2. Eshe
Eshe
Lajal, Brestan
There was a tiny tinge of guilt at the bottom of my stomach when I stole a chunk of dried meat from the merchant, but it was so far deep that I paid it no more attention.
I stuffed another carrot into my cloak’s pocket before I left the outdoor market, altogether feeling morally satisfied with my finds.
I kept my hood low to hide my feminine face and kept my stride masculine enough to deceive lookers.
I was tall enough for a woman not to question my…
manhood, but short enough for a man to think I was just a boy.
It was easy to hide behind a man’s mask, as all I had to do was embody three things: confidence, arrogance, and take as much space as possible—physically.
I found acting as a man was more dramatic than being a woman. It took more energy than I thought. Being a woman was easy. All you had to do was shut up and smile.
A man, much like what I just described, pulled his young wife, in a yellow cloak, to his side, speaking in hushed tones.
Her golden hair was braided away from her face, and purple skin marred her pale cheek.
I could see clearly from where I leaned against a nearby marble column. The woman winced from the pain.
I popped a walnut into my mouth and contemplated what it would feel like to kill someone. I’d never killed a person, but the thought of doing so didn’t bother me as much as I thought it should.
It must have been all the meditation I’d been practicing over the last eight years with Salazar. He thought it was necessary after the incident. What an interesting combination, meditation and fighting. Seeing situations as they were and not being consumed by emotions of “what if.”
Once, I meditated for an entire week in silence.
I stepped toward the man and his woman and chewed on another piece of walnut.
It tasted like heaven if it were real to me.
I hadn’t had much food since I left Merha, and my only companion for eight years, two days ago.
The weather was changing and becoming warmer the farther I traveled south.
Nearing the desert, I could feel it, and my skin crawled with anticipation.
Home.
I followed the couple through the busy market, just far enough to avoid any skepticism.
People filled the streets, scattering about, bargaining for this or that, and shouting when their offers weren't accepted.
Salazar was in charge of organizing these types of markets, allowing specific travelers and rejecting others.
We passed an old traveling merchant attempting to make a sale of his wooden dolls to a school of boys and their teacher.
The merchant pressed the wooden dolls into their palms.
“We’re too old for this!” a redheaded boy shouted, pushing the doll back.
“Ah, but these are special, you see? Here we have the Qahl of Zyriah and his Qahless, the first prince…” The merchant pressed each doll into each boy’s hands. “And the Princess of Zyriah.”
The youths murmured.
“Where are they now?” Curiosity killed the snake. Poor kid.
“The family…” The traveler eyed the teacher, who gave him a nod. “They died in a fire many years ago. An attack against the royals.”
I stopped to listen for a moment while keeping one eye on the husband ahead. Damn my curiosity. I shook my head at myself.
“And the princess?” the brown-eyed boy who held the princess doll asked.
“Her body was never found… It is buried deep where the stones of the palace crashed inward, and after the ashes fell on the earth, she was never recovered.”
Ohs were heard. A few boys stepped back in fear.
“You see why these dolls are not just any dolls? Having this doll”—the merchant pointed at the one holding the princess doll—“will keep her spirit from knocking at your door. She is a bitter spirit, you see. She was never buried properly. She will haunt you if you don’t—”
The teacher stepped in, “You all should have learned this by now.” The teacher frowned at all of them, including the merchant. “Tell me, who can answer what happened that night?”
“I can!” A boy about fourteen raised his hand. The teacher nodded. “Tehara and Zyriah have been at war with each other for centuries through family feuds. Tehara’s rulers deceived Zyriah’s into thinking they would end the wars through a marriage between the princess and the first Prince of Tehara.”
My brows furrowed, and I narrowed my eyes at the teacher, who had clearly taught the boys the wrong version of the story. I picked Casimir. Well… at the end. But that was beside the point—
The boy continued, “But it is known that Tehara deceived them the night of the Princess’s birthday and the announcement of the marriage and killed them all.”
“Who rules Zyriah now?” the teacher asked.
“When that fatal night happened, Zyriah’s general Sebastian took over during that time until now.
