Kindle My Heart
As the moon kindles the night
As the wind kindles the fire
As the rain fills every ocean
And the sun, the earth
With your heart, kindle my heart
Chronology: Tristan is 19. Lancelot is 17. Raja is 9.
It wasn’t really Raja’s job to take inventory in the Armory, but she did it anyway. It made her feel useful, and the other knights didn’t particularly like doing it. It gave her a chance to practice her numerals in various languages, as well. With her piece of vellum and stylus the small girl studiously counted and recorded how many arrows, swords, shields, spears, axes and a plethora of other deadly paraphernalia there was. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to sharpen any of the weapons. Her Uncle Ardeth said they were too heavy for her – which they were – but he never said anything about shining the knights’ armor. Ridiculous armor, of course, she always added in the back of her mind.
After taking inventory, she got a few rags, a buffer and the special cream to clean the armor. She had to stand on a stool to reach their outfits properly, but she diligently tended to every inch of their outfits.
When she was all finished with that task she washed her hands and then
looked around the large room to see if she had overlooked anything. Raja could
hear the gentle fall of raindrops outside, glad that there was no thunder or
lightning. Her kin had returned yesterday from a three week trek, arriving
later than they had planned. Her Uncle and they never told her what they spoke
about in their meetings, but she knew that Woads were becoming a very bad
problem. She had bad dreams of the enemy attacking the fort, and her nightmare
would shift back to the raid on the Colony back in
Raja sighed and tapped her foot. She realized she was alone, and nobody but the animals was in the stables either. An idea came to her. She hurried out the door and into the stables. “Horus!” she whispered loudly up at her winged friend in the rafters. “Keep watch! You, too, Odin.”
She went back into the Armory and eyed the armor on the wooden body dummies. Which one should she try on? Tristan’s! Definitely. She took the stool and set it in front of his armor, observing her garbled reflection in the iron plates. She took a dagger out of its iron sheath. Raja hopped off of the stool and carefully positioned the dagger on her fingers. Making sure it was properly balanced she tossed it lithely in the air and caught it by the handle. With a proud grin on her face she did a little tap-shuffle-dance on her feet in self-congratulations. Back on the stool she put the dagger back in its place. She untied the sides of the armor so she could slip the armor off. It was heavier than it looked. With heaves and frustrating sputtering, she got it off but fell back on her backside.
“Oof!” she exclaimed, the air going out of her. Collecting herself, she made sure the armor wasn’t damaged, and then proceeded dressing herself. She slipped into it like a turtle into its shell, only, of course, it didn’t fit her.
Its flaps dragged on the ground, and the head of the armor was about as wide as her shoulders and was threatening to fall off. She tied the sides of it, held firmly onto the shoulders and tried to walk around. But it only took a few steps for her to lose her balance and she fell on her back again. She tried to get up but only rolled side-to-side, a trapped turtle on the back of its shell.
“Oh, poop!” she complained.
Her arms flailed in vain as she tried to wriggle herself out of the cumbersome burden that held her down. Then, she heard Horus caw and Odin give a loud snort. She stopped cold, knowing someone was coming in, and if she didn’t get out of the armor, she would be caught red-handed. But it was too late, footsteps approached and Horus cawed insanely, still trying to warn her. Raja ducked her head into the armor, sticking her arms into it as well.
The small girl heard the distinct clearing of someone’s throat. Slowly, her head slithered out from the head. She smiled innocently at her friend Tristan as he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, an amused expression on his face.
“Hello,” she said.
Tristan gazed around the room, noting the vellum and stylus that had been put aside on a small writing desk.
“Taking inventory?” he asked casually.
“I finished,” she replied.
He nodded. “I don’t think that armor fits you very well.”
“I agree,” she said.
Then he chuckled and approached her and helped her out of his armor, putting it back on the wooden dummy. Raja straightened her tunic and brushed the dirt off the seat off her hose, smoothing down her hair as well.
“Sorry,” she told him.
He shrugged a shoulder lazily. Raja took the vellum and stylus before she followed him out of the armory. She put on her cloak that was slung over one of the stall’s doors, putting the hood on her head before they stepped outside. The sky was blocked with billowy gray clouds that continued to soak the earth. People scurried around as they went about their work, hustling so they wouldn’t get drenched by the rain. Every time she passed by the walls, she couldn’t help but wonder how the soldiers stood standing in the battlements in the rain. She knew they took shifts, but it was cold!
“Meh,” she said as they met with a large mud puddle. Much too large and deep for her. But she braved it and when she was about to take a step she felt her body being swooped up into strong arms.
Tristan stepped over the puddle and carried her the rest of the way into the keep before setting her down.
“Thank you,” she said.
Tristan winced when he heard her give a sharp cough. She had only gotten over a brief fever a couple of weeks ago.
“You know, Trissy,” she began, “you should be resting after your long journey.”
He snorted. “I rested.”
Raja sighed in defeat and shook her head. “I have to give this to Arthur. Do you want to play Chess later?”
One side of his mouth curved up. “I’ll set the board.”
Raja beamed and scuttled off to Arthur’s study. She heard her Uncle’s voice, and their backs were to her as they hovered over a table with a large map. The door was open but she knocked anyway.
She held up the piece of vellum. “I took inventory.”
Arthur smiled. “You know you do not have to do this.” Oh, but he couldn’t help but be eternally grateful, it was one less tedious task to do.
“Oh, pfft!” she waved it off. “Maybe next time I can sharpen the weapons?” She looked back and forth between her Uncle and Arthur.
“I think not little one,” her Uncle Ardeth said gently, with an affectionate smile.
“Poop,” she muttered in disappointment under her breath. She handed Arthur the inventory.
“Thank you very much, Raja,” he said.
“Of course, Artie.”
Arthur gave a wry smile at her nickname for him. All his life and not once had he been called so. It wasn’t very commander-like, but it touched his heart and a swell of tenderness filled him. Raja was a welcome reprieve from the ugliness he had to endure in life.
