for a mere second, and when she opened them her eyes
caught something small on the opposite armchair. She blinked, and saw a small
mouse sitting on the seat.
“Hello,” she said, a tiny smile creeping on her face. “Where
did you come from?”
When the mouse did not reply, she spoke again. “I came from
The mouse twitched his whiskers. She bent down in front of
the mouse’s chair.
She gasped. “You’re all wet. You look as if you’ve just come
from swimming in the sea.” She hurried and got a dry, clean cloth. “If you let
me, I’ll dry you off.” The mouse inched forward. Raja picked him up and set him
on the cloth. She went closer to the fire and gently patted the small creature,
hoping to warm him. “What is your name?”
Raja waited in silence, hoping that she would be given his
name. He had swum in from the sea. “Oh! Well, it is nice to meet you, too,
Moses.”
----------------------------------
The next few nights the men heard ghostly wails rustling
through the corridors and slipping under their doors like a foreboding mist.
The cries never lasted too long, but they seemed to echo silently.
Every night Tristan expected those child Phantoms to emerge
from the darkness. He could barely fall asleep until he heard them, and when
they were gone he was able to drift off. Raja’s yells bothered him, but not in
an annoying way. They bothered him because they sent a chill down his spine.
They bothered him because they were so filled with torture and torment. They
were like a sad song that whispered through a vast chasm of nothingness. A dark
lullaby.
Lancelot finally went to sleep in his barracks after the
third night of hearing the girl cry out. The first night he had heard it he
nearly bolted out of bed, his heart pounding furiously. He had stopped and
listened, opened his door, the cries clearer. When he realized it was his
cousin, it unnerved him all the more.
As the weeks went by, Ardeth took Raja around the fort,
introducing her to some of the people he was acquainted with. They took rides,
Raja sitting in front of her uncle holding Moses, as Ra, his horse, trotted
over the vast, green grounds and through the forests. It had stopped raining,
but the skies were still overcast, the wind a bit sharp. She spoke rarely, and
usually in Arabic.
She spent some time with Dagonet in what she called the
Healing Room. Raja felt at ease with the giant knight. She would sit on a high
stool as she watched him ground herbs on a table. Sometimes she would help him.
She managed a few games of Chess with Arthur. The game required
little talking, but the atmosphere was serene. As they played, Moses sat on
either her head or shoulder. She introduced the small creature to Arthur, only
saying: Moses.
“As in the prophet?” he asked her.
She had nodded, glad that he had caught onto that.
Raja tried to spend time with her cousin Lancelot as well.
But she could not help but stare at his features; though, she knew it was rude
and tried not to. They sat in her room, the door wide open, the curtains as
well, letting in as much light as possible. Her feet didn’t reach the floor,
and she would sit up straight, hands in her lap across from Lancelot as he sat
in the same chair she had found Moses on.
Raja sometimes put him ill at ease. The way she stared at
him made him fidgety. Ardeth had explained to him that she knew exactly who he
was, and did not confuse him with her father in the least.
It another inactive day, and despite the fact that the small
Egyptian was odd, he could not help but be curious of this blood-cousin of his.
They had been sitting in silence now for almost ten minutes, the fire
crackling.
Finally, he had to mention something that had been on the
tip of his tongue for days: “Are you aware that you have a mouse on your head?”
Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, her lips curving into
that slight grin of hers. “This is Moses,” she said, the words pronounced
carefully. Although she spoke this particular language well, it was neither her
first nor second language. “Moses,” -
she rolled her eyes upwards, “this is my cousin, Lancelot.”
He said nothing for several moments. She was introducing him
to a mouse as if it knew what she was saying. And how those words “my cousin”
had rolled off her tongue with such ease. He only cleared his throat, not able
to greet the animal sitting on her head.
Raja took Moses into her hands and stroked him gently. “I
make you uncomfortable,” she stated, her voice whispery soft.
“No,” he denied uncertainly.
“That’s okay,” she replied, not really believing him. “But
look.” She set Moses down on her lap and took her father’s dragon amulet from
underneath her coat.
