Fatima Parts I - V (Fin.)

[ewayneself]

Disclaimer: The words and actions of this PC in no way reflect my feelings toward the other PC's or NPC's involved. Personally, I have the highest regard for all involved.


Fatima slipped into the tent, allowing her eyes to adjust to the low light. No one there. He was hunting, perhaps. Wife and baby at Nina's. She was alone.

She looked around, casually letting a finger drag across the top of His desk. Maps. Rosters. Lists. His writing was careful and clean.

She sat on the edge of the big, soft bed--His side, not Hers--then untied her veil, letting it fall in her lap. She lay back on the bed, breathing deeply through her nose, inhaling His scent-- treebark and mushrooms and milk.

She closed her eyes, pretending He was next to her. In the dim comfort and quiet of the musky tent, she relaxed into half-sleep.

Damn you, Akbar! In my dreams, we rode together into our father's camp, slaughtering his wives and camels with his own aziir. Instead, I find you dead and the aziir missing.

Ah, but even alive, you lacked the stomach for revenge. And so it all falls to me. I will seek the aziir. And I will find this Lyon, win his trust, and then betray him. Though your body is missing, your spirit will rest.

She roused herself, standing. She could not be caught in that position. They have invited her into their home, but not into their bed. Not yet.

She straightened the quilt, then wandered to the other side of the tent, where Amalanna's house garment lay draped over the partition. She took the outfit from its place and held it up in front of her, gauging its size.

"Cow."

Casually, she tossed it the garment into place, thinking now of the dress Arista had given her.

Arista and Renunzio. They seem happy together. Not like these two. She whores herself to Lyon and bosses her man. He deserves better.

The men here are soft, and stupid. Little wonder Shabalat felt at home. How they bow and scrape before Laurelin, begging to know what would please her!

But not Him. He is strong, and clever, but also kind. He is a good man. Good with a baby, strong of seed.

One day, I will have what Amalanna has. A kind man. A family. A good life. It is what Akbar wanted for me, is it not?

She regarded the baby Cassandra's cradle on the floor, sturdily but inexpertly constructed, obviously homemade. She removed her left glove and slipped her dagger from her robe. She pricked her finger, smearing the blood along the underside of the cradle. "What is yours is mine, Christophen."

Care for Christophen's baby. Sweep Moonshade's hearth. Make Maeve feel like a man. Do the work the women here are too proud to do. And watch. And learn. And wait. Things will come to you. They always have.

She replaced her veil and slipped out of the tent.

[Mick]

Yours is a great talent, Wayne!

Keep it coming!!

[danielmn]

Wow!

[ewayneself]

She hummed a little tune as she went about her evening chores. The tent was clean, the rugs dusted, the exterior swept clear of stray leaves and twigs.

It was the least she could do, really. Christophen and Amalanna had welcomed her into their home without reservation. He's such a good man.

She leaned the broom against the tent and sat on the stool near the fire, wondering what else she could do.

The babysitting duties had been repayment enough, while they lasted. Amalanna was frequently away and Cassandra required a great deal of care at her age.

It would have been such a simple arrangement. Cassandra would be Fatima's, and Amalanna's newborn would be hers. Christophen would have two mothers for his two children. A happy family.

But then that idiot Christophen simply gave the child away. And by what right? He consulted with no one, not even Amalanna.

She stood, wiping the front of her robe, speaking aloud to no one. "It was my brother who carried that babe from captivity in his own two arms, Christophen. She was mine by inheritance and you gave her away."

Still. He's a good man. He never raises a hand to Amalanna, even when her mouth overflows with impertinence.

But now there was no babysitting to do, and the cleaning was not sufficient compensation for all they had done. She needed a way to pay them back.

To pay him back.

Well, there was always cooking.

The walk to the market circle was short, and the grocer was friendly enough, even to her. Carrots, potatoes. The beef is fresh. A few spices to cut the taste. Fresh cool water from the well.

All women should know how to make a good beef stew:

Put a portion of spices in first, with just a little water. Rub the remainder of your spices into the meat, then tenderize it with a few solid blows. Do not be afraid to be aggressive. Chop in a few onions if you have them. Let them simmer awhile, with the meat. Do not hurry it.

Wash the potatoes well--you do not want to make anyone sick--then cube them unpeeled into the stew. Add some wood to the fire, to get it nice and hot. Then add the carrots and whatever greens you might have, and you are nearly done.

Of course, with all home-cooking, the main ingredient is truly Love.

Fatima snuck the Love from the folds in her robes. This particular variety of Love was also known as Motherwort, or--she could not help but chuckle--Lion's Ear. It is known for its uniquely bitter and tangy aroma, lovely in an evening stew.

Of course, it should be used with great care, as it is known to cause violent uterine contractions in pregnant women.

She finely diced the entire Lion's Ear into the stew.

If the baby is Lyon's, her revenge will be on him. If the baby is Christophen's, then he will be repayed for giving Cassandra away.

And she and Amalanna will be childless sister-wives together with Christophen. A happy family.