Raja coughed, unaware of her Uncle’s creased brow of concern.
“Did you drink your tea yet, Raja?” he asked her.
“No...”
Ardeth stood before her and kneeled down. “You know it is important for you to do so, little one.”
“I know. I’ll go drink some right now,” she said contritely.
“Very well then,” he relented, trusting that she would heed his tame order.
Raja hugged them goodbye and left the room, heading to her quarters where the Chess board was already set up, and Tristan was pouring her a mug of her tea.
“I was just about to make myself some!” she exclaimed.
“Only because your Uncle reminded you, I bet,” he said blithely.
“Hmmph!” But she thanked him, so happy that she had others that cared for her as much as she cared for them. Her Uncle Ardeth was the world to her, but her world was large, and there was always plenty of room to have others that protected and loved her.
----
Just as Raja and Tristan were about to finish the day, they heard cursing wafting down the hall and getting louder as the person approached. The door to Raja’s room was wide open, and there stood a fuming Lancelot, face red, fists clenched.
Tristan cocked an inquisitive eyebrow while Raja jumped up from her seat, concerned. “Are you okay, Lancelot? What’s wrong?” She flicked her worried eyes over him, checking for injuries of a sort.
“Wrong?” His voice came out a hissing wheeze as he stared down at his small cousin.
Raja looked back at Tristan furtively.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Lancelot mocked.
“Lancelot,” Tristan’s voice was firm and flat, a veiled warning to the other man to keep his temper lest he charge off on another rampage reducing Raja to tears as he had done not too long ago.
Raja’s cousin’s chest heaved as he struggled to remain as calm as possible.
“What did I do?” Raja asked, her tiny voice sounding upwards to her cousin. Her lips were pressed together anxiously and her brow furrowed in dread.
He took a deep breath and his nostrils flared. “One of your precious friends,” he spat the word as if it were poison, “left some special treats in my bed.”
Raja’s eyes lit up just a bit, and her small hands clasped themselves together against her chest in hope. “Magellan? You found Magellan?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he demanded. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life! Angelica was disgusted!”
From across the room Tristan snorted.
“Who’s Angelica?” Raja asked.
“A friend,” Lancelot said shortly. “But that’s not the point! Your friend shit in my bed!”
Raja was silent for a beat. “Ohh, I see.”
“No, I don’t think you see. I pull back the covers and Angelica has her bare back on mouse shit!”
“Bare back?” Raja tipped her head to the side.
“Not the point,” Lancelot hedged.
“Is Angelica the one with long brown hair, with the beauty mark on her upper lip?” she asked, a finger scratched her head in contemplation.
Lancelot’s eyes became slits of caution. “So?”
Raja nodded to herself. “She called Snuffleupagus a bad name. Remember? You remember, Tristan?” she turned her head to Tristan for confirmation.
And indeed, Tristan did recall that incident. Angelica thought Raja couldn’t hear, but she had called Snuffleupagus the Mouse a ‘piece of disgusting shit’.
Lancelot let out a gust of exasperated air, his outrage meandering into weary frustration. He knew he would regret his next question. “What does this Snuppleupfagus have to do with Magellan?”
“Snuffleupagus,” Tristan corrected with a sarcastic smirk.
This time, Lancelot heeded the other man’s unwelcome amusement. “I’m glad this amuses you, Tristan.”
The scout only gave him a smug gleam of his curved mouth.
“Snuffle was Magellan’s cousin. He passed away two weeks ago.”
Her cousin’s jaw ticked. “I suppose Magellan was seeking vengeance.”
“I think so,” Raja said. Then she sighed. “I’ll talk to him and tell him what he did was wrong.” She reached out and her fingertips touched the back of Lancelot’s hand. “I’m sorry. Should I talk to your lady friend?”
He was silent for several moments before he hissed under his breath, “Dammit.”
“I’ll clean up Magellan’s poop and put clean sheets on the bed.” Not letting him reply, she pitter-pattered out of the room to do as she said, a sharp cough audible from down the hall.
“She drink her tea today?” Lancelot asked, momentarily deterred by his cousin’s ailment.
Tristan nodded.
“That went well,” Lancelot muttered under his breath. He ran a hand down his face and caught Tristan eyeing him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. “What?”
“You didn’t stay mad for very long.”
Lancelot scoffed. “Yeah well...I’ve encountered worse things than mouse shit.”
----
A little while later Lancelot walked into his room to find new bedding neatly arranged on his bed. The sodden sheets were taken away, but little Raja had fallen asleep on the bed, curled up on the end. Her cousin smiled a bit and looked at her face in a peaceful repose. Ack! But that damned mouse was gently being held in her small hands.
Magellan squeaked, and Raja’s eyes flickered open. When her vision came clear, she saw her cousin. “Hello,” she said. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, gazing around her a bit confused. “When did I fall asleep?”
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“Yup.” Raja stood up, a blood rush tottered her and Lancelot held her up.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Magellan said it wasn’t him that pooped in your bed.”
“And how would you know?”
“Because those weren’t his droppings. I can tell by what I feed Magellan.”
Lancelot’s face scrunched up in evident disgust. “So I have a rogue mouse littering the confines of my room?”
“I suppose so. But I searched for him, or her, and not a trace.”
“Eh...well, that’s not good.”
Raja sighed. “I don’t feel good, Lottie.”
Concern touched him and he put the back of his hand against her forehead which was a bit too warm.
“I drank my tea,” she said uselessly.
“Come on.” Lancelot picked her up and with Magellan under the shoulder of her tunic, her arms and legs went securely around her cousin as he carried her back to her room. He met Ardeth along the way. “She doesn’t feel well,” he told the Egyptian.
Raja turned her head to her Uncle in obvious distress. Ardeth took the small girl from Lancelot’s arms, already feeling the heat coming off of Raja.
“I drank my tea,” she repeated. A tear trickled down her cheek.
“It is all right, little one.” Ardeth wiped the tear from her cheek. He walked the rest of the way to her room and set her on her bed. He removed her boots, Magellan crawling off her and on the bed. He tucked her in. “I will get some broth. Do you think your tummy can manage?”
