Witness
Make me a witness
take me out
out of darkness
out of doubt...
Chronology: Tristan is 26. Raja is 16.
Although Vanora had assured him Raja would be well taken
care of, Tristan still hated being away from her at this time. Only three weeks
after she had miscarried...but
Raja had commandeered Arthur’s unorganized office, to the Commander’s relief. Clothes were repaired, new ones were made. Bors’s children each had a new outfit, as did Thea and Vanora, a thank you for taking such good care of her.
“Hey.” Bors cantered next to Tristan. It was late afternoon, and they would be camping in a few hours.
Tristan acknowledged Bors with a sideways glance.
“Raja will be fine,” he assured the scout. Bors, as the only other father of the bunch, sympathized with Tristan during this time. “I was worried like hell when I had to leave Vanora last year when she miscarried, but she came through it, and so will Raja. Yeah?”
Tristan gave the slightest of nods, a silent thanks for Bors’s overture of reassurance.
----
It had been almost four months since her Uncle Ardeth had
departed for
Raja sighed and watched Odin graze. It was a mild day; Tristan had been gone for four. Unconsciously, she put the flat of her hand against her stomach, feeling the emptiness inside of there. She had only known she was pregnant for less than twenty-four hours, but she felt the loss of her and Tristan’s child as if she had already been full and round, so advanced in her pregnancy that she could have felt the baby moving. Tristan hadn’t made love to her since the miscarriage. Raja would sidle close to him, wanting him to fill her, and though she could feel his physical response, there was no shortage of affection, but he would not make love to her. Raja hid her growing anxiety from everyone by keeping herself busy.
She heard the caws of Penelo and Horus as they landed on a branch to the tree next to her. Their eyes locked on her, communicating that there was something back at the fortress she needed to be present for. She mounted Odin, and the four of them rode back. A man she did not know was talking to Jols in the courtyard, and when the stable-master spotted her, he pointed, and the strange man turned. He held a letter in his hand. Raja felt the world pushing down on her shoulders, and the heavens crashing; only there was no Greek god Atlas to bear the weight for her.
“This came a long way for you,” the man said, sympathy in his eyes. “I apologize for getting it here so late; it had to be passed from person to person. There were instructions to get it to you as soon as possible.”
She accepted the missive in silence, her words of thanks barely above a whisper.
“I am sorry,” he bowed his head in regret, “but I must depart for the next village.”
“Let me get you some food,” Raja offered.
He accepted, and within a quarter of an hour, he had fresh provisions, giving her his amiable leave once again.
Raja walked with heavy limbs to her room, the parchment with the seal of a cobra, even heavier. She sat on the edge of the bed, carefully breaking the seal...the words in black ink shattering her world that now lay in viperous fragments at her feet.
----
“I don’t know who – or what – the hell did this but...” The villa owner shook his head in bewilderment.
The knights and the owner, Ambrose, looked at the carnage atop their horses. Ambrose ran a farm, with a small settlement of fifteen families near the port.
“You do not know who did this?” Arthur asked of him. He surveyed the five Woads that lay in the throes of death on the grass, and there were two more a few miles off.
Ambrose shook his head again.
“Probably a good thing,” Lancelot mused dryly, “they were more than likely heading to ransack your village.” He did not see what the big deal was, just more dead enemies.
“I take it we’re on cleaning duty,” Galahad said crabbily.
But already some of the men were approaching to deal with the mess. Each of them had shovels to dig a pit to burn the bodies in.
“How far are the other ones?” a man asked Ambrose.
“Four miles that way.” He pointed.
Arthur dismounted, seeing something odd about the Woads. He kneeled down next to one, then another.
“Recognize anyone, Arthur?” Lancelot said with mocking air.
Arthur ignored his jibe. “Their hearts have been removed.”
Ambrose sighed. “Nothing I’ve ever encountered before.” He ran his hand down his face. “Anyway, why don’t you all come with me, we’ve food and beds prepared for you.”