[danielmn]

Double wow. Unexpected and wonderfully done. Bravo!

[Brokenbone]

Creepy stuff!

That is a compliment in this context.

[ewayneself]

She smiled as she walked the wooded glade toward the pool where the others gathered in preparation to fight the Talonites, the note folded safely in her pocket.

She always looked forward to seeing them--all of her new friends. There were so many! It was no wonder Akbar loved this place.

There was Teia, who arrived the other night just in time for dinner and enjoyed some stew. Such a help in convincing Amalanna to eat.

Christophen had not yet bothered to tell his wife that he had given Cassandra to the fey, so there had been that distraction to overcome. The couple spent more time arguing than eating, but it was enough. And the argument was enough to send Christophen away, so that only the women were left when Amalanna's pain begain. Sweet Teia. She held Amalanna's hand and sent Fatima to White Chalk to get help.

It had been a pleasant few moments for Fatima, sitting alone at the Inn, yawning and stretching, reading her book and sipping tea, wondering how long a wait was required for credibility.

"There is a curfew. The militia would not let me go." It was not a lie, exactly.

Teia was not at the pool when she arrived, but the others were. Soon they would protect the Glen against the druids. Heroes.

There was Moonshade, who swears revenge for Akbar's death more loudly than the others do. Fatima gave him news and swept his hearth, hoping for another glimpse of Bron. Ah, now Bron was a man! Powerful. Wealthy. Handsome. Pure. Quite desirable. Oh, but Christophen is first in her heart, of course.

There was Maeve, her teacher. Frail and pale, not even as masculine as her former Abbah, Febu--and Febu a eunuch! Still, Maeve was attractive enough. If he asked, she would please him in the many ways she had pleased Febu.

There was Zuna, who said such nice things about Akbar in her own befuddled way. Poor creature. She thinks she may be cursed. Would a simple glance in a mirror not remove any doubt?

There was the giant of White Chalk Hollow, Corgrym, who had Laurelin give Fatima some gloves of healing and a cape. How sweet! The gloves, she could not use, but she could have a replica made.

There were the elves, mysterious and quiet, especially at her arrival. But she had good reason to be there.

For there was still Christophen, bless him, who seemed not to understand what has happened to Amalanna, or not to accept it. But that would change, thanks to her Newest Friend.

Her Newest Friend was certainly not there, but Her Newest Friend was her favorite. Her Newest Friend gave her scrolls in exchange for information. Her Newest Friend understood her, encouraged her.

Her Newest Friend gave her this note to deliver to Christophen right away.

She did not fully understand its contents, but she knew Christophen would: A symbol containing three eyes, and then the words "She's Next".

She watched him. "What does it mean?"

"Et means meh child is dead."

She watched him march off to fight the Talonites, armed with this news. His rage would serve him well in the fight. Then he would return and do what was required of him. He would make peace with her Newest Friend.

And all of her friends would be safer for it.

[danielmn]

Brilliant work.

[Mizbiz]

[ewayneself]

I enter once again into the hushed silence of the tent, my breath still lost from running. I must be the first.

It is silent. It is dark. I do not see her, but I know she is there, for she has not moved since the night she ate my stew.

I wait, allowing my breathing to subside and my eyes to adjust. Then I make my way in the dim light and sit down at the foot of the bed, close enough to see her, now. She makes no movement or sound. Asleep? Dead?

The the sickly smell of dried blood greets my nose as I untie my veil. I whisper her name.

Nothing.

I reach out, careful to keep the sleeve of my robe away from the mess. I see her fair skin and red hair now, and feel her soft warmth. She is beautiful like this. My sister-wife. My sister-widow.

"Amalanna?"

"I lost the baby."

Oh, Amalanna. Always one tragedy behind.

"Amalanna. There is something else you must know. Christophen is dead."

Silence.

"He died fighting the Talonites. The raid was a success, but he did not return."

Silence.

"If there is anything I can do, to help you attend to his affairs--"

"Kill me."

This is an unexpected dilemma. Others have died because of me, but never this close. Never willing. Never a woman.

"Amalanna, you do not mean this. Besides, I could not. I am weak and you are mighty."

"I will not fight you, or resist."

I touch the dagger at my side. She does not truly wish to die. She wishes to be coaxed, yes? To be persuaded to live?

She does not know who I am.

I should leave. Someone more compassionate will come. They will help her. But I must be certain of her wishes.

"Amalanna. You do not understand who you are asking. Do not mistake me for your other friends. I am Bedine, and I will do what you ask, if you ask it again."

"Kill me."

I regard her again. If her words are to be believed, than she is not who I thought she was. She is like the others--selfish. She would abandon me, alone in my grief. Like my brother did. Like my father did. Like Christophen did.

Very well. If this is truly her wish, then I will give it to her.

"Remove your armor."

She stands slowly, her body cramped from lying there so long. She peels her blood-soaked garments from her body and stands there nearly naked, her skin luminescent even in the deep shade of the tent. I can see why Christophen desired her. I begin to look forward to this.