Raja nodded weakly.
“I’ll sit with her,” Lancelot said.
Ardeth smiled softly in thanks and quit the room.
Lancelot pulled up a chair next to the bed.
“I’ll apologize to your lady friend,” she said.
“Ah,” Lancelot waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll survive.”
Raja grinned weakly but remained silent. Lancelot saw that she was staring at his face again as she was sometimes prone to do when she was ill. He was used to it by now, but it made him feel sad, more for her than him because he knew that he resembled her dead father. He would often wonder what it was like for her to see him everyday, remnants of her father duplicated on his face. As she stroked her thumb gently over Magellan’s back, her silver eyes remained steady and clear on her cousin. Finally, she averted her gaze and stifled a cough.
“Do you get scared, Lottie?” she asked him in a hushed whisper.
“Scared of what?”
“Dying.”
He was silent for several moments, the quiet waxed on throughout the room. When he was in battle, he never thought about dying because he was too concentrated on killing. Usually, it was before the fight that the notion of the possibility of him being felled by a sword crossed his mind.
“I’m not afraid of dying,” he finally told her.
“Me neither,” she agreed resolutely.
“Well,” he leaned back in his chair, curling his lips in a grin that meant he was slightly uncomfortable with the topic, “you won’t die for a long time, yet.”
Her stare was unwavering as she neither agreed nor disagreed with his statement. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I’m scared of what I’ll leave behind.”
Gods, why is she talking like this?
“You, Tristan, my Uncle,” she went on. “What will happen?”
He shrugged uncertainly.
“Would you promise me something?”
“Sure,” he said hesitantly.
“Will you do your best not to be...” – she searched for the right word – “empty...in here.” She tapped her fingers over her heart.
Stop talking like this, he silently begged her.
“Don’t be cold,” Raja told him. “Please.” She remembered, once, a long time ago when she was ill, she made Tristan promise the same thing. He did, albeit reluctantly and shortly.
But Lancelot didn’t get a chance to answer as Tristan did. Ardeth entered the room with a tray of broth, a slice of buttered bread and a warm mug of tea. Relieved that he did not have to answer, he squeezed Raja’s hand gently in goodbye. Ardeth set the tray over Raja’s lap. Comforted by her Uncle’s presence she tried to consume as much of her meal as possible. She managed the broth, but the bread was too thick for her stomach. When she was done, she sipped on her tea while her Uncle Ardeth read to her.
He never seemed to age, she noticed. And she was good at seeing things like that. There were only a few gray hairs near his temples, but that was all. He had small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that crinkled whenever he smiled. To her, Raja’s Uncle was ageless. He would never age, never weaken, he’d be with her forever.
She fell asleep before the sun even went down, although she couldn’t quite see it, as it was still buffeted by the dark clouds.
----
The horns and bells sounded with such vicious abandon that it struck home to every villagers' heart, reverberating throughout their entire bodies. The sentries yelled, there was mass scurrying about the fortress, soldiers donned their armor, their fervent behavior rattling the horses.
The knights were stoic, this invasion was more populated than all the recent ones. The air was cold and frosty, dew masked the ground, the clouds hid the sun. Once again, Vanora stood next to Raja as the small girl’s face was a picture of utter fear. She didn’t want her kin to go, she didn’t want her Uncle Ardeth to leave. She could feel it in her bones that this was awful, more awful than all the others.
Her Uncle tried to assuage her fears before he left, she quickly slipped her dragon amulet over his head and almost refused to let him go when she hugged him. They rode away, the horses’ hooves pounding into the mud, obscured by the fog. The fort seemed deserted after they left. The villagers halted in their work.
Vanora wiped away Raja’s tears and ushered her back into the keep to get her dressed for the day. She combed her hair like a devoted mother and then plaited the girl’s long black and white tresses. Magellan sat with her the whole time as she fed him his breakfast of bread and fresh water.
It was Vanora’s duty to take the morning shift in the tavern, serving breakfast to the few occupants there were. Thea sat with Raja, cuddling her on her lap, soothing the young girl who could not seem to be comforted, her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s.
“I had bad dreams, Thea,” she whispered.
“What of?”
Raja sniffed. “I don’t know. But they were bad.”
And as the two sat in Raja’s warm bedroom, they were unaware of the Woads that had breeched the boundaries of the fortress while their counterparts kept the soldiers of the fort busy. They had had to wait in the trees for an hour or two, making sure that all was right and organized before they attacked.
“Well, remember this, love. They were just that – dreams, hmm?” Thea smiled in what she hoped would succor Raja’s discomfiture.
Raja coughed.
“I’ll go make you some tea, love,” Thea said.
----
Eventually, they took the guards at each gate by surprise, killing them swiftly without mercy. They knew they would eventually be discovered, which was why they took out as many people as they could before the warning trumpets sounded.
“Woads!” a guard bellowed. “Woads!”
The remaining sentries took up arms just as another insurgent of the enemy ran through. Torches were thrown on the roofs of small houses which were damp from the rain, but eventually they would catch fire, spreading and demolishing the domiciles. The watch tower was alit with hot flames, the woodwork slowly engulfed with fire.
----
Raja gasped, looking out the windows to see villagers being cut down, soldiers being cut down, houses were on fire, and the watch tower having turned into kindling collapsed on the ground. It was just like home. Just like home. Bodies were strewn in the streets, and fire was everywhere.
Raja rushed to the door, looking back and forth down the halls. She could hear the screaming from the first floor. She knew guards were placed outside each entry of the keep, and she prayed that they had not been slain and would protect each door.
“Odin,” she whispered to herself. “Horus.” She thought about her animal friends in the stables. Butterball, the old mare that was on in her years. And the bunnies, Boomer and Flipflop! And Beauty the Chicken. Quickly, she hid Magellan in his own alcove she had made for him to play in.