----
The knights traveled all the next day, and half the next before arriving at the fort. Tristan went straight to his room as Raja wasn’t waiting for him in the courtyard. When he didn’t find her there he surmised that she must be out with Odin. He decided to bathe, knowing that Raja would be able to smell the dead hare he had hunted. When he was just done with his bath, a loud knock came on the bedroom door.
Only in his clean tunic and breeches, he raised an eyebrow at Dagonet’s sudden arrival.
“You left before Vanora could tell you,” the taller knight said.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “Tell me what?”
Dagonet held Raja’s silver wedding ring that rested in the palm of his hand. Tristan took it from him, staring at it as if to find answers to his unspoken questions. He put on his boots and coat, following Dagonet to Vanora.
She told him that Raja had given the wedding ring into her safekeeping while she was gone. Raja had taken Odin suddenly, her sword, bow and arrows with her. She didn’t say where she was going; only that she would be back. That was five days ago, she left after sundown. But Jols found Odin in the stables, groomed and fed, the morning before last.
“Did something happen?” Tristan asked, his fist holding onto the ring so tightly his knuckles turned white.
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“No one was harassing her?”
“No, Tristan,” Vanora assured. “She didn’t have that look about her.”
He left her, heading for the stables. Odin was indeed there, and upon seeing Tristan he trotted to him, nuzzling him with his nose. Horus and Penelo cawed from the rafters.
“You cannot go out and look for her,” Dagonet told him. “You don’t even know where she is.”
“She’s out there by herself,” Tristan snapped. “She wouldn’t have left unless something drove her from here.”
“Hey, hey!” The two men turned to see a small boy walk into the stables, Jols next to him.
“Francis has something to tell you,” Jols said.
“You looking for your woman?” Francis nodded at Dagonet. Jols nudged him, gesturing towards Tristan. “Oh, sorry.” Francis addressed the correct man. “She came in the middle of the night, dropping off her giant of a horse. I didn’t see her, I was up there,” he pointed to the hayloft. “She took care of him and left. Filthy. Covered in mud, something black.”
“You didn’t see where she went?” Francis looked at Jols with trepidation at the scout’s expression.
“No,” Francis replied after a moment.
Tristan let out a sharp gust of air. Horus cawed again, interrupting the tense silence. He flew to land on Tristan’s shoulder, squawking again. Penelo fluttered out of the stables, Horus then following. Without thinking, Tristan went after them, bit by bit, until he was led to the keep – back where he had started. He opened the main door, and the two birds whipped past his head. Dagonet was on Tristan’s heels as they hurried to keep up with the winged creatures. Their noises were truncated by the stone walls. Soon, Tristan and Dagonet were standing in front of the double doors of Ardeth’s study.
“Smart birds,” Dagonet muttered.
Tristan turned the handle, his facing meeting with the frigid air of the large room. Stepping in, looking around in the dim, Tristan spoke, “Raja?” He narrowed his eyes, walking in further. On the other side of the room was Ardeth’s desk where Tristan could see a figure sitting beneath it. His footsteps were silent as he walked over, and there was Raja, knees to her chest, head down, shivering uncontrollably. Her arms were bare, but layered with crusted, dried, days old blood, which Francis had mistaken for mud.
“Gods, Raja.” He knelt by her, but when his hand touched her shoulder, she flinched as if he had burned her. “It’s just me, Raja.”
Raja shuddered, her head rising just a little so he could see her forehead and eyes. Her skin was coated with more dried blood, as if she had bathed in it. Her hair was crisp and matted; the white streak of her hair dyed an arid red.
Tentatively, Tristan reached out his hand again, placing its warmth on her
shoulder. Her silver eyes looked out at him, the late sun casting wispy blades
of light upon her. “I’m sorry, Tristan.” Her voice was a trembling hush.
He heard Dagonet’s footsteps approaching, as did Raja for she shot herself further underneath the desk, hiding.
“Tristan?” Dagonet tipped his head; even from his standpoint he saw the quaking shudders of Raja’s body.
“Would you get a warm bath, Dag?” He kept his hand firmly around Raja’s wrist.
He nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Let me get you upstairs.” As if she were air, he picked her up to pull her from under the desk. Her back leaned against the drawers, her face fully visible in the bruised sunlight.
She pulled her knees back to her chest, still shaking. “Look what I did, Tristan. They wouldn’t recognize me.” Her pupils were large, the indication that she was somewhere else in her mind.
Her lips were turning blue, and all he wanted was to get her into a warm bath and wash the blood off of her. “Who?”
Raja shook her head violently. “I did it. It was senseless. All of it. I was trying to get there...then I turned back because the ship wouldn’t be there...I wasn’t thinking...” Raja held her hands out in front of her, palms up, pieces of dried blood falling off like grains of sand. “He would be so disappointed in me...I wasn’t thinking.”
Tristan pushed the strands of hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear.
“I killed all of them,” she confessed. “I burned their hearts. I wasn’t thinking. For no reason. They came after me. I just wanted to get passed them.”
“Who?”
“No reason,” she repeated, ignoring Tristan’s question. “I cut out their hearts...for no reason.”
Tristan’s mind worked... “Woads, Raja?”
She swallowed heavily, nodding. “Woads.”
“It’s all right,” he comforted. He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“My skin burns.” Her voice rose. “It burns. Please don’t hate me. I am so sorry.”
He kissed her again. “It’s all right. I promise.” Carefully, he picked her up, her arms snaking around his neck tightly, her head buried in his shoulder.
“I don’t want anyone to see me, Tristan. Not like this, please.”
He took the back stairs so no one would come upon them. Although Dagonet was right there near the single bath, having just heated it, Raja didn’t notice him, she was still whispering, pleading, shaking. Tristan stripped her, and even though her clothes were black, he couldn’t feel any place on the fabric that wasn’t crunchy with blood. Before he placed her in the water, he wiped her down with a wet towel. He knew she would hate to see all the blood stain the water. She had never killed anyone before.
Raja’s shivering abated bit by bit as Tristan washed her. Funny how their roles were reversed now. It was usually she washing him down.
“The water’s dirty,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
He still didn’t have the full story, but he knew that she had killed those Woads out there by the villa farm. Even out of self defense; she still felt disgusted by her actions. His Raja wasn’t a killer – not like him. She never coveted the kill like he did. She would defend her own to her death and not regret it for a moment, but the apparent slaughter she committed was tearing at her. He told her once that he would kill for her, and he had meant it. His Raja was strong, but the constant of battle was not a life meant for her.
Tristan dried her off, then slipped a clean shift over her head. He didn’t need to, but he carried her to their bedroom, settling her gently on the bed. He stoked the fire to a roar, and lit some candles before sitting on the bed, facing her.
“Look.” With wavering hands, she picked up the sheet of parchment from the bedside table, handing it to Tristan.
He took it, but he couldn’t read Arabic. Tristan could tell she was falling asleep, he had so many questions, but he knew they could wait.
“Wait,” Raja said. “My ring.”
“I have it.” Raja fell back against the pillows in exhausted relief as he slipped it back on her finger.
“I didn’t want anything to happen to it,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the band of silver. The brief flare of light in her eyes faded. “Trissy, I wasn’t trying to leave you.”
“I know.” Tristan kissed her deeply, inhaling her, taking her in.
They stared at each other in silence, he could tell Raja was struggling with her words, wanting to tell him what had made her so overwrought. The parchment now lay on her lap, she ran the tips of her fingers softly over the black words. “He would have been so disappointed in me.” She implored him with her eyes, begging him to understand.
“Would have...Raja.” It came out as a statement, the use of past tense helped put the puzzle in order.
“Look,” Raja said again. Tristan only heard bits and pieces of what she began to read, the air was being sucked out of the room.
...hope this missive
has not arrived too late...pirates commandeered the ship...violent
storm...marauders were mortally apprehended...ship sunk...Ardeth died saving
his cohorts...fifteen other casualties...Uncle was a brave man...buried in
family tomb...