Lancelot merely stared at the trinket. It was the same one
as his father had given him the day he left
“My baba said that
your baba had one, too.” Her eyes
looked at him expectantly, hoping to share this connection.
He took his out from his vest, holding it up by the piece of
twine. Raja gazed at it as if it were an ancient treasure. Slowly, her mouth
spread into a wider grin, her teeth almost showing.
Ardeth had appeared in the doorway just as his niece
grinned. At first he thought he was imagining things, but, no, Raja was smiling
wider than he had seen in over a year. It still did not quite reach her eyes,
but there it was. A spark of something coming back to life inside of her. And
maybe Lancelot, too.
----------------------------------------
For the past week or so, Tristan had felt like someone was
watching him. Especially when he was in the stables. He continued to brush
Dyne, the back of his neck tingling. The scout had an inkling of who might be
following him – but would she dare? He had not caught a sight of her.
Raja watched the enigmatic man brush his beautiful horse.
When he had not been there she introduced herself. She knew the grey/white
horse was named Dyne. A beautiful name she thought. All the other steeds were
so wonderful, as well. Jols, the head stable-hand was very nice, and did not
mind that she often spent time here. The small girl crouched in an empty stall,
only her fingers that set on the top of the stall door, and her eyes and crown
of her head visible.
This man had caught Raja’s attention. He did not speak much
– like her. Her uncle had told her that Tristan was a man who liked his space
and rarely spent his free time with others. But he was not to be feared, he
assured her. And no, this man did not frighten her. He reminded her of the
warmth of
Tristan turned his head a slight fraction, his mussed
tresses covering his eyes. The tingling on the back of his neck and increased.
In his one movement, he finally caught her. A small creature that had been
shadowing him for weeks.
Sneaky, he
thought.
He smirked. He coughed, the sound loud in the quiet stables.
Tristan put the brush away and patted Dyne on the head. He noticed that she had
hid herself once again. Casually, he walked to the other side where she hid. He
leaned against the end of the wall that separated one stall from another, his
legs and arms crossed.
Not long after, he heard a small voice: “Hello.”
He turned and looked down. She stared up at him, a mouse on
her shoulder.
“You’ve been following me,” he returned.
“Yes, I have,” she replied unapologetically. She came out of
the stall and closed it, then stood a couple of feet away from him, still
observing him unabashedly. “I’m Raja.” She held out her hand, like she thought
she was supposed to.
Tristan’s gaze narrowed. “I know.” But that wide-eyed wonder
still masked her face, until finally, he sighed, and shook her hand. “Tristan.”
Raja clasped tightly to his hand, not letting him go. His
arm tensed, then went slack, just letting her hold onto him. Her mannerisms
were different. But maybe it had something to do with what made her cry at
night. He saw how she clung to her uncle, and despite the fact that she was in
a new country, he did not think it common for a girl her age to act like that. What the hell do I know about kids, though?
Reluctantly, she let his hand go. “It’s nice to meet you,
Trissy.”
His jaw tightened. “Tristan.”
Raja ignored him. “This is Moses,” she told him, picking the
mouse off her shoulder and holding him up to Tristan.
His eyes moved back and forth from her to the mouse.
“Don’t you like animals?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Me too. They make good friends, don’t they?”
He cocked an eyebrow and raised one shoulder imperceptibly.
“Do you have any friends?”
Not really, no, he wanted to say. He wasn’t close to anyone,
even after being here for near six years. They died too quickly.
“I like my space,” he finally answered.
Raja took a step away from him, which made him half-grin.
Just then, thunder rumbled and a crack of lightning snapped in the sky.
Raja yelped and crouched, her hands over her head, Moses
crawling under her coat.
Tristan saw her shaking, a small whimper escaping her lips.
He didn’t deal in comforting people, and now he didn’t know what to do. Did he
leave a scared girl in a strange place by herself? Shit.
But like a glorious reprieve, Ardeth entered the stables, as
if he had sensed his niece’s discomfort from afar.
“She is not quite used to all this rain,” Ardeth said to
him, Raja in his arms.