Raja looked out the window again, the stables were in sight, still untouched, but she knew not for long. The hay in there would catch fire. Odin would be able to run out, she never enclosed him in a stall, but all the other animals!
The small girl dashed out of her room, unheeding of the danger outside. She would not fail her animal friends as she had failed her mother. The halls were cold and she wound down them, descending the stairs. She did her best to remain unseen from the other people who hurried around the keep, they were in such a tizzy that they did not notice her.
The double doors of the main entry of the keep were closed, but the screaming outside was clearer. Her heart beat, the blood pulsed through her temples and her mouth was dry from fear. She couldn’t go out the front door, so she scurried to a side door not far. Slowly, she opened the door and peeked out, the cold wind rushed against her face, but there was no one in this part.
Raja hurried out the door and to the stables. The mud squished under her tiny boots, and she encountered a few dead bodies on the way, stopping to stare at them, transfixed in utter terror. Hurrying and hurrying, dodging behind barrels and huts, she made her way to the back door of the stables. No one had come here yet. Odin nickered lightly when he saw her.
She patted him on the nose. “Horus!” she called. In Arabic she told him to go get her Uncle, find them. The hawk could find anyone. He cawed and flew like an arrow out of the stables.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” she told Odin.
Boomer and Flipflop had heard the commotion and were hopping around in anxiety. Raja put them in a basket, and opened the stall door for Butterball. “Odin, stay close to her, okay?” The big black walked to Butterball’s side, dwarfing the mare considerably.
She was ushering them out the back door when footsteps came closer to the stable doors. She saw a torch being thrown and hay caught fire. Odin and Butterball were already out the doors.
“Go!” she ordered them. She set Boomer and Flipflop down, and told them to hop away. They paused for a moment, as if they were waiting for her, but she insisted they leave.
She had to put out the fire. She hid behind a barrel, waiting to see if the enemy would go in. She heard the guttural sounds of their language, and two men entered the building. Then Raja heard someone scream up in the hayloft. There were two stable-boys hiding up there! The fire would get them!
----
A little less than halfway to the fort, Tristan felt an excruciating stab in the center of his chest, strong enough to cause him to hunch forward, stifling an exhalation of a painful grunt. His hand clenched the front of his hauberk, his jaw was clenched.
“Tristan?” Dagonet turned towards his friend? “Are you injured?”
All the men steered their attention to the scout.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He shook it off as the stab waned.
“Are you certain?” Arthur asked, his bloodied brow furrowed.
“Yeah.”
Two caws were heard from above. Horus swooped down like a blade through the air. He winged around Ardeth, his beseeches of alert ecstatic.
Ardeth murmured what sounded something like a prayer under his breath and spurred Ra forward. Tristan knew it instantly, and he followed suit. It was Raja.
----
A Woad started to climb up the ladder. It was just like home. Just like
“Walida?” Raja’s eyes flickered, looking up at a sky of blue with pretty puffy clouds in the shapes of animals.
“Hello, my love.”
Raja’s heart burst with happiness, hearing her mother’s voice for the first time in almost three years. Her mother didn’t look a bit like she had the last time Raja had seen her. Her wounds were gone, and her body shone with ethereal golden light in her gossamer golden gown. Her arms reached out, but her mother stepped away. ‘Aisha’s glorious smile was still on her face.
“Baba?”
“My little one,” her father said. He stood next to his wife, also a loving smile on his face.
Raja stood up from the plush copse from which plentiful flowers grew. She giggled and stepped towards her parents, but every time she got closer they became further away. Her parents’ eyes looked past her, and Raja turned to see what they were staring at. She gasped. It was her, an arrow through her chest.
“Baba? Walida?” The grin left her face, as her silver eyes pleaded for answers.
“Our daughter,” her mother said.
Raja took another step forward. “Are you taking me with you now?”
Her parents exchanged saddened glances, both bending on their knees at the same time, finally letting Raja come close. The little girl felt a brush of touch from her parents as they each took a hand in theirs. Over their heads, Raja saw a black figure with the head of a jackal. Anubis.
“Do not look, my love,” ‘Aisha said. “This place is not for you yet.”
“But...”
“Little one,” Lancelot said softly, “you have to go back.”
Raja shook her head vehemently. “No! I want to stay here with you!”
“We would love to have you with us again, Raja, but only when it is your time,” her mother told her.
“Then make it my time!” Raja pleaded. “Don’t leave me!” Tears filled her eyes, she could already feel her parents slipping away.
Lancelot and ‘Aisha stood, letting go of their daughter’s hands.
“No!” Raja screamed, hands outstretched.
“We love you, Raja,” Lancelot said, a deep veil of regret in his dark brown eyes. “But people need you.”
“No, they don’t!” she cried. “I need you!”
But in the distance, Anubis was calling her parents back to him. They had been given their allotted time with their daughter, and it was time for them to return.
“I NEED YOU!” Raja screamed. “TAKE ME WITH YOU!”
“We love you,” ‘Aisha soothed, her voice faint.
“We love you, little one,” Lancelot said.
“NOOO!” Raja ran after their spirits, but it was as if she wasn’t even moving. “COME BACK! TAKE ME WITH YOU!”
She moved her small legs...“WALIDA! BABA!” But the light was getting brighter, obscuring her vision. She could hear her name...
“Raja...”
It wasn’t her father’s or mother’s voice.
“Raja...Raja...”
The voice was calling her back...
----
Her eyes blinked, her long lashes waves of injured butterfly wings. Her surroundings were blurry, and she was in so much pain it was difficult to breathe. She tasted something bitter in her mouth.
“Stay awake, little one.”
Uncle Ardeth? Where was she now? A tear slipped from her eye, it hurt so much. Her mouth moved, she wanted to talk.
“Shh, do not try to speak, Raja,” her Uncle said.
The Egyptian and Dagonet were working furiously to remove the arrow from Raja’s body. It had pierced her chest with such force that it had punctured through her back. The arrow broke.
“Gently now,” Ardeth said.
Dagonet slowly slid the rest of the arrow from her chest. Ardeth cut off her tunic, revealing the wound in her bare chest.
