Daughters of Jared, page 19
Then word comes—the worst possible news.
Lib finds us in the garden just as the sun is going down. My sister and I have taken refuge among the plants so we may speak in privacy. Lib bows his head as he speaks in whispered tones. “They are starving him. Have been for several days now. The end cannot be far.”
“No!” my sister screeches, and she flings herself at Lib.
He lets her scratch and claw at him, her grief and rage aimed at him only because he is the messenger.
I rush to them and pull my sister from the attack, expecting her to fight against me. Instead, my sister turns on herself, clawing at her arms as if she can dull the pain inside her heart. I tell Lib to leave us, to find out any more news if he can.
“What have I done?” my sister asks me. Her arms are striped with deep claw marks from her own fingernails, fingernails that had once been shaped, stained, and etched with delicate gold designs. They are now broken and tattered—just as my sister’s life has become.
I stare at her blood filling the cracks in the stone garden path.
“Naiva,” she whispers, her dark eyes capturing mine. “How could I allow them to send my son to the borderland prison? He is everything to me. There’s nothing—” Her voice breaks. “There’s nothing left of my heart now; it’s disappeared into my soul.”
“Hush now,” I say, though I doubt my sister still has a soul. I look away from her bloody arms as she stretches her hands out, reaching for me. I don’t need to see her wild eyes, her unruly long hair soiled with ashes of grief, to know her pain. Nor do I need to see her lips twist with pleas of agony. Her grief and agony are mine too.
I pull her into my arms and hold on, trying to soak up her anguish in a small way, something I’ve done a hundred times over. My gaze goes unwillingly to the self-inflicted marks of grief in her arms, and I shudder. He will be fine. He will live, I want to promise her, but I know my words hold no power. If I could command as the Lord does, I would not be crouching next to my sister in the garden, like we’re fugitives, on the day we discover her son is being starved to death by her own husband.
The torchlights begin to flicker out in the small courtyard near the garden we have hidden ourselves away in. The night is thick with darkness, nearly as thick as the silence in our palace of mourning.
My throat tightens as I think of my nephew and what he must feel right now, in a place we cannot reach to comfort him. He is only a child of twelve years. Fresh tears nearly break out when I envision his beautiful face. His eyes so much like his mother’s, his lips and cheekbones like his father’s, his contagious grin and his affection for me. All a memory now of a boy who was once heir to the throne.
Ash trembles inside my arms. Only then do I realize she is whispering again. “I have failed him. What mother lets her own son be tortured and starved by his father?”
I want to soothe her, but I can’t. Every syllable she speaks is true. I wish for words of solace, yet they will not come. If I can only find a way to save her son, a way to change the king’s mind . . . But I know he will not change his mind. He is fear itself. Neither my sister nor I dares approach him since he has banished us from court. There are the other children’s lives to consider. There are our own.
I think back over the years—before my sister’s countenance had dimmed and her golden-brown eyes had dulled, before she flinched at every sound and step, afraid of her own husband. The memories struggle to surface then fall back into nothingness. They seem a lifetime ago—no, two lifetimes ago. We were young. Ash was beautiful, talented, powerful . . . cunning. I wanted to be exactly like my older sister. I was her shadow. The dances, the jewels, the clothing, the games, the men . . . all dazzling.
But none of that matters now. We huddle together on a stone path in the middle of the royal gardens, afraid of life, afraid of death.
Her son, the crown prince, is as good as dead. And Ash has no one to blame but herself. She knew what her husband was when she married him.
I suppose I carry some blame as well, though I certainly warned her enough. Still, I wonder if I could have done more—interfered perhaps—or forced her against her will in the very beginning. But neither of us could have known or understood the consequences Ash’s choice would have upon our kingdom. No one, except for perhaps the Lord Himself, foresaw the tragedy that our lives have become.