They have a Qahl. No one has been able to prove who killed the family, so no war was waged against any of the suspected countries.
The Qahl is known for his peaceful negotiations and has been given the name of Paziel, meaning peace, the Great Qahl of Zyriah. ”
My fists tightened. If I didn’t regain control, I’d lose my fingers. I saw red. Who was this Qahl Paziel, who now ruled my father’s country? What a ridiculous name. I wanted to barf.
The teacher began his walk, pointing at unique finds, and the youths followed. The merchant pressed the princess doll into the most curious of them all.
“To protect you from Eshe’s spirit!”
“How much?” The youth’s voice faded away as I walked toward the husband, who was now slipping from my eyes.
The merchant was right.
Eshe died that cursed night.
I became Mara when Salazar believed it would protect me from those who tried to kill Zyriah’s royal family.
By the time the husband and his young wife headed home, a narrow apartment between two lively taverns, the burned-orange sun had fallen from the sky.
The husband waited for the woman to enter their small abode and walked right back into the streets, no doubt looking for a different tavern to drown his slimy face in ale. Men were so predictable.
I waited for the perfect alleyway while following him. Laughter and clinking bottles floated in the air. My steps were silent as I approached the back of his robe.
This alley would do. We passed a dark and smoky street at the back of a hookah bar, when I slammed my strongest foot into the side of his neck and waited for him to double over in shock.
His hand covered his neck as he fell on one knee.
I snatched the front of his robe and shoved my knee into his diaphragm.
His hand grabbed hold of my forearm, and through instinct and practice alone, I wrapped my other forearm around his neck, twisting my body so that I was directly behind him.
The man attempted to throw his free elbow behind, but I had squeezed my arm around his neck, and he started grappling at it for air.
His eyes widened when he saw my dagger raised in front of us, curved at its tip.
With minimum effort, I slashed the tip below his front belt, near his groin. His bloodstained purse fell in front of us, making a lovely sound of plentiful coins as it hit the stone ground.
I tsked, shaking my head. “What a mess I made. Luckily for you, it’s a scratch. You’ll live,” I said in a low, deep voice. “I just wanted your pretty purse.”
The man responded with more wheezing, probably from the pain of almost losing his manhood, but maybe from the air that was being sucked from his lungs.
I twisted the blade closer to his face as I heard a splatter of fluid below me.
Disgusting coward.
The powerful stench wafted through the dark air. I pressed the back of the blade into his temple until he fell limp in my arms. It would only be a short time before he woke in agony. I dropped him in his own filth and sighed in disgust.
Weighing the heavy coin purse in my palm, I left him to bleed in the alley.
The next day, I entered the white dunes of Brestan.
Brestan’s sands were white in the north and turned more beige the closer the sands blew south. Eventually, I’d reach the river of Osonah, which divided Zyriah and Brestan from Tehara.
Wavy hair, brown eyes, and a lean body was the mantra in my head while traveling.
My lips curved into a slow smile as I walked down a blinding dune. I replayed the last moment I saw them over and over again.
Wavy hair, brown eyes, lean body.
Twins. Easy. My target was easy. Perhaps even easier than what I had been training for years. The challenges and tests Garamgai put me through were nothing in comparison to how easily Ezra and Casimir would fall into my trap.
I had visualized my plans for over a year, perfecting every inch. Patiently waiting. The plans were their deaths, since I couldn’t possibly know or plan how this would all go down without more knowledge, but still.
Not only would I have their deaths on my hands, but their parents’ as well—their entire family deserved the same end mine had. An eye for an eye never sounded so good, and I would wait an eternity if I could carry it on a silver platter.
Mother, Father, Yonam, Kavid.
The black linen robes and hood protected my new skin from the scorching sun, along with a scarf around my face to protect me from the stinging sands. I had missed the heat, but my body was no longer used to its sharp touch.
My black boots sank into the warm sand as I tread down the white sea. The end of my scarf around my head snapped violently back and forth from the singing wind.
It is coming, they whispered in the familiar way they had my entire life.