As the farmer’s breaths slowly grew deeper, and I picked at the fruit and nuts that he had brought over, the silence that I’d so craved was suddenly suffocating; tightening around my mind like a vice. I wished Musa would wake soon and pester me once again with his silly questions. The absence of his laughter made the dimly lit sitting hall a somber place to be.

The Hankeeper sat in the corner, holding a small blue Holy Book in his right hand and pointedly recited the same verses over and over again, avoiding any eye contact. Most Hans in the Shaam countryside were owned by the Sasani network, but this man acted like the Han had fell into his hands and he didn’t have anything better to do. Perhaps these roads seldom had travelers and were only busy during caravan season.

Feeling restless, I decided to check up on the mule. I walked past a sign that read The Lady from Palmyra. A strange name for a Han. The courtyard was empty and no other animals were in the stalls. Yaseen’s mule glanced quietly my way then back to the ground, pretending I didn’t exist.

“You and the Hankeeper, both,” I said. Now Musa and Yaseen, on the other hand, were overly talkative. The Hankeeper didn’t seem like a local. Or maybe I really did look like a thug— my clothes were simple save for the spots of blood on my leg and my cloak was fraying at the hem.

Just as I reached the fountain in the center, a studious man entered the courtyard with Yaseen at his heel. A woman with a black shawl over her eyes followed close behind them. She lingered by the entrance as Yaseen and the physician noticed me and quickly shuffled over.

Seeing the boy again made my throat tighten and I thought of my state of mind from earlier. The visions of the masked man… my strange ability to imagine emotions from others through touch… I steadied myself against the fountain, dreading having to touch someone else. Or be touched. Stand up straight!

The young physician noticed my discomfort and his smile faltered. He was my age but had the hunched shoulders of a scholar and a satchel overflowing with what I figured were medical instruments and some paper. He also carried another bag which he handed to Yaseen and offered me a hand in greeting, “Samir Ali Al Muhtiz. Peace be with you.”

A scholar. Maybe he could help me with my condition. I didn’t let the man wait on me, taking his hand in mine with a strong shake, “Munqidh,” I replied. That is not your name! I wondered if I should explain that to him or just continue the pretense.

But as soon as we touched, his genuine concern hummed across, dampening my own guilt and fear. I should tell him the truth. The physician sat me down by the fountain and took great care unwrapping the make-shift bandage. Can you really trust him, though?

“I… have to tell you that—“

“Have you been fighting?” he asked bluntly, and paused his dressing. His bright hazel eyes searched my face and I looked away.

“No, just had… I had a—”

I felt the physician’s hand on my thigh, “It’s alright, brother. I’m no judge, just tell me the truth so I can help you.”

The people of Salamiyya had been nothing but God’s mercy sent on me and I was guilty of possibly hurting one of them. But you have other concerns, don’t you? Don’t say anything!

The man frowned and put his hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up. Come into the shade.”

I followed the physician to an empty stall and he laid me down on a straw mat. The strong musky odor of leather and horse immediately calmed me. It was familiar.

“I’ve murdered someone,” I said. It came as a whisper but I was sure Samir Ali had heard me. Hold your tongue, fool!

The physician paused over his bag for a moment, then continued rummaging through his belongings. He faced away so I couldn’t read his expression. And he was too far for me to touch.

Yaseen and the woman had moved to the fountain now, and the boy was telling her a long winded story about his day. She listened patiently and would occasionally glance our way.

I didn’t know what else to say as the young physician went to work on my leg, head down and pointedly looking away from me. Occasionally his knuckles would graze my thigh. But the touch wasn’t strong enough for me to sense his emotion.

My loss of memory was a sickness of the mind. Whoever I was, and whatever I was becoming, I’d been cursed. Maybe in town I could find an ascetic or blight doctor who could help me, instead.

“There is blight medicine in town?” I asked.

Samir Ali cleared his throat, “Sasani magic is forbidden.”

“I need something.”

The physician was quiet again and moments passed. He fears you for that confession. The boy and the woman were arguing something about a bird but the rest I couldn’t make out.

“You say nothing,” I finally said. “Are you afraid of me? I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I’m not afraid,” he replied, taking some paste in a bottle and applying it gently to my clean wound. I smelled honey. He is too careful with his words. Why couldn’t you be the same?

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Let it sit in the air for a while for the angels to kiss,” he said.

“Angels?”

“What is your name, again?”

“It’s… Munqidh,” I replied, a weight lifting off my shoulders as Samir Ali said, “Munqidh? Strong name.”

“Looking for work around here or just breaking your journey?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Why is he pretending everything is normal?

“Did you get yourself in trouble on the road?”

“What?”

“Was it the Bedouins?”

“No, I—”

“You’re overcome with guilt so, I think, you should—”

“Stop!”

Yaseen and the woman cut off their conversation. I lowered my voice, but I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “Please stop, I’m not a victim. I think I hurt someone and I’m very lost right now. I need help. From someone who knows blight medicine or something…similar. I don’t know what’s going on, I just—”

Samir Ali interrupted, “Alright, I will help. I will help you, Munqidh. Don’t worry.”

As the name escaped the physician’s lips, it felt like mine. He was talking to me. He saw me. But why did you have to sound so weak and lost?

“Who did you hurt?” Samir Ali asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. Be careful. Gain control of yourself.

When the physician looked skeptical, I reached for my sword belt. I noticed the young man flinch out of the corner of my eye but controlled himself. He may not show it, but he was just as nervous as I was.