Raja coughed, flecks of blood squirted out of her mouth. Then the darkness came again.
----
Tristan rubbed his chest for the millionth time, a dull throb still drumming in his heart. The same place that Raja had been pierced. He was consumed with both rage and agony, not knowing which he felt more. The blood on her clothes, lying in a pile of hay. She hadn’t been breathing at first, but she had seemingly come back to life, and now she was hovering between life and death. What the hell had she been doing in the stables? Getting the animals out, of course.
He knew Thea had gone to make her some tea when the raid began, thinking it safe to leave Raja alone for a spell. He couldn’t be mad at Thea, but his torment needed to be directed somewhere, but there wasn’t any justifiable place to aim it. It was a bitter, macabre irony that it was Raja who was injured by it all, and not one of the knights had anything more than a scratch. It shouldn’t be her.
Ardeth and Dagonet had tended to her for almost an hour, now she was piled under warm blankets in her room, braziers lit and the fire roaring. She had a fever and it was imperative that it be kept down. He wanted to see her, but he, a warrior, could not bring himself to look at her body that was fighting for life. He had seen grown men die from wounds less worse than hers. It was nothing short of a miracle that she was still breathing, labored though it was.
It was only yesterday they were playing a game of Chess, which still reposed unfinished on the table in her room, and she had been winning.
----
That night it snowed without end, and come morning the earth was blanketed by immaculate sheets of white. It covered the blood on the land, and juxtaposed with the damage of small houses and buildings it was as if the gods were laughing at them. It did not stop snowing and by mid-afternoon the snow was up to their knees.
Lancelot sat silently in front of the fire of his bedroom, but it did nothing to warm him. He barely slept throughout the night, not wanting to be awakened with news of the possibility of his cousin’s death. Oh, for once he wished she could have been well and had a nightmare for him to hear from his bedroom, a sign that she was at least physically well, and then the next morning she would be able to greet him.
He hadn’t gone to see her yet. This was different from when she was suffering from a simple fever. No, this was a battle wound, he could not bear to sit next to her and hear her gasp for breath. No, he wouldn’t. Lancelot squeezed his eyes shut, blinking back the tears he had not allowed to fall. Memories of the day before clouded his mind, and he felt an immense guilt for having snapped at her for the mouse poop in his bed. But she had forgiven him, and they had parted amicably before she’d fallen asleep. And remembering that promise she had tried to extract from him, he was glad he had not been able to – because it was a promise surely to be broken. Raja was not even dead yet, and he was already becoming numb. The tips of his fingers and it was spreading, soon to reach his heart, he knew.
----
Raja squealed in happiness in her mother’s arms. She was two and her baba had been away for a little over two weeks, and now her and her walida were waiting on the steps of the manse as Lancelot rode towards them. He dismounted with ease, a wide smile on his face seeing his wife and child. ‘Aisha set her daughter down and Raja’s small legs ran towards her father.
“Baba!” she yelled, arms outstretched. “Baba, up! Up!”
And he swung her up in his arms, twirled her around eliciting ecstatic giggles from her. She gave him sloppy kisses as young children were wont to do, and he returned them with as much fatherly love as he had for his small daughter.
“Baba’s back!” she exclaimed to her mother as she gracefully walked towards her husband.
Her father continued to hold her on his forearm as he embraced his wife with his free arm.
“Baba smells,” Raja said, and her parents laughed. She patted her father’s matted curls, elongating one of them and letting it spring back into place.
The three of them walked into the large manse, the workers greeted Lancelot, and ‘Aisha gave them instructions for the upcoming meal that was to be served. The little Egyptian held tightly onto her father, warm and safe in his arms.
“Raja,” her mother said, “it’s nap time.”
“No!” she protested. “Not sleepy!”
“You can try, my love,” her mother replied.
“Not sleepy!”
Lancelot chuckled. “You know it keeps you healthy, little one,” he reminded her. “And you’ll grow up to be big and strong.”
Raja pursed her lips together, her eyes darting back and forth to her mother and father. “Well...”
“Come here, love.” ‘Aisha took her daughter from her husband’s arms, placing tiny kisses on her daughter’s face. The little girl stifled a yawn. All the excitement of the day was wearing on her.
It was late afternoon, but her parents tucked her in for her daily nap, and she would be awake by dinner time.
“I love you,” she told her parents.
“How much?” Lancelot teased.
“This much!” Raja’s arms opened wide. “Lots!”
Soon, her eyes drooped and her parents left the room, leaving it open a smidge. With a tender smile on his face, Lancelot took one last peek at his dozing daughter.
----
Three days after the raid it was still snowing. It was evident that no one would be getting in or out of the fort, hence alleviating the worry of another attack. Lancelot bitterly hoped that the Woads would freeze to death in their mountains and little huts. Every last one of them. He still had not gone to see his cousin, she was still unconscious, still slightly feverous. Sometimes she moved her lips in a fluttery motion like a fish, but that was the only sign of outward life she gave.
A full week passed, and then another, life was bleak, waiting for Raja to awaken. Thea was often in tears when she went to check on her, feeling it was her fault for leaving the little girl alone. Ardeth assured her she was not to be blamed. How the Egyptian could hold up so valiantly under this immense strain was a mystery.
Ardeth was quiet as he tended to Raja, washing her down, putting a clean nightshift on her. He rarely slept, and if he did it was in the armchair by her bed. It was difficult for one of the men to suggest that he rest, he was her Uncle and had been taking care of her since her parents died.
One day, Tristan stepped forward, next to Ardeth he was Raja’s closet guardian. He cleared his throat at the door, gaining the Egyptian attention.
Ardeth gave the other man a tired smile. “Tristan, come in, please.” His voice was slightly raspy and weary. “She has not stirred,” he added unnecessarily.
He nodded. Getting to the point, as was his way, he said, “Perhaps you should rest. I can sit with her.”
Ardeth seemed a bit taken aback at his words, as if the very notion had never even crossed his mind, and Tristan thought for a moment he’d overstepped his boundaries.