What’s done is done. Neither of us can change it now. Our existence has dwindled to that of two grieving women, mourning the banishment of our beloved Shez. The bright sun in our lives has been extinguished like an oil lamp.
The anger and grief inside me build, and desperation rushes in. “I’ll find a way to free your son. I’ll take him somewhere where Akish can’t find him.”
“No. He’ll catch you both,” my sister says, her voice gaining strength. “And then he’ll kill you as well.” She turns her face toward mine, swollen from crying. “Don’t leave me, Naiva. I couldn’t bear this life without you. I have already lost too much.” Her voice falters.
We have all lost too much, and we are afraid to fight any more.
“Naiva,” my sister’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Do you think my son suffers in his last hours? Do you think the gods are there to comfort him?”
I flinch at her plural usage of god. Will she ever give up her idols? Each one of them has betrayed her. I cannot answer right away, for I cannot lie to my sister. I have never lied to her, even though I’ve been beaten, banished, and imprisoned for treason . . . all for telling my sister, the queen, the truth.
And no matter how hard it may be for her to hear the truth right now, it’s all I have to offer.
“The Lord will comfort him,” I whisper. “I have not stopped my prayers for one moment.” On any other day, Ash might bristle at my mention of the God I worship, but tonight, she accepts my words.
“Do you think your God will allow my black soul into heaven?” she says.
I hesitate, and it’s as if Ash knows why I cannot answer. She collapses against me, a wail building in her chest, turning into a high-pitched keening. The sound of a woman aching for her lost soul and a child with whom she will not be reunited in heaven.
I cling to her as tears finally break free onto my face, for I know the things my sister has done will be impossible for the Lord to forgive.
When we die, my sister and I will spend eternity apart. She, in hell. And when she arrives there, alone and afraid, my already fractured heart will at last break in two.
DESPITE MY SISTER’S WARNINGS, I meet with Lib and plan to visit Shez.
I tell myself it’s only to see him one last time before he dies. Even if I deliver food to Shez, I don’t know if the guards will let him have it. I will not try anything foolish, like a rescue. Regardless, no one can know I am gone.
Lib and I leave on the eve of the Moon Festival. The servants are busy preparing, and if someone notices Lib’s absence, they’ll think he’s on an errand. I haven’t told my sister I’m leaving, and I hope no one comes to look for me. I wait in my room for the signal. When I hear the false call of a bird near my window, I sneak into the corridor and walk slowly to the cooking room, as if I am seeking a late-night treat.
The door connecting the cooking room to the garden has been left unlatched, and I slip through. I don’t stop but continue walking until I reach the far garden wall. There are soldiers posted on the outside of the wall, and I must wait for the guard change.
Moments later, I join Lib on the other side. The lone soldier faces the opposite direction and doesn’t even turn when I catch my foot and send a rock tumbling.
Lib grabs my arm, and we hurry away together.
“Did you pay him?” I whisper when we’re out of hearing distance.
“No.”
“Then how—”
“I threatened him,” Lib says. “It works equally well. It turns out the guard accompanies the king to the harem from time to time, and his wife doesn’t know about it.”
I suppress a laugh, though it’s nothing to laugh about.
We keep to the side roads and trees as much as possible. The moon provides plenty of light, but that’s both good and bad. We aren’t hard to spot, and I hope we can avoid any trouble.
The night is half over when we reach the west border. “I’ve only been here once before,” Lib says. “To the left of the guard hut is the underground prison.”
The hut is the only building in sight. No light comes from the inside, but the moon casts a silver glow on the thatch roof.
“Where are the guards?” I ask.
Lib stares at the landscape for a moment. “I don’t see any movement. Maybe they’re inside.”
Or hidden, I think. But the terrain is open, and the trees are scarce. Nothing but flat land spreads to the left of the hut, where the prison holes are. To the right are a few scattered copal trees.
I concentrate on the trees, trying to make out any figures. “What should we do? We can’t wait much longer.”