“I introduced him to Moses,” Raja said to her uncle.
“Did you then, little one?” Ardeth grinned at Tristan,
certain the lone scout was not used to being in the company of children.
Raja said something else to her uncle in Arabic, then turned
back to Tristan. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”
Ardeth gave him a look that said he did not have to, no
offense would be taken. But the Egyptian also had a note of surprise about him,
the fact that his niece was asking of her own accord.
“That’s all right,” Raja said wistfully, after Tristan did
not reply. “Maybe another day.”
Her tone made Tristan feel guilty. Shit.
------------------------------------
Raja was pleased that Tristan had had lunch with her a week
ago. It was a comfortable silence they ate in most of the time, but she still
walked away feeling as if she had had a thorough conversation. He even listened
when she told him the story of Moses, the significance of the mouse’s name.
The Pharaoh had ordered that all male Hebrew children be
killed by drowning in the
Raja continued narrating of how Moses saw the abuse of a
Hebrew slave and killed the Egyptian slave-driver. Moses had run away into the
desert, where he met his soon-to-be wife. One day, Moses led his flock to
When she got to the part about Moses parting the
To that, Raja giggled...for the first time in over a year
her mouth spread in a great big smile, and let out a sound of genuine mirth.
After everything the Israelites had been through, though,
she had said, they got to the Promised Land. They were free.
But now, a week later, the knights were gone. Off somewhere
on their duties. She realized how very quiet it was without them around, and
she no longer had any misgivings with spending time with them. While they were
gone, Ardeth continued to school her. And at night, while he read to her, she
would knit socks. Raja thought that the men might need some socks.
Not long after, trumpets sounded in the middle of the day.
Ardeth told her that meant the knights had arrived. He took her out to the
courtyard, the socks she knitted in hand, standing by the door Raja saw them
dismount. They were dirty...and...she squinted, their faces and armor were
splattered with blood. Raja watched as the inhabitants of the fort stood in awe
at them. There they were, gawking at the men in bloody armor as if they were
gods. Did they not see the blood? The weariness in their eyes and bodies? Did
they not know what it was like to have someone else’s blood on their skin?
They did not see human men. They only saw Knights, having
come back from an apparent victorious battle. But the only victory of it was
that they were alive.
Raja clutched the five bundles of socks to her chest as the
men walked towards the door. She stepped forward, holding out the first pair to
Arthur, giving him a welcome smile.
“Socks,” she said. “Clean ones.”
Arthur grinned back at her. Thanks went to her when they
each received their pair, even Tristan’s lips curved upwards.
The next day, Tristan walked into the stables to see all the
horses gone.
Jols and Lancelot walked in from the back door, shaking his
head. When he saw Tristan, he laughed. “You won’t believe it unless you see it
for yourself.”
“Insane,” Lancelot mumbled as he stepped passed.
Tristan stepped out the back door, only to see the horses
either lying on their sides or simply sitting on the ground. Raja was sitting
in front of them, Moses on her head. The breeze carried her lilting voice to
his ears. She was telling the horses the story of Moses. He sat down on a bale
of hay against the wall, transfixed at the sight of steeds on the ground,
listening like children listening to a fable.
In between parts of the story, Raja would play a short tune
from a flute she had. Sometimes dramatically happy or somber depending on which
part of the tale she was at.
Then, four words were spoken louder than the rest, and when
she said them her arms went up in the air, up to the blue, sunny sky – the
first truly sunny day since she had arrived. “Let my people go!” she exclaimed.
Tristan smiled wide, a light chuckle sounding.
From his study, Ardeth could see the corral where his niece
was sitting in front of the horses. He laughed to himself when she raised her
hands in the air, the smile clear on her face. He observed Tristan sitting on a
bale of hay by the wall, and a small smile lit his face for the lone scout as
well as he saw the man laugh.
Maybe a spark of life was coming back to life inside of him,
too.
It won't rain all the time
The sky won't fall forever.
And though the night seems long,
your tears won't fall,
your tears won't fall,
your tears won't fall forever.