The Healer's Warrior (9 page)

Tareq squinted and blinked at the sleeping man. He stood swaying for a moment, then shook his head, turned around and stumbled back to bed.

CHAPTER FOUR

Late the next afternoon, Tareq pulled himself out of bed to eat and to bathe. He got dressed and sat in a chair on the balcony where he could feel the warm energy of the sun on his skin. For a long while he did not move from that spot because there was nothing he was eager to do. Tareq’s mental, emotional and physical energies were depleted. He could not think of anything too deeply. Watching the bustle of the citizens in the capital down below was all Tareq could take in.

Bahja came into his room a few hours later and stood beside his chair.

Tareq did not look at her. “Is she well?”

Bahja looked out at the capital and shook her head. “She has not stopped crying since yesterday. She cries for her family and she calls for you.”

Tareq lifted his chin slightly but continued to stare out at the city.

“She calls for you, wanting to know why she is being held captive. She asks me why she is being kept here, but I have no answers for her, Prince Tareq.”

Tareq heard the disappointment in Bahja’s voice, but his mind couldn’t conceive a response. He lightly shook his head to express he had nothing to say. The old woman sighed and shuffled out of the room.

 The memory of Jem’ya wild with hate entered his mind. There was strength in her grief. When Tareq lost his mother, he didn’t speak for eight months, but he had been young and weak.

 He was weak still, because he could not face Jem’ya now. He hoped Jem’ya would be calm tomorrow. Then he would have the chance to explain the battle in
Tikso
rather than block another of her assaults.

More memories of Jem’ya’s beauty and sorrow began to spill into his mind. Tareq stood and went to his bed. There he slept the remainder of the day.   

The following morning, Tareq awoke recharged. He ate, dressed in black pants and a white sleeveless shirt, and rang the bell for Bahja. “How is she, Auntie?” he asked when she entered his room.

“The girl—”

“She is Lady Jem’ya to you,” he corrected.

Her lips parted to comment but she stopped herself. “Yes, Prince Tareq. Lady Jem’ya refuses to eat and she will not speak.”

Tareq went immediately to the cellar, by way of the palace’s long hallways and winding stairs. Jem’ya was sitting on the bed mat with her back against the wall in the lamp-lit room. Her knees were drawn to her chest and her tired eyes were focused on the ground. “I hear you will not eat,” Tareq said from the gate.

Jem’ya was silent.

“I see it is also true that you refuse to speak.”

Jem’ya closed her eyes.

Tareq folded his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders. “You won’t talk, but you can listen. There are some things I need you to understand, Jem’ya.” Tareq retold the events at
Tikso
, of how he’d been searching for the
Cambe
rebels when he came across her village, how he’d told his men to be calm but that one of his soldiers disobeyed him, causing the needless battle.

“My father is dying,” he continued. “He has always been irrational and petty, but more so now that he is bitter over his failing health. I was worried he would be angry that your people fought us instead of surrendering, and would decide to annex
Tikso
as punishment. That’s the reason I ordered some of your tribesmen be brought to Samhia as slaves, in hopes it would quiet the King. It will not be long before they are free again. In case the King still sets his sights on your village, I had your parents brought to
Eulid
. So, please understand that I never wanted any of this.”

Jem’ya opened her eyes but her gaze remained on the ground.
“And what about me?
Why am I here, Tareq, hidden in the dark beneath this castle that was built on the backs of slaves and is maintained on the shoulders of the poor?” She met his gaze.

“To keep you safe.”

“I could be safe with my parents in
Eulid
. I could be protected by my uncles, half-brothers and cousins in
Tikso
. Why.
am
. I.
here
, Tareq?”

Tareq hid his anxiety with a mask of irritation. “To keep you safe,” he repeated with more force.

Jem’ya saw the uneasiness in Tareq’s hazel eyes. “You are a murderer
and
a liar,” she stated. She looked away and closed her eyes again.

Tareq chewed at his bottom lip and watched her a while, but he could not reveal the answer to her question.

She did not speak or eat anything the next day, or the next. Each day, though Jem’ya refused to look at him, Tareq went down to the cellar to apologize again for the battle of
Tikso
, to tell her that her parents were well, and to encourage her to eat. He had Bahja bring heaping plates of the most delicious meals, but Jem’ya only drank some water and turned away from the food. Each day, Tareq grew more worried. He watched her begin to sleep most of the day. Her hunger made her toss and turn in her sleep. She barely moved at all when she was awake, and when she did her movement was shaky and sluggish.

Panic and anger intensified within Tareq as he watched her torture herself. He feared that yelling at her would cause her to withdraw further into her stubbornness, so he continued to be gentle. Tareq thought of drugging her and forcing food down her throat, but he could not bring himself to do that to her or to order someone else to complete such a wretched task.

On the fourth day of Jem’ya’s hunger strike, Tareq went to the cellar and saw her curled up on the bed mat. He watched her side rising and falling as she breathed. Then he heard a faint whisper he wasn’t sure was real or imagined. “Jem’ya?” he called. She didn’t stir. Tareq raised his voice. “Jem’ya?”

He heard the whispering again, a little louder, desperately calling his name. It was her. Tareq unlocked the gate and went inside.

