The Bodyguard
The sun was just grazing the sky when we set off.
After a week of negotiations, Dayyan had managed to convince Bahir, and they’d signed the peace contract.
Though the younger prince appeared thoroughly displeased with the happenings, the promise of Farani taking him to the golden roots at once was the only thing that swayed him.
Farani rode ahead, fifteen guards flanking her.
Dayyan, Bahir, and Eskender rode on her left side, while Samir was on her right.
I had almost stayed behind, knowing I would see the general, but I’d gathered my courage. I had to ensure Farani kept her word.
The old attire I had worn as Farani’s bodyguard scratched over my skin.
There was a stark contrast between it and the royal dresses I’d been wearing in the North.
The veil draped over my nose billowed in the harsh wind.
I urged Wahe forward as our pace increased.
Through my sand-coated lashes, I glimpsed the approaching narrow pathway.
We passed through it, shielded on either side by enormous mountains, and before long, the mouth of a cave yawned over us.
I peered into the distance, but the entrance was shuttered in shadows.
It was surreal to be here, a place so few knew of.
A place Farani had been forced to keep secret from me during our entire existence.
We dismounted, leaving our horses behind as we traversed into the cave after Farani.
Torches were lit, lighting the path ahead.
“The birthplace of the golden roots,” Farani announced as she continued forward, leading us into the darkness. “We were told the tale so many times in our youth, we could recite it in our sleep. But Yildiz always told the story better than I did. Will you give our minds a refreshing, dear cousin?”
I stilled. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is.”
We crossed into a narrow pass filled with crumbled rocks. I stumbled over one. A hand slipped around my arm, lifting me to safety. I expelled a strained breath and glanced at my savior. Dayyan released my arm and strode past me without meeting my gaze.
“There were two brothers who devoted themselves to prayer,” I began after recovering. “They gave up their family and home to spend their days in a lonely cave praising the Almighty.”
Dayyan and Bahir were just ahead of me, their backs tense as my voice echoed around us. I was telling the Southern tale. They likely had their own version of it.
“The older brother was certain there would be a reward sent to them for their servitude, while his younger brother already thought them blessed. They each had two eyes to see, two legs to walk, a nose to smell, a mouth to eat. He considered them to be already rich with blessings.”
We continued treading over the pathway, the torches’ light flickering like snake tongues on the walls surrounding us.
“But the reward came, as the elder brother had expected. A golden root burst from the sand, vibrating with life and energy. He rushed to it, calling to his younger brother. Together, they took care of it, pouring upon it water from the oasis. The root grew larger and larger, wrapping all around the cave before tunneling deeper. They found wealth in it. It cured illnesses, rejuvenated the old, purified the land. But as they helped more and more people, the older brother became possessive. He questioned why they aided all these people when they could rule over them. When they could create their own kingdom.”
Bahir growled and began to speak, but Dayyan slammed a hand onto his shoulder, and his brother’s mutters of protest died. I continued.
“His younger brother disagreed. He said the roots were to be for all. Their quarrel tore the village apart. The older brother was so driven by his greed that he murdered his younger brother. Then the curse from the Almighty came, casting the older brother and all those loyal to him into the Northern part of the desert. The Southerners became the protectors of the roots. But the doors closed even on them, preventing them from fully accessing the roots. The Northerners detested the Southerners, claiming that they deserved them, as their leader was the elder brother. Wars started and blood spilled. It is said that only a blessed woman with royal blood will go through the doors.”
Farani smiled. “And here we are.”
We followed her motion to the large stone doors sealed shut ahead.
Farani wheeled to face us. “After centuries of war, the prophesied shahdokht has come to bring forth fortune to the lands.” She turned to the doors. “Open, oh protectors! The owner of the roots has arrived.”
Nothing happened—not even a shift in the air or rumble in the stone. Farani’s hands dropped. She sniffed. Then tried again.
“Almighty, allow me entrance to the blessings you have bestowed upon my bloodline.”
She pressed her hands to the stone. But it was to no avail.
There was no change. She pushed the stone, softly at first. Then she glanced back at us before she bristled and, foregoing all acts of elegance, slammed against the doors with repeated jabs of her shoulder.
When it became clear her strength wouldn’t open the stone, she ceased her brutal attempts and stepped back.
Farani heaved in lungfuls of air and waved at a guard.
“Break it down.”
“But—” The word stilled in my mouth when Farani shot me a piercing stare.
It seemed odd, a violation, to tear the stone down. Guards lined up and struck axes against the stone. Their strikes echoed, but the metal chipped and then broke to pieces, rendering the weapons useless.
“Why isn’t it opening?” Farani hissed, casting a desperate look at Samir.
“Because there are greedy enemy eyes among us. If it were solely you, they would no doubt open,” Samir simpered, and I flinched at his grating tone.
“Watch your mouth,” Bahir snapped.
“And if I do not? What will happen then?”
Bahir growled, unsheathing his shamshir. They seemed ready to tear each other to pieces. Dayyan stepped in between them.
He held his hands out on either side of him in warning. “Allow the peace to last a full day.”
The guards had made no progress on the doors and stared blankly at the useless axes in their hands.
The heat had made my throat dry. I reached for my bag to retrieve my water flask.
My fingers brushed my hip where my bag had hung, darting over open space, and I frowned.
Where had it gone? I trekked back the way we’d come, scanning the ground in search, leaving behind the rising argumentative voices.
The farther I went, the more I felt eyes boring into my back.
The hair on my neck rose. I turned but saw only darkness.
“Who’s there?” I called.
No response. I waited a moment more and then chastised myself. The dark was playing tricks on my mind. I faced forward again, and a force slammed against me, shoving me to the wall. I gasped. Pain erupted through my chest and middle, and my cheek grazed the rocky texture.
“Looking for this?” The sickly voice twisted my insides.
He kept me rammed against the wall, leaving me defenseless.
I ignored the fire that scraped through my cheek as I turned my head.
The terrifying features slid into focus.
This couldn’t be happening. Samir held up his hand.
My bag dangled from his fingers. I grasped for it, but he swung it into the darkness behind him. He clicked his tongue.
“Not so fast, Yildiz.”
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the panic overcoming me. I had returned to that horrid night and was defenseless against him once again. I blinked past growing tears.
His vile fingers roved down my exposed cheek, making my stomach turn. “I’ve missed you.”
My mouth opened in a scream, but his hand cut off my call for aid.
“Shh,” he whispered.
I struggled, trying to heave in a gasp of air. But I had been silenced again, so I prayed with every shred of faith I possessed.
Shouts neared, along with the sound of my name being called.
Samir’s grip slackened and I slammed my head back into his nose.
There was a crack, and he groaned, stumbling back.
I broke past him, sprinting away. But not fast enough.
Something banged the back of my head and my surroundings darkened.
I tripped over my feet and met the ground face-first.