“We’ll knock on the door of the hut and ask permission to visit with the prisoner.”
I nod, hoping we won’t get an arrow in the chest in the process. We walk together toward the hut.
“Let me be the first to be seen,” I whisper. “They won’t feel threatened by a woman.” I knock on the door, and my heart pounds, seemingly louder than the knocking.
When the door swings open, a man stands there, dagger in his hand. His size tells me he can easily overpower Lib. “Who are you?” he demands.
“We’re here to visit the prisoner Shez. We have gifts for you and supplies for him.”
The guard looks past my shoulder. Lib holds up the satchel with supplies. “Can I open it and show you the gifts?”
Another guard appears at the door, a sword in hand. “Drop the bag.”
I take a step back, and Lib lets go of the bag.
The second guard waves his sword. “No deliveries for the boy.”
It is as I expected, but I am determined. “Surely it would do no harm,” I say.
They don’t respond to my suggestion. The first guard grabs the satchel and opens the top.
“What’s in it?” the second guard asks, keeping his eyes trained on us.
“Nothing the boy is allowed to have,” the first guard says, dumping the contents on the ground.
“There’s plenty of dried meat,” I say. “Everything else is yours if you’ll let him have the meat.”
The second guard snorts. “We’re under orders to keep food from the prisoner.”
“You mean food that’s delivered by others?” Lib asks.
“All food,” the guard says.
I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. A small bit of hope that Lib might have received wrong information has now died. Anger pushes its way up my throat, and I can’t help but say, “You mean you’re starving him?”
“We’re following orders from the king,” the first guard says, his voice defensive.
“He’s just a boy!” I cry out. “He’s done nothing.” I grab the dried meat wrapped in a cloth and start running in the direction I assume the prison holes are. I hope I don’t fall into one, but I’ll take the risk if it means bringing food to my nephew.
“Shez!” I scream as I run. Seconds later, I’m sprawled on the ground.
One of the guards has grabbed me. I turn to claw at him, but the second guard joins him and pins me to the ground.
“Release her,” Lib yells.
“Tie her up,” one of the guards shouts over Lib’s yells.
“No, she’s the queen’s sister.” It’s Lib.
The guards stop, still holding me captive, but they are finally listening to Lib.
“She merely wants to see how Shez is doing,” Lib says.
“She was taking him food,” one of the guards says. “Food is forbidden.”
I moan. I can’t let Shez starve. Surely it’s a mistake. Surely Akish hasn’t inflicted this torture on his own heir.
Lib’s voice is closer as he says, “We’ll return to the city with no further incident. Please release her.”
“Let me see my nephew,” I gasp. “Let me at least speak to him.”
“We have strict orders, woman. No contact with the king’s son for anyone,” a voice says above me. “We aren’t willing to risk our positions because you want to speak to a prisoner.”
“We can bring silver or anything you want,” I say. “Please give him the meat we brought.”
Hands tighten around my arms. “And you don’t think the king is counting down days until he can be sure his son is dead? Prolonging his death will only make it worse for everyone.”
My heart nearly stops. I have never felt so cold, so stunned with disbelief. I can’t imagine Shez’s laughter silenced forever, his young body still in death. Something inside me changes. It’s as if I’ve repressed every bit of anger and disappointment for many years, and now is the moment my mind will no longer hold off the madness.
Adrenaline pulses through me, and I feel the strength of ten men running through my veins. I twist out of the guards’ grasp and scramble to my feet. I am running, free now, and calling for Shez. I will find him, and I’ll rescue him. My own life does not matter. The king may do with me what he will, but I’ll give my nephew a chance to escape.
My legs fly out from under me, and I slam into the ground again. This time, everything goes black.
I AM BEING CARRIED TO the darkest abyss. The journey is bumpy, and my body is painfully jostled. The hot breathing of minions sounds above me—panting, as if in eager anticipation of delivering me to my final destination. I don’t open my eyes yet, for I am not ready to see my punishment. I’ll surely be tortured, if not physically then mentally.