Jem’ya didn’t move. She remained curled up and facing the wall on her bed mat.
“Tareq?
T-Tareq?” she breathed.

Tareq knelt beside her and peered over her shoulder. Her mouth was trembling and he could see that her eyes were rolling and scanning behind her eyelids. Her eyelids were slightly open. She was between sleep and wakefulness. “Tareq?” she whimpered. “Where are you?”

Tareq wasn’t sure what to do. Was she dreaming or was she conscious? Why was she calling for him as if she desired his comfort?

Suddenly, Jem’ya’s whole body began to tremble violently. Tears rolled down her face as she pulled her limbs in even tighter to her body. Her calls became fearful and urgent as if she were cornered by something terrifying.
“Tareq!
Tareq! Where are you?”

Instinctively, Tareq scooped her up into his arms. He cradled her against his chest as he folded his legs underneath himself. Fear gripped at his heart as he felt how light she’d become. “Jem’ya, it’s only a bad dream.” Though he was nervous, he gently rubbed her arm to soothe her. He studied her face, anticipating her rejection of his touch, but her eyes remained almost completely closed and her trembling and crying began to subside.

She slowly lifted her hand and rested it finally on Tareq’s bicep.
“Tareq?”

“Yes,
Mahsalom
, it’s me.” He moved his hand from her arm and, with his thumb, dried the tears from the corner of her eyes and from the warm plane of her cheek. His hand returned to caressing her shoulder.

She gave his arm a weak squeeze through the pale yellow sleeve of his shirt. “Tareq, I…” She hiccupped, and started again. “Tareq, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Tareq’s hand paused on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

Tareq swallowed. “No, Jem’ya. No, I deserve it. I deserve worse.”

“You just wanted us to have fun together.”

Tareq’s eyebrows furrowed. Was Jem’ya delirious from the hunger? “What do you mean?”

“You just wanted me to go for a swim with you.”

Tareq relaxed some. She was remembering the last time they’d been together at the Coast.

“Tareq, sometimes I must push away from you, to remind myself of how things really are,” she whimpered. “To remember it isn’t possible.” She stroked his arm. Tareq’s heart began to race. “But I can’t stop dreaming of you. See? Here you are.” Jem’ya snuggled against him, pressing her face against his chest. Her eyes still closed, she reached her hand up to the nape of Tareq’s neck and felt at his silky black curls.

Tareq stared down at her in amazement. He held his breath and kept perfectly still as he felt her fingers playing in his hair. Her slow breathing whispered through the fabric of his shirt, cooling and warming the skin above his racing heart. His stomach fluttered as he savored the moment, but his mind chattered with cautions.
This
is a mistake. She is not in her right mind. She does not know what she is doing or hear what she is saying. She doesn’t mean it. Do not think too much of this.

Jem’ya’s hand slipped from his neck as she fell into a deep sleep. She was beautiful. Tareq pressed his lips against Jem’ya’s forehead, a gentle, worried, lingering kiss. Just as he pulled away, Bahja walked into the room with a tray of food. Bahja saw the kiss, but kept quiet. She placed the tray on the ground beside Tareq, bowed her head, and then left. Once the aroma of the food reached Jem’ya’s nose, Tareq heard and felt Jem’ya’s stomach growl as he held her. She began to stir in his arms, and then finally her eyes opened.

Tareq searched her dark brown eyes. “Jem’ya, please, will you eat?” he asked softly.

Jem’ya’s eyes widened. “Get off of me!” She drowsily pushed his arms away. “Get away from me!” She fell back onto the bed mat and used her heels and palms to move backwards until her back hit the wall. She sat panting from the effort. Tareq stood.  Jem’ya glared up at him.
“You disgusting—!”

“Why are you being so foolish? You will gain nothing from starving yourself!”

Jem’ya rested her head against the wall to focus on Tareq. She was very dizzy and her head was throbbing. “I will not be used up by you!” she retorted. “If I am weak, I cannot heal you to take the lives of more innocent people, I cannot work as your slave, and my body will waste away so that there will be nothing for you to appreciate!”

Tareq hated nothing more than to be thought of as one in the same as the King and the depraved men in his father’s court, men who treated the less fortunate like animals and who had no issue taking women against their will. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“If that is what I wanted from you, believe me, I could have had you long ago at the Coast, but I am not someone who gets any enjoyment out of taking what I can be
eagerly
given. I have no lack of propositions, Jem’ya, and I am a man accustomed to getting what I want, when I want it. And what I want is for you to
eat
, Jem’ya!” His lips quivered with anger. “I will not watch you waste away and die! If you do not eat, then I will see to it that your mother and father, your entire village, does not eat either!” He bent, picked up the food tray and dropped it beside her on the bed mat. “So,
Mahsalom
,” he sneered, “do not let another meal go to waste.”

Jem’ya looked at the plate of hot, flavorful chicken tagine and couscous. Her mouth began to water and the wrenching pain in her stomach was like being kicked repeatedly in the side. How many days had she gone without food? She could not focus her mind to remember.  All she knew was that Tareq could determine the fate of her family, so it was useless to be uncooperative. Worn down from anger, hunger and hopelessness, Jem’ya began to cry. Defeated, she picked up a clump of the food between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. Slowly she chewed the first bite.