Raja pronounced every word with deliberate enunciation, a haunting monotone. She did not cry, perhaps there were no tears left. When she finished, her hands clutched the paper until Tristan gently pried it from her hands, setting it on the bedside table. “I left him alone, Tristan.” She shook her head, covering her face in shame. “Would you tell them for me? I can’t say it again.”
He nodded wordlessly. He didn’t know how to comfort her, not this time. He could only hold her as her body wracked with inner sobs. “He would be so disappointed in me for what I’ve done!” Raja continued to curse herself with her litany, and with every disparagement he held her tighter, for no reassurances from him to the contrary would get through to her now. Her agonizing convulsions eventually dissipated, tiring her body until she fell into a discontented sleep.
Wearily, he made back to the bath to collect her sodden clothes. Something clinked on the floor when he picked up her clothes. A small bottle of clear liquid lay unbroken on the ground. It might as well have been winter in that room, for his blood ran as cold as ice. It was the same liquid he had found under their bed four months ago, filled with poison. Tristan went back into their room, looking at her as she slept fitfully.
----
And when we're done
soul searching
as we carried the weight
and died for the cause...
Raja could feel Tristan’s eyes on her as she huddled under the covers. He probably found the poison that had been tied into her sash. She hadn’t taken any of it, just as she had never taken any in the other bottle he had smashed against the back of the fireplace four months ago. In her mind, all the words were there, all the words she wanted to tell him. But they came out nonsensically, confusing him, and frustrating her because she wanted to ease his worry over her.
She was filled with disgust, hating what she had done out there. Killing those Woads...for nothing. It was she who had come upon them, and when some of them had ran, she chased after them, her vision red. It wasn’t the life her parents had wanted for her. It wasn’t the life she wanted for herself. Somehow, everything was slipping away from her. Her baby...her Uncle...all the good things they had wanted for her. Especially her father...he yearned for her to have a life that was not filled with blood as his was...
Raja’s tiny, three
year old hands played with her father’s dragon trinket that hung from his neck
by a piece of twine. He was cradling her in his arms, her body a bit smaller
than a three year old girl’s should be. Raja had just recovered from the
serious phase of her fever, now she was just regaining her strength. Though she
was wrapped in a thick quilt, it was her father’s secure hands that provided
most of the warmth she felt. In a house, fifteen minutes away, her mother was
delivering a child.
Raja and her father
sat in front of the window, watching the sun set. It was late spring, the land
was gold. “Baba?”
Her father looked down
at her, smiling. “Hmm?”
“Will you ever take me
to
A sad look filled
Lancelot’s dark eyes. “Maybe. Maybe one day, Raja.”
“Do you miss it
there?” Raja stopped playing with the dragon, concentrating fully on her
father. For a three year old, she was perceptive, and she had felt, rather than
knew, that her father’s good spirits had
ebbed.
He didn’t respond for
a time, and the little girl thought that he had not heard her. “I do. But even
though it is my homeland, it is not my home.”
Raja scrunched her
face, trying to understand the difference. When her faced continued to register
confusion her father spoke again. “I mean,” – he hitched her up further,
cradling her more firmly – “that I may have been born there, but I have not set
foot on
“That’s a long time!”
Raja interrupted.
Lancelot grinned. “It
is. But, like I said, it is not my home, because my home is here – with you and
your mother.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“We’ll always be
together, right, Baba?” Raja’s eyes were filled with a utopian omniscience that
only children could have.
Lancelot gazed at his
beautiful daughter, who fit perfectly in his arms. The day she was born had
been one of the happiest of his life, as if all the blood he had shed over the
years had not completely marred him. He knew he could not shield her from the
atrocities of the world all her life, but for as long as he could, he would do
his damnedest not to let anything sinister wisp by her spirit. Her little hands
were so clean, he could hold them forever, knowing that no blood of war had
ever stained the lines of her palms. And his beloved wife, ‘Aisha. It was her
he owed his life to. She was his better half, the light in his world.
His daughter had
fallen asleep before he could answer her question. All the better, because he
wasn’t ready to shake her foundation of security.
“In a way,” he
whispered, “we will always be together.”
----
The men stood in solemnity after Tristan reiterated the death of Ardeth. The Egyptian had been in their lives for years, a mentor and an indestructible pillar for them to go to.