"Lie down."

She lies on the ground. "Tell them that I died honorably, that I wished to be with my husband and my child."

I say something in agreement, but do not hear my own words. I hear only my heartbeat and the flow of my own blood as I remove the dagger from its resting place.

She is gentle and clear. Passive, but instructive, like a woman teaching a virgin lover.

"Goodbye, Amalanna."

She does not flinch as the knife plows deep into her breast.

My tears flow as I lick the knife clean. I do not like this intimacy. From now on, only poisons.

[danielmn]

Once again, great story. I am always intrigued to learn what goes on behind the curtains. Very well done, and many props to the character. As I never end my own stories....a well and fitting ending.

[ewayneself]

It's not over quite yet. One more to go.

[danielmn]

heh, I meant ending for Chris's story...not hers.

[ewayneself]

A tree.

They want to plant a tree.

How thoroughly like them.

They will plant a tree in the forest.

A tree. Among trees. What an unremarkable monument to my brother. What an unremarkable monument to Christophen.

It is fine enough for Amalanna.

Their proclaimed love for Akbar means little. Their militia makes a show of searching for this drunk called Lyon, but they are crippled, stretched thin, and too busy bullying farmers. They are a waste of time.

Akbar's "friends" give lengthy speeches about vengeance, but they do not act. The black-skinned one struts about with her silver spear, claiming bravery, but she is a coward. She did not climb the tree and take her place in death beside sweet Christophen. Her talk of vengeance cannot be taken seriously.

The Dragonslayer and his pets are my finest chance. But only the false promise of finding a few of their precious stolen items finally pushes some of them forward. And they act so slowly. Lyon will be dead from a rotten liver before I have my revenge.


You're sitting near the gypsy camp. It is night. Arista sits beside you, talking. She is compassionate and caring and clever. Most of all, she is honest about who she is. Like you, she strode through fire to leave her prison. LIke you, she holds family above all else. You talk deep into the night. The gypsies are her family now--and perhaps yours, someday.

Family is paramount. Without family, we are lost. The others assume I must want Lyon dead. But killing him isn't vengeance. Killing his family is. Blood for blood.

There is a box of items that Akbar bought for Amalanna's baby. In the box, there are various aides in caring for children, as well as a few toys--dolls, balls, tops, other nonsense. It seems only right that this and other of Amalanna's things should go to Nina's family.

There is a poison that is delivered in powdered form. I will get the gold to purchase this poison, then I will pour this powder into the the body of the rag doll, then sew it shut. When the rag doll is pressed or squeezed, the poison will release in a puff.

It does not matter to me which of them dies. One is sufficient. Then my business with Lyon will be done.

Arista tells you what makes her a bad person and you chuckle. You know then that she would never understand what you did to win Christophen's family, but there is no need for her to know of it.

She's come through many trials and emerged as a kind person. As a result, she has little to hide. Do what she does. Be like her. Once you are done with Nina's family, be like her.

But poison is expensive, and it will take time to earn the gold, since my plan for gold has not yet come to fruition.

Fortunately, my Newest Friend compensates me now for spying on Zuna instead of Christophen. It is more difficult in some ways, for she is not tied to one place as Christophen is. I must manipulate her constantly to keep her near.

Oh, but I have learned so much. And what I know, my Newest Friend knows.


Beleg joins you now, at the camp, come to check on the ailing Renunzio. You have crossed words with this one. He hunted your familiar, that day, searching high and low for your poor imp. Perhaps he suspects you. And he has influence with others.

The people here are not easily swayed, and do not give up their trust lightly. Christophen trusted me because of my brother, but so many are dead and suspicion will only get worse after Nina has been struck.

Akbar's direct intervention will be required. I have his shield and his sword and his helm. And I have the magick to appear as him. I will start in an out-of-the-way place like Teshmere and I will practice. Soon, I'll be adept enough at it to appear before Teia herself. Akbar will point suspicion elsewhere--perhaps to Teia.

It's morning now, and you have talked all night. Beleg and Arista are walking you back to your camp.

You hear something behind you. A crying baby? No. It's someone speaking in Uloushinn, the language of your homeland. It sounds like--a little boy!

It says "Fatima, iri? Fatima, il'shi," which means "Fatima, why? Fatima, I am sorry."

You stop and turn to see, but no one is there. You have been too long without sleep. You shake your head, turning away from the sound to resume your walk.

The wolves are already too close. Two of them. A one-eyed male and an angry she-wolf.

Beleg finds himself occupied with the male, but the female charges you. You run up a nearby hill, but the slope slows you. The wolf tears into your leg and you fall. Arista beats the wolf with her hammer, but the beast will not be denied your throat.

The last thing you know is the she-wolf's hot breath as she rips into your face. Her breath smells strangely familiar--bitter and tangy, like motherwort.

[Mizbiz]

Dear Fatima, how I will miss you.

Your Newest Friend


-- ---------------------------------------------------------------------

As always a great read, Wayne.