Tristan looked at this man he admired and respected, wondering how he took
this all in such calm, even though the man had to be reeling inside. Save for
the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the deep sadness in his obsidian
irises, there were no signs of discontent. The Egyptian long ago and learned to
turn these things inward, channeling sorrow into strength for his young niece.
And before that, his wife, Inara. Before he had come to
Tristan waited for Ardeth to reply as he continued to sit vigil with his niece, holding her tiny little hand that seemed to have shrunk with the rest of her body.
“I can wake you if she moves,” he added.
Ardeth cleared his throat and spoke, “It grieves me to no end that my child carries so much on her small shoulders.” And quieter as if to himself, “So very much.” He said a small prayer in Arabic and kissed Raja’s hand before standing up, ever graceful, strong and lithe. “Thank you, Tristan.”
He nodded again, and took up Ardeth’s seat. Tristan had sat with her briefly at times during the past two weeks, that sore spot on his chest still thudding consistently. He observed her pale face, her cheeks becoming gaunt. Ardeth gave her broth by inserting tubes made of soft leather down her throat to her stomach. It was a medical practice he was reluctant to use, but was often utilized during her many bouts of prolonged fevers.
Tristan scooted the chair closer and took her hand. The small rise and fall of her chest under the blankets was barely noticeable.
“Odin and Horus are okay,” he said. “So are Boomer and Flipflop, Butterball, and Beauty. You saved them by getting them out of the stables in time. I don’t know where Magellan is though.” In the beginning, he often felt stupid for speaking to her when he wasn’t even sure if she could hear him, but Ardeth told him it was most likely soothing.
In the past, whenever a comrade had fallen, he gave up hope instantly. And in later years, he had no hope at all to give up on. So many died in pointless battles. But now, hope was all he had, he would think to himself ruefully. He couldn’t consider the alternative – not having her here. Stupidly, he thought that they had yet to finish their game of Chess, still unfinished on the table. He had promised to help her build a snow-man, but when she woke up there was no way she would be able to play out in the snow. But in the spring he would help her build birdhouses.
Raja’s fingers twitched. It was so quick he must have imagined it, but it happened again. Tristan didn’t realize, but the pain in his chest had eased.
----
The wind howled, whipping through the frigid outdoors and Lancelot’s heart. Without his cloak he stumbled through the paths that had been cleared in the streets, large piles of frozen snow piled on the sides. He stopped and took a long slug of ale from his decanter before continuing his walk back to the keep from the tavern. The whores had tried to persuade him to their quarters, any chamber that had not been too ruined by the raid, but he waved them off, too drunk to care for their offers. Besides, knowing that some of the women, Angelica included, had died during the raid put a damper on everything. But the only thought that ran through his head was the fact that Raja would never be able to give Angelica the apology that the little girl had wanted to give. He laughed ruefully at the words he’d said to his cousin: “Ah, she’ll survive.” Indeed.
By the time he entered the keep his ale was down to a shallow puddle at the bottom of the jug.
“Bah,” he muttered and threw the jug aside, ignoring the shatter of the clay.
Inside was gloomier than the night, torches flickered like pitiful ghosts against the walls. Where to go? Where to go?
His feet had him trudging to Arthur’s study, he saw the light from the fire place from underneath the door, and the deep voice of his Commander speaking to himself, no doubt – praying.
Lancelot listened with growing agitation at his lamentations.
“Merciful God, I pray to you again this night to bestow your mercy on Raja...”
No. Lancelot sneered, Arthur would not pray to his Christian God on behalf of Raja who was not a Christian. The same as when he prayed to fallen comrades over their graves – Pagan comrades, as if his “God” would truly aide any heathen. He’d always thought it insulting for Arthur to do so, often biting back his rage when he spewed his religious platitudes over his Sarmatian kin who he would forget the names of as the years went by. But who was he to blame really? Lancelot forgot a lot of the names as well, the faces, the voices. But he’d never forget Raja’s face or voice, if she died it would haunt him forever.
Where would her body be taken if she passed? Ardeth
would likely take her back to
He moved away from the door in disgust, wanting to scream but not having the energy to do so. With wobbly steps he made his way up the stairs. Down the halls to his room, Raja’s the opposite way. Maybe he should go see his cousin...and ran smack into Tristan on his already unsteady feet, falling to his ass on the cold stone floors.
Lancelot rubbed his head and felt Tristan’s strong arm on his upper arm, hauling him up like he were made of air. He shrugged him off and straightened his jerkin. His eyes adjusted and caught Tristan’s gold eyes in the flickering lights in the halls.
Tristan observed Lancelot, drunk again. He was handling Raja’s attack worse than any of them, and hadn’t even gone to see her. He caught the man again when he teetered.
“Come on,” he said.
Lancelot tried to push him away, and fell to the floor, his back against the wall. He let out a sharp breath, his vision swam as he looked up at the scout in silence. Their eyes locked, Lancelot wanting to say something – anything - Tristan waiting for him to expel whatever frustration he knew he’d been keeping pent up.
“Well?” Lancelot asked.
Tristan dipped his head to the side.
He snorted. “How is she?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself?”
Lancelot laughed dryly. “Why? You, Sir Tristan, could tell me everything about her.” His head rolled to one side then the other. “Sir Tristan,” he muttered under his breath. “Cold-blooded warrior...”
Silence.
“You know...” Lancelot said loudly, “I had you pegged all wrong. Ever since I met you,” – he jabbed his finger up at Tristan – “I thought you were just this cruel, blood-thirsty demon. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Tristan leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “And I thought you were a vain, self-centered jackass.”
Lancelot’s brow shot up, surprised that he had spoken. “Aren’t I?”
“Most of the time.”
“Who’d have thought,” – he waved his hand in the air – “that a little girl would be the one to get you to act like a human being.”
He smirked. “Who would have thought that a little girl would be the one to get you to see that there is more to life than women.”