“How’s Raja?” Dagonet asked.
Tristan only shrugged, conveying that she was having hard time of it. Each of them left to go their separate ways into the night, Tristan walking into the darkened forest to his and Raja’s place in the woods. He sat against a large oak tree, his throat constricted. Raja’s words continued to repeat themselves in his head...one line in the letter: ...ship sunk... The fate he had dreamed of that had had him awakening to the foul taste of salt water in his mouth, the dream that was the catalyst to his need for Raja to stay with him – and in that, she now was without her uncle. But had she gone with him, Tristan would be without her. And despite the mourning that he felt, he was glad that Raja had not been on that ship.
Now, in the space of a month, she had lost two so important
things – their baby, and the last of her family – save for her uncle Memnon - that
tied her back to
Guilt consumed him for his selfishness. The relief that her life was not sacrificed for theirs. It was horrible he knew, so heavily it weighed on him that he could not even be a proper husband to her. She wanted him to make love to her, consume her, and he wanted to, but his fault held him back. Before she had miscarried, while she had slept, he had fallen asleep right in the very spot he sat now, dreaming of the birth of his baby girl that had taken the life of Raja. And the more she grew to resemble her mother, the more he resented her existence – and if he could have, he’d have traded the life of his daughter in a second to have his Raja back in his arms. Tristan wasn’t sure if those were his truest, deepest feelings, but something in that dream rang with truth.
“Tristan?”
He rose to his feet, looking at Raja as if she were a dream. She was barefoot, her robe wrapped around her shift.
“What are you doing out here?” He took off his cloak and put it around her. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I tried. Too many memories were coming back to me.” She tapped her fist over her heart. “I...my uncle...my parents...they never wanted me to have blood on my hands. I feel so disgusting.”
Tristan held her against him, breathing in the meadowsweet scent in her hair. “You shouldn’t, Raja.”
She shivered, locking her eyes with his, almost as if she were accusing him. “How can you say that? You never wanted me to either.”
He nodded. “I know I didn’t. But that was because I knew you would feel this way, you’re no killer like me.”
“I killed,” she whispered.
“You didn’t enjoy it. And as much as it is hurting you right now, I am glad it is. That’s part of why I love you so much.”
Raja was slowly accepting this, although she still felt her skin crawl. She let him hold her, her anchor to the earth.
“Promise me something.”
“Hmm?”
His jaw clenched. “Never make anymore poison.”
Raja said nothing, moving her head so her ear was against his chest. “You know why-”
“And I don’t care,” he said, more harsh than he wanted to be. “It’s not good enough. So you have to promise me.” He held her head between his hands, forcing her to look at him.
“All right, Tristan.”
“No. That is not good enough either. Promise me. Say it.”
Raja bit her bottom lip. “I promise, Trissy.”
Is misery
made beautiful
right before our eyes
will mercy be revealed
or blind us where we stand...
----
They had walked, mute, back to their room. He only embraced her at first, but she kissed, insistently, and he could not resist her anymore. Their clothes came off, vanishing into thin air, he did not wait to enter her. She clung to him for dear life, thighs wrapped in a vice grip around his waist. He made it last, slowing when he reached his peak, then resuming his firm deliberate strokes. She didn’t let go when they finally came, their bodies pressing together in such strength that they had buried themselves in the other in more ways than one.
Tristan shifted his weight to accommodate her continued hold on him. In these moments, he could never say where one of their souls started and ended. Her tears finally fell, her body became relaxed, and she let out a distressed whimper when he slid out of her. But he always took her with him, rolling over on his back so she would be the one covering him with her soft body. He ran his fingers down her spine, holding her hips that curved so lusciously. Raja twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, a piece of him coiled around a piece of her.
He didn’t know what would happen now, how many hardships they would have to endure. But the point was that they had each other, and if anything were to shift suddenly in their world, they would just hold tight, steadying each other, waiting for the earth to calm.
Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here
will the change come
while we're waiting
everyone is waiting...
-Sarah McLachlan