My mind accepts this in a small way, but for the most part, I am ready to be nothing. The Lord has been good to me, but even He cannot stop an evil king. If I cannot save Shez, there is nothing for me anymore.
“You fool,” a voice says above me. Loud and clear. Familiar.
Lib? I open my eyes and realize I am not being carried into the underworld but that Lib is taking me back to the palace.
“Good. You’re awake.” He sets me down carefully then stretches his arms and back. “I thought you’d wait until I carried you all the way home.”
My knees give out, and I sink to the ground. “What are you doing? We can’t leave Shez.”
“I’m saving your life, Naiva,” Lib says. He leans down, his eyes boring into mine, and I realize I can see the dark centers. The night has softened into approaching dawn. The sun is on its way. “We may not be able to help Shez, but I’ll not be responsible for your death as well.”
I twist away, disgusted that he’s given up. “Go back to the palace, then. Leave me. I’ll find a way to rescue my nephew.”
Lib’s laugh is bitter. “At first sight, the guards will slice your throat. Going back there is a sure execution. Then what will your sister do?”
I exhale, unable to comprehend leaving Shez in such a condition. Unable to comprehend how I will ever tell my sister her son really is being starved.
“We must hurry, or we’ll surely be discovered,” Lib says.
Tears fall onto my cheeks, and I cannot move.
“Naiva,” Lib’s voice is more gentle but still urgent. “I won’t leave you behind. If you refuse to move, we’ll both be punished.”
I can’t let Lib be punished on my behalf again. I grab his hand and hoist myself up. My head throbs fiercely, and I feel dizzy, but I move quickly with Lib, back to the palace, back to break my sister’s heart.
Three days later, word comes. Shez is dead.
“He refused to eat,” the king tells the court, false sorrow on his face. “I gave him the opportunity to recant his threat to the throne, but he would not. His final act of defiance to the kingdom was to starve himself. The queen is devastated and will not be receiving visitors until the period of mourning has passed.”
I might have collapsed if I hadn’t pressed myself against the wall for support. Ash cannot bear to hear her husband’s proclamation, so I have come instead, standing in the hall, just outside the open court doors. The king has made no effort at privacy; he wants all the land to know his side of the story. Since my all-night escapade three days before, I’ve hardly eaten or slept, every moment spent in pleading to the Lord.
The Lord has not answered my prayers. The Lord has turned away His compassion and let a young boy with righteous promise waste away in a cold, dark prison. I am so angry at the king’s words that I cannot speak when I return to Ash and her children. It’s a miracle I can even walk the halls to her chamber—though I don’t believe in miracles anymore.
I look into the innocent eyes of Isabel and her brothers, Nimrah and Jared the Younger. How can I tell them what their father did? I decide this is one thing I’ll let Ash handle. What she tells them or how she tells them will be up to her. She crosses the room and falls into my arms.
We hold each other, both at a loss for words. The children gather around us, and we pull them against us. As I stand, enmeshed in the arms of those I love dearest in all the world, the Spirit whispers to me. I push it away. I do not want comfort. I want to be angry. I want to hate bitterly. I want to rant about the injustice of Shez’s death and never forgive the Lord for His negligence.
But the Spirit whispers again, He is safe now.
I want to cry out, I would have protected him! You didn’t have to let him die! Yet I have failed, and I know it. I have failed to protect my nephew from his evil father, and I have failed to listen for the Lord’s answer to my prayers.
How can this be an answer? How can this be restitution for Shez’s terrible imprisonment? Why was I not starved in prison but instead preserved at the loss of two other lives? What sets me apart from an innocent and beautiful boy?
His blood will cry out for vengeance, and all things will be made whole.
The words wash over me, and my tears are now ones of knowledge. I have yet to accept them completely in my heart, but my mind knows they are true.