Lancelot laughed uproariously, his drunken-cheer waning to a dull melancholy. “Why Raja?” he asked, more to himself than Tristan.
Tristan didn’t answer. He watched Lancelot’s head loll, his eyes droop and open.
Lancelot grunted and tried to stand. Losing his balance for the umpteenth time that night, he was caught by Tristan. He accepted the scout’s help, and they shuffled in silence to Lancelot’s room where Tristan deposited him. He plopped on the bed.
“Thanks,” he drawled.
He nodded, pausing for a moment to see if he would vomit, but he only stared up at the ceiling. Tristan closed the door quietly.
Hearing the door click, he struggled to an upright position and bent to take of his boots, kicking them aside. He shed his belt, vest and tunic, falling once again sloppily on the bed. In his haze, he saw a blob of something on his pillow. He squinted and chuckled wryly.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked Magellan.
The mouse twittered forward.
“Magellan, right?”
Twitch.
Lancelot put the tip of his finger gently against Magellan’s nose, then pet him softly on the head and back. And oddly, he was comforted, more so than he had been in weeks.
----
“Why am I always sick, Baba?” A distressed Raja stared mournfully up at her father from her bed.
Lancelot’s heart clenched. A sweating fever at the age of two had left her physically weak for life, often her health compromised. “You were sick when you were a mere baby.”
“Did I almost die?” she asked.
He tried to hide his flinch. “Yes.”
“But I’m alive now,” she said with a whisper of a smile.
“Very much so, little one,” he replied, taking her hand in his.
Raja knew she couldn’t play heartily like the other kids around the Colony. Her mother and father, Uncle Ardeth and Memnon were such vibrant and active people that it left her feeling insignificant, through no fault of her elders of course.
“I’m sorry, Baba.”
“For what?”
“I’m not big and strong,” her voice cracked.
“That is not true,” her father insisted. “You are very strong.”
Raja sniffled, and shook her head. “You and Walida will have more babies that are stronger,” – a tear escaped her sorrowful eyes – “and forget about me.”
His tone adamant with concern, he asked, “Whatever makes you think that, Raja? Your mother and I would never ever forget about you.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled, clamping onto her baba’s hand.
“Love,” her father leaned forward, “you may often be ill, but you are stronger in much more important ways.”
“How?”
“In here,” he tapped her chest. “You have a very strong and big heart. Filled with so much love for everyone.”
Not quite believing him, she remained silent, and it broke Lancelot’s own heart that his four year old daughter could be so utterly distressed about her mortality. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing his one beloved child, and it had nearly shattered both he and ‘Aisha when Raja had fallen ill two years ago. But he stood strong for his wife, and mustered up more hope than ever he had in his life.
Raja reached up to her father’s face and trailed her small finger down the bridge of his nose. She captured his face with both of her hands, his beard bristling against the pads of her fingers. She traced the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, smoothed her thumbs over his eyebrows. His eyes closed as she grazed his eyelids. Raja touched his lips against his loving smile. She took one of his curls and gently pulled, letting it spring back to its natural state, an act that she had ever been fascinated with since she was a baby.
“Memorizing me by heart, little one?” he asked tenderly.
“Oh no, Baba,” she answered with the conviction of a child – “I already know you by heart.” Then she traced the lines on his palm, the rough skin that had always held her with complete affection.
“I love you,” he said quietly to her in Sarmatian, “my little Raja.”
She mumbled that she loved him too in the same language, his face becoming blurry, but in her mind he was still clear, as she drifted off to sleep.
----
Raja’s eyes fluttered, they felt as if they were being held down by weights. Whatever light was shining was a hindrance to her sensitive vision. She collected her senses, feeling a pain in her chest, someone’s gentle hand was holding hers. Her lips and throat were dry and she swallowed saliva to succor the aridity of her mouth. Slowly, her eyes opened wide, she took in her surroundings, she was in her room. What had happened? Why was she in such pain? Why did it hurt so much to take in a breath?
Flashes of images ran through her head, and she vaguely remembered screams and fire, running, the stables, a Woad, an arrow then...darkness.
Her sight focused on the person next to her, she saw a cluster of dark curls as a head rested on her bed, face down. She knew those curls. Her baba’s curls. But her baba was not here, she knew. Her finger twitched, feeling the strands of hair. She managed to pull one straight out, letting it spring back into place and a shadow of a smile creased her mouth.
Lancelot felt the pull on his hair and stumbled back into full consciousness. He blinked, thinking he was seeing things, but no, Raja’s eyes were open, albeit a bit hazy. Her lips moved, but all that came out was a quiet croak.
“Shh, don’t try to talk, Raja,” he said. “I’ll get Ardeth.” He made to move but was met by a surprisingly strong grip on his index finger. She obviously wanted to say something. She licked her lips and tried again. Lancelot released her grip on him and filled a cup with water, put his hand under her head and let her sip.
Raja winced and coughed, pain shooting through her chest. A tear slid down her cheek.
“Let me get your Uncle.” Before she could try to reach out to him again, he ran out of the room and within minutes Ardeth was hurrying into the room next to his niece.
Raja’s eyes lit up, and her hand moved, begging for her Uncle. He crooned soothing words to her in Arabic, feeling for a temperature. He kissed her on her cooling forehead as she began to slip into slumber again.
A few hours later she awakened and managed to remain so.
“Uncle...” she whispered. “What...happened?”
He comforted her and told her a brief version of what happened. He assured her that all the men were okay, as was Thea and Vanora.
“Odin!” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “Horus?” She tried to sit up, but a ripping agony assaulted her.
“They are quite all right, Raja,” he said.
“But...” She weakly struggled against her Uncle’s firm hands that were trying to hold her down. “Butterball? Flipflop? Beauty? Boomer?”
“All of them are safe, Raja, I promise. You saved them.”
She calmed a bit, the tension going out of her body. “I saved them?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I saved them.” She stared wildly around the room. “I did. Right?”
“Indeed, little one.”
