The Healer's Warrior (7 page)

Hakan was a hulking great man, the warrior that Tareq trusted the most. He had the Samhian star and cobra tattooed under his right eye to mark him as a supreme warrior. Hakan rode quickly over to Tareq.

“Commander?”

“I want…I want you to take this woman to the palace.
Now.”

Hakan looked at Prince Tareq curiously but followed the order. He pulled rope from his belt, hopped down from the horse and went to her.

“Be careful with her!” Tareq shouted as he watched Hakan tie up her arms and ankles too roughly.

“Yes, sir,” he grunted as he stood with Jem’ya slung over his shoulder. Her blue dress was streaked with dirt. Overcome with grief, Jem’ya did not struggle. Hakan got onto his horse with her.

“Give her to Bahja,” Tareq instructed. “Tell her I want her kept hidden from everyone, but she must wait on her as well as she waits on me. Cover her face before you reach the capital. Keep her
protected
and keep her
hidden
.” He pointed at Hakan with a trembling hand. “And you do
not
touch her except to take her back down from that horse! Understood?!”

“Yes, Commander,” nodded Hakan.

“
Kibwe
!”
Jem’ya wailed again and again.

Hakan glanced at Jem’ya. “You belong to the future King of Samhia now,” he said.
“Yah!”
Hakan bellowed at his horse and they sped off.

Tareq watched Hakan and Jem’ya leaving the village and then looked around at his men rounding up fallen tribesmen and dragging women and children, Jem’ya’s people, out of huts. Tareq’s voice roared above the chaos.
“RETREAT!
I ORDER YOU, LEAVE THE REST AND RETREAT!”

CHAPTER THREE

Tareq looked down at the hands holding Sultan’s reins and didn’t recognize them. It was like he was now a different person from who he was before the killing in
Tikso
. Before, he was Prince Tareq Samhizzan, but now he was something unspeakable.

His body felt foreign and numb, but his mind was unbearably present, replaying the events again and again, his emotions an endless loop of self-hatred, sickening regret, disbelief, anger, and intense shame.

Tareq glanced over his shoulder at
Tikso
on the horizon. It was only fifteen minutes ago that he ripped Jem’ya’s life apart then fled. He looked at his squadron
following behind him. They had taken twenty villagers captive. Ankles tied close together, wrists bound and secured against their chests by a piece of rope connected to a loop around their necks, the men and women stumbled along beside the warriors’ horses to which they were attached. In the next city they would buy a carriage for them to sit in.

Tareq’s bitterness at the sight of Jem’ya’s people being hauled away upset his stomach, but he couldn’t leave a battle empty-handed. Those were the King’s cruel orders.  To make matters worse, Tareq knew that the village would now be in the King’s sights, and it was likely the man would send another force to conquer
Tikso
entirely.  Was there nothing Tareq could do to make this right? He couldn’t undo what he’d done, but the least he could do is make considerations for Jem’ya’s close relatives. Tareq turned Sultan around and stopped in front of the brigade.

“Halt. Untie these people from your horses. I have questions for them.”

The villagers were untied and then lined up in front of Tareq. Tareq’s heart raced as he stood before their piercing gazes. The mixed blood translator came down from his horse and stood at Tareq’s side to interpret the conversations.

“Who here is a family member of Jem’ya
Okobi
?” Tareq asked.

All of the men and women raised their hands as high as the rope allowed. Tareq’s heart fell. The translator then explained to Tareq that, in a tribe, all of them considered themselves family, even if they were not blood relatives.

“Are any of you her aunts or uncles?”

Two women and one of the men raised their hands.

“Are any of you her siblings?”

No one responded.

Tareq took a deep breath. “Are any of you her parents?”

A tall man with a thick beard and a young looking woman both nodded and raised their hands.

Tareq was incredibly relieved that Jem’ya’s parents had survived. He folded his nervous hands behind his back. “Please, you may stand by your husband,” he said softly to Jem’ya’s mother.  She shuffled to her husband’s side. Dried tears marked her cheeks and her eyes were bright with anger and fear. Jem’ya’s father looked down his nose at Tareq, his eyes searing with disgust and rage.

“I know your daughter. She is well-respected in the North. She’s been taken someplace safe, so please do not worry.”

“Where have you taken her?” Jem’ya’s father growled.

Tareq lowered his head.  He couldn’t let his men know the details and he was ashamed to tell Jem’ya’s parents the truth.  “She is safe,” he uttered. “But your son…,” Tareq swallowed, “I am deeply sorry. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

Jem’ya’s mother began to cry again. She turned to her husband and buried her face against his shoulder. Her husband snarled something at Tareq. When Tareq looked to the translator to know what was said, the translator only shook his head, unwilling to repeat it. Tareq sighed.

“I fear that the two of you may not be safe if you remain in your village. I will have one of my men take you to the town of
Eulid
. You can stay there until you and Jem’ya are reunited. She is someone I truly appreciate, so I am doing what I can for her family.”

Jem’ya’s mother lifted her head. “You are the one that gave her those earrings, aren’t you?”

Surprised, Tareq nodded. “She talked to you about me?”

“Yes,” her voice trembled. “She said that you were an
arrogant
,
insensitive
and
entitled
Arab man, and I told her...I told her, ‘Please, be very careful’.” She broke into sobs again.