I unsheathed the blade slowly, offering it for him to see and he watched the steel closely. It was still crusted with blood, so I hadn’t imagined it before. “You see it right? I fought someone.”

“And you don’t remember it?”

But you do remember it, don’t you? Raindrops lit like embers around you, beckoning the son of Yaruq… cutting, slicing, over-flowing with self-hate.

“Munqidh?”

Samir Ali had moved his hand to mine and his concern forced my violent memories away. I cleared my throat. “Yes… I mean no, I don’t remember it.”

“This is Damascene steel,” Samir Ali said, looking at the blade again. He waited for my explanation.

“I don’t know where I got it.” Raindrops like embers…. Ismail’s pained face. You remember it all.

“Where are you from?”

“From Shayzar I think, I lived there. I have memories of living in Shayzar,” I said, stopping there, and not mentioning that those memories were mostly of hunting and riding. The rare Damascene blade only proved I was a cavalier.

“Alright, come to the bimaristan. We will meet with Khwaja.”

“I can’t.” I shouldn’t be near anyone else. My memory wasn’t all that clear. All I remembered was the rain on my face, and a young man’s pained face staring up at me. You have to remember it all, soon enough. The son of Yaruq tried to kill you. He thought he could defeat you.

But I pushed away those images, instead focusing on the Samir Ali’s soft voice and the gentle way with which he covered up my bandages. “Well, alright,” the aide continued, gladly not pushing any further. “Rest here and I’ll be back in the morning with my master if possible.”

The young physician quickly gathered his things, threw the satchel over his shoulder and with a quick glance back at me, he nodded his peace curtly and called to the woman. “Rabia,” he said, “come let’s talk with the keeper.”

The woman protested quietly as they met. I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about and Yaseen strutted over, waving his hand in front of my face, “you still with us, soldier?”

“I think so.”

He threw himself down on the hay. “I’ve got to go back soon, my father should be back by now.”

“You shouldn’t be on the road alone.”

“I told you there is no Blight this close to town.”

“Still, it’s safer here in the Han. Or you should go back into town with Samir Ali.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Yaseen said gravely. “Maybe I can sleep in the mosque tonight and maybe even pray Isha.”

“That’s good, yes.”

“And then I can sit with the green-cappers with a cup of coffee and discuss how great the Eternal Imam is late into the night.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Munqidh. I’ll be fine. But in case I run into trouble, you can give me your sword?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Yaseen stood up and brushed himself off.

“Wait,” I called as the boy sprinted off towards the exit, “Wait, Yaseen!” If I had nothing better to do than wait for this Khwaja, I might as well escort the boy safely back home. “I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“You can hold the sword.”

The boy smiled ear to ear at that and rushed over to help me up. “We’ll take Lionheart again,” he said.

“Who?”

“The donkey, get on.”

“I’m fine, I can walk.”

Yaseen tried to shove me back against the animal. “Get on, you’ll tear your bandages fool.”

How dare he address someone like that? But as I stared down at the boy, at the concern lining his eyes, I couldn’t help but oblige him. The animal moaned and pointed himself at the archway leading to the dirt road outside. This boy had to be controlled. Somehow. Or at the least taught manners.

“Where are you two headed?” the woman in black stepped out of the Han. Samir Ali wasn’t with her.

“Munqidh is taking me back to the farm,” Yaseen replied.

“Maybe I should come along,” she said, eying me suspiciously.

“It’s fine, Rabia,” the boy protested. “I keep telling everyone, I walk these roads alone all the time. There is no blight around here.”

“I’m coming.”

Yaseen sighed and took the reins again. We walked out of the Han and Rabia looked back, as if making sure no one saw her leaving.

“My name is Munqidh,” I said but the woman wasn’t interested. She picked up her skirt and strode forward to join Yaseen.

We rounded the corner and this time continued the dirt road away from the old town walls. The sun was starting to set and cutting through the fields would be a bad idea, no matter what Yaseen claimed about safety. Foolish boy, it’s a wonder he hadn’t been hurt yet.

Images of Yaseen lying alone in a field, hurt and bleeding, sent my heart in a panic. I nudged the donkey to catch up.

“We should’ve prayed Maghrib before we left,” I heard Rabia say, “I don’t want to pray on the road.”

“Use the donkey,” Yaseen replied.

“I’m not praying on a donkey.”

“You can go back then,” Yaseen snapped and Rabia was quiet. The boy looked up at her and deciding he’d been too harsh, he grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, sister.”

“I’ll pray later.”

“You are most welcome at our farm.”

For a boy of barely twelve years, he had a maturity I liked. He whipped around suddenly as if he’d heard my thoughts, “You said I’d get the sword!” he cried.

“As promised,” I replied, taking the scabbard off my belt. I wrapped the leather strap around the hilt and tied it tightly so the boy couldn’t unsheathe the blade. “Here.”

Not believing I was serious, he took it gingerly than stared down at it. Rabia was glaring at me for some reason. Who is she?

“It’s heavier than I expected,” Yaseen finally said, hoisting the sword around his shoulder.

“We shouldn’t walk in the dark, hurry,” Rabia interrupted, looking at the sword on Yaseen’s shoulder disapprovingly.

I pulled the mule up beside Rabia and quietly told her the sword was well tied and Yaseen wouldn’t be able to take it out. She gave me a tight smile and walked forward to join the boy again, who’d taken off down the road, marching like a soldier between short skips of joy. As Rabia left, I couldn’t help but notice a strong scent of cooling ash around me.

***

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