When she was fully relaxed he had a hot bath ran for her and the sheets and blankets changed on the bed. Her injury was healing, although slowly, she had lost weight, her chest concave at the loss of body fat. There was bruising around the wound.
As she was propped up in the tub by her Uncle, she gingerly touched the stitched line on her chest. “I saved them,” she whispered to herself.
And Ardeth knew she was thinking of her mother, how sometimes the little girl believed that she had failed in protecting her. Ardeth plucked her out of the wash basin and dried her off, a warm clean night gown slipped over her head. He carried her to the bed and placed her amongst the cushions.
----
The next morning Tristan came to visit her. She had seen all of them for brief intervals without conversation, for she slept quite often and was easily tired.
“Trissy!” she said.
“Don’t move,” he warned her, walking to her side quickly so she wouldn’t sit up.
Raja desperately wanted to hold her arms out for a hug, but her entire body was heavy and wracked with pain. Tristan scooted the chair up closer and took her hand. It was so good to see her eyes open and looking at him, to hear her voice.
“I saved them, Trissy,” she repeated.
“I know,” he smiled at her.
“They’re being taken care of?”
“Yeah.”
“It was scary.” Her breathing was a bit labored. “I thought...” She coughed. “I saw them.”
“Who?”
“Walida and Baba. I was dead. They told me...” – her chest rose and fell – “I had to come back.”
They had thought she was dead, and he remembered how her body suddenly jerked with life, as if her spirit had slammed back into her body.
“They said...” – she swallowed – “they said that people needed me.” And now her heart was racing, remembering her brief time with her parents in the afterlife.
“It’s all right, Raja. You don’t have to-”
“They said that...they said that it wasn’t my time.” And quietly, as if telling him a secret, “But I saw them, Trissy. I did. They held my hands.”
He let her mumble to incoherency and left the room to get her Uncle.
----
The next few days were more of the same. Sometimes she barely said a word, and other times she went on about how she “saved them.” Raja told them she saw her parents, her pulse rising each time.
“Magellan kept you company,” she said to Lancelot a few days later. He had brought the mouse back to her and now the tiny creature lay nestled under the bridge of her hands. “He likes you.”
Lancelot snorted.
“You’ve been taking care of him.”
“Eh,” he said.
Raja smiled. “I know you like him, Lottie.”
The snow ceased, but the days were still cold, the piles of snow still stacked against the walls. Raja desperately wanted to go to the stables, but her Uncle said she wasn’t ready. But she could not wait anymore, so one day she feigned sleep and when she was left alone she made her way out of bed. Her legs were unsteady, and she was normally carried around.
The thick socks protected her a bit from the cold floor. Her slippers were set aside, and bracing her hands on the night stand, she managed to slip them on. She shuffled one heavy step at a time to her drawers and pulled out her coat, knowing she would not be able to slip a tunic over her head by herself. Her cloak was on a hook by the door, and with all her might she managed to yank it down. She tied the lace and wrapped it around her. Already a sheen of cold sweat was breaking out, and it was difficult to breathe, but she made way.
Leaning against the walls, she made her way to the stairs, listening for any other footsteps. The steps seemed treacherous, and she fleetingly thought that perhaps this was not a good idea. Nevertheless, her small hands clamped onto the railing, her knees were wobbly, her chest ached, her head was pounding but she did not give up. When she was almost down, four more steps left, her Uncle appeared around the corner. He was apparently shocked to see her out of bed, and his face turned stern.
“What do you think you are doing?”
“I want to go to the stables,” she demanded.
“I said no, Raja. You could have injured yourself walking about by yourself.” She did not resist when he picked her up and carried her back up to her room, all the energy going out of her. Off with her coat and cloak and slippers, he tucked her back in and put a cold compress on her flushed faces.
Now she was coughing.
“You are not to do this again, Raja,” he told her firmly. “Am I clear?”
“Yes,” she capitulated.
----
Her recovery was slow, sometimes she slipped back to fever and incoherency, but most of the time she was for the better. The year passed, the snow began to melt, the days were relatively sunny. Raja began to gain some weight and color in her cheeks, and day by day she was allowed to exercise her limbs, though she tired swiftly.
Every time she went to the stables her animal friends surrounding her as she sat in a chair, a blanket over her lap for warmth. Spring arrived, flowers bloomed, and she was desperate to collect them. Her wound was fully healed, leaving a scar on the entry and exit of her skin.
But ever she was more frail than she had been in the past two years. She kept smiles on her face, always remembering what her parents had told her – that they needed her, as she needed them.
----
“I swear if you wander off Raja I’ll have to tie you to my wrist,” Lancelot lectured.
She blew a raspberry and placed a flower into the basket her cousin was carrying for her. Her gait was slow, yet steady, and Lancelot watched her like a hawk.
He rolled his eyes. Of course she would ignore him. But she wasn’t getting away. It was her first long outing in a couple of weeks, apparently his turn to escort her around, and he’d be damned if he lost her on his watch.
“Oh, look, Lottie!” she exclaimed ecstatically.
He looked where she was pointing, a butterfly danced gracefully in the air.
“Fascinating,” he commented dryly.
Raja stepped closer to the butterfly, and held out her index finger. The winged beauty fluttered closer and perched itself on her fingertip. Raja grinned widely. “You honor me,” she said softly.
Lancelot cast a dubious look at his cousin.
“Look, Lottie,” she said.
“I see. I see,” he said.
“I’m Raja,” she introduced herself to the butterfly, its beautiful wings still in movement.
Her cousin snorted.
“It is nice to meet you, too, Cherubim.” Raja let Cherubim’s wings flutter against her fingertips before the butterfly flew away.
“Cherub,” Lancelot scoffed under his breath.
“Thea called me a cherub.”
He laughed. “A child with an innocent face?” Then, he realized he couldn’t argue with that, she had a wealth of innocence about her that endeared him to her. Then he sighed indulgently. “That you are, cousin,” he said. He took her hand and led her out of the woods.
Take my heart
Take my heart
Kindle it with your heart
And my heart
cannot be
Kindled without you
With your heart
Kindle my heart