Tareq’s pride crumbled further. He’d always thought that the time he shared with Jem’ya on the Coast was genuine. It seems he’d been a fool all along to think Jem’ya’s friendship was anything more than charity. Tareq wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure his tempestuous thoughts and emotions. He’d spent half his life trying not to feel.

Tareq hardened his demeanor. The gentleness in his eyes and in his voice disappeared. He instructed one of his warriors to take Jem’ya’s parents to
Eulid
and put them under the supervision of Amir, the old stable owner, after the two were allowed a day in
Tikso
to bury their son. Then he told Mr. and Mrs.
Okobi
to remain in
Eulid
if they wanted to see their daughter sooner rather than later.

Tareq ordered his men to release the villagers that were Jem’ya’s aunts and uncle, as well as the remaining women and a few of the men that were not as physically fit as the others.  They fled and seven tough tribesmen remained. Tareq nodded to himself, certain that they would survive the bondage they would experience in Samhia. When Tareq finally took the throne, he would free these men and thousands of others. The King was in his last days, so the men would not have to be enslaved for long.

Tareq returned to Sultan’s saddle and continued leading the squadron away from
Tikso
.  

Jem’ya stopped crying after the first day of riding, though her sorrow continued to twist and claw at her insides. It upset her that no more tears would come. Crying was a release, and it was the only ritual she could perform in memory of her brother since she was not with her family in
Tikso
to participate in a ceremony for him. What about the rest of her brothers and sisters?
Her mother and father?
Were they alive?  She didn’t know. The fear of learning the truth, and the fear of learning her fate, was preventing her tears.

On the second day she learned a few clues as to what her fate would be. Tareq and Hakan had spoken to each other in Samician, which she didn’t understand. She asked the massive warrior Hakan in Arabic where she was being taken. Hakan was surprised to hear her speak in Arabic. He answered, saying she would be hidden in the royal palace and left in the care of Bahja, one of Prince Tareq’s maidservants.

“He’s the
prince
?!”

“The Prince of Samhia.”

Jem’ya felt so foolish and violated. She’d fallen for a prince, of all people? Royals were the most greedy, egotistical, vicious and immoral people in the world. The King of Samhia was especially notorious, and Tareq was his seed.
Like father, like son
. “What does he want with me?” her voice trembled with anger.

“That I do not know. He has never ordered something like this before. I wonder if he even knows what he will do with you.”

Hakan did not speak much during the five day trip to the capital city. He made sure she ate though she had no appetite and checked that she was warm when they camped at night. He cut the ties loose from her hands and ankles. He bought her a black
burqa
to conceal her and protect her from the sun. Though Hakan was not unkind, Jem’ya knew not to cross him. Anyways, there were no opportunities to escape. She could not run faster than a horse, nor could she traverse an unfamiliar desert in the thick darkness of night.

When Jem’ya saw the Samhizzan palace, her body began to tremble. She felt light-headed as they went through the extravagant golden gates and into the palace courtyard. Hakan spoke to a small servant boy who ran into the palace and returned with a squat older woman Jem’ya assumed was Bahja. She watched Bahja’s face go from concern and curiosity to shock as Hakan relayed, in Samician, Tareq’s orders. Bahja seemed to argue with Hakan a moment, but resigned to the situation.

Hakan came down from his horse and then carried Jem’ya down by the waist. When her trembling feet touched the ground she found that she did not have the strength to stand. She had slept little the past five days and her grief and frayed nerves had left her entirely weak. She wanted to run away from Hakan and Bahja but her body would not cooperate and the place was surrounded by guards. Instead, Bahja and Hakan had to be her crutches as she was led around the back of the palace, down into its dark cellar and into a dusty, gated storage room.

Hakan kept an eye on Jem’ya who was leaning against the wall as Bahja swept the place and found a table and chair, a chamber pot, a water bowl, a sleeping mat and a lamp for the windowless room. Then the metal gate woven with strips of tough brown leather was pushed closed and Jem’ya was locked in.

Hakan left. Bahja stared through the gate at Jem’ya who was pulling off her black
burqa
.

“Who are you?” Bahja asked in Arabic. Her green eyes were dark with disappointment.

“Tareq’s war prize,” Jem’ya muttered as she slid down the wall and sat on a corner of the bed mat.

Bahja shook her head and quickly left.

Jem’ya closed her eyes as nausea hit her stomach. Who would she be?
Tareq’s slave, his servant?
His live-in healer?
The newest addition to the royal harem…?

No.
Never.
She would kill him or kill herself.

Tareq made the five days’ journey home into a four days’ journey. It wasn’t easy. Horses were faster than camels but they needed frequent water breaks. Plus, two of his men’s horses were slowed down by the carriage of slaves they were pulling.  So in order to get back to the capital quicker he made his squadron continue riding at night if the moon was full enough. They slept only a few hours and then set out at the first hint of dawn. The first two days Tareq didn’t sleep at all. His turbulent mind wouldn’t settle long enough and the aches in his body were persistent. He began to drink liquor at night and managed to sleep at least two hours at a time, but the resulting headaches were incredible and the nightmares were rattling.