What a difference a few days can make.
Only a short time ago, Julien and his host journeyed through the Andalusian countryside toward Cádiz, the symphony of rustling leaves, chirping birds, and scurrying hares accompanying them. Now, the forest seemed to hold its breath: The trees stood bare, their branches creaking in the eerie silence, with only the occasional bird call breaking the stillness, and not a single rabbit dared to move through the underbrush. Sometimes, winter arrived like a herd of wild bulls rather than a flock of well-behaved sheep.
The sky was a deceptive blue that day, and the sunlight shone brightly, but the crisp morning air was biting – it would only get worse, Julien thought, aware that everyone shared his apprehension.
Even if sudden, such weather was far from unexpected: Before departing from Cádiz, Tariq had wisely invested in warmer clothing for everyone; and in a rather surprising move, he also acquired a horse for himself. For Julien, this was the clearest indication of how seriously Tariq regarded their next undertaking; the man who took pride in living with the bare minimum had spent his last dinars to ensure a faster, and many ways safer and more comfortable, travel.
The two horses, each bearing two riders (Julien and Robert on Emerita, and Tariq and Urraca on the newly acquired steed), maintained a brisk and steady pace along the ancient Roman stone road. Cádiz had become a distant memory, with even Sherish now left behind. Their goal was to reach Toledo with all possible haste, to ensure Urraca's safety before Julien and Tariq could continue onward to assist Arnau.
“From Toledo, we will head north toward Burgos,” Tariq explained to Julien, his horse matching Emerita's stride effortlessly, “traveling through Castile to Pamplona might be the safer route for now, given their current state of peace. Bolting through Saraqustah, where conflicts are almost perpetual, would be far more dangerous.”
“Well, I can only call it good fortune that we have you on our side, Tariq,” Julien remarked warmly, “my knowledge of Iberian diplomacy is very limited; in all honesty, I would hardly know where to go from Toledo.”
“You certainly keep yourself well-informed, Tariq,” Urraca noted, her tone admiring yet curious, “especially for someone who seems so... ascetic.”
Tariq chuckled softly. “I have friends who enjoy the sound of their own voices and have ears that love to eavesdrop. I just keep mine well open.”
“I still cannot believe we are heading north again,” Urraca’s voice sounded sweet and filled with hope. “I cannot wait to finally be back in Carrión, or maybe Saldaña. Perhaps my sister and uncle are already there!”
Julien smiled at her optimism, though a large shadow of worry crossed his mind. The truth was that no news had come from María since their last meeting; not even after he sent his Bú with information on Rodrigo. Yet, he had heard no bad news either, so perhaps he was being overly pessimistic.
One awful truth, however, he knew all too well and could not escape: Florinda had left a stain of corruption within Urraca, even if unintentionally. While she wore the eagle-shaped fibulae, however, she would not corrupt anything or anyone, and more corruptive iric energy would be kept at bay.
It is truly odd that Tariq hasn’t noticed it yet," Julien thought to himself, glancing at his fellow Enochian journey partner, maybe this new endeavor is proving too distracting for him? He certainly seems more determined to act on Arnau’s plea…
The only front with genuinely good news seemed to come from Robert: His arm, which Hasdai believed would eventually regenerate, was indeed growing back with impressive speed - what was once a decrepit, rotten-looking stub when they arrived in Cádiz had now developed into an upper arm, almost reaching the elbow. Perhaps it was the last meal they shared that accelerated his healing, or at least that is the theory Julien entertained, but it was truly fascinating nonetheless.
Yet, his mind kept drifting back to the pseudo-Geryon, who could also heal remarkably fast, as well as to the whole situation back in Cádiz: How does this axe work, anyway? Julien pondered, eyeing the weapon that once belonged to Hamilcar Barca, its almost ghostly properties lingering in his thoughts.
With night quickly creeping closer, the band decided to call it a day, hoping to avoid the cold winds that would soon start to chill their very bones even harder. After a rather meager but sufficient supper, the three had a brief conversation before Urraca retired to her slumber. Julien and Tariq remained by the bonfire, momentarily hypnotized by the dancing flames.
“I certainly envy Urraca’s ease of sleep,” Julien remarked, breaking the silence, “warm or cold, wet or dry, tense or calm... She always seems to fall into such a deep slumber in no time at all.”
Tariq, his eyes never leaving the fire, replied to the young Enochian’s comment: “I’m willing to wager on what is keeping you awake, though.”
Which of the dozens of reasons will he name? Julien wondered, a discreet smile playing on his lips as he glanced at the experienced Enochian.
“Rejection,” Tariq said simply and bluntly, meeting Julien’s gaze, “in my lifetime, I haven’t seen many grown men as shaken as you were when your angel spurned you.” He paused briefly before continuing, “I haven’t used my Aethyr in ages, and even now, I’m confident my angel would not reject me.”
Oddly enough, Tariq was right. Julien could be worried about María, Urraca, Arnau, Hamilcar’s axe... But for some strange, ethereal reason, nothing felt worse than his angel’s denial. It was a mix of deep sadness and unhinged dread, something as dark as the night surrounding them. He chose to remain quiet, mulling over the feeling.
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“You are free from the Iric Rot now, aren’t you?” Tariq restarted the conversation, “maybe you should try contacting him again - you know how now.”
It was true. He was indeed free from the Iric Rot, but the first thing that crossed his mind was raising the arm that once belonged to Robert in front of him: Even if it felt like his now, how could he be sure his angel would accept this? Had he never ventured into his angel’s realm, Julien might be bold enough to try anyway, but the sheer terror, the harrowing feeling he felt last time... It could simply be too much to bear again.
“Take your time, Mazars,” Tariq offered a kind smile, “we are not in a race, after all, and no one expects an unexperienced Enochian to have complete control over Memshalah. It would be wise to make some effort on this front, however, lest you forever fall behind your peers.”
Julien remained silent for the rest of the interaction, as if trying to gather the courage to do what was expected of him - but ultimately failing. Eventually, Tariq retired to his tent, leaving only Julien wide awake, accompanied by his many ghosts and Robert.
…
The few days that separated the small host from Toledo quickly came and went, blending in a blur of gray and occasional dull blue hues - so gray and dull, in fact, that when the embracing Tagus, the great walls, and myriad spires finally appeared on the horizon, Urraca’s expected cheerfulness was almost lifeless. Julien, too, felt a clear discomfort as memories of his time in Toledo resurfaced. Toledo was not kind to me in the least, he recalled.
Approaching the Alcázar was surprisingly swift, perhaps because the wonder Julien had felt during his first visits to Toledo had long since faded. The city was quieter than usual, likely due to the encroaching winter, which only added to the somber, uninteresting atmosphere.
Given Urraca’s name and previous position, they expected easy entry into the palace, and it was indeed straightforward - but not solely for that reason. To Julien’s surprise, people remembered him and Robert fondly, and some were even quite familiar with Tariq, for some reason. As a sign of both respect and affection, Urraca almost immediately headed to the Emir’s sister’s quarters to reunite with her, while Julien decided it would be a good idea to visit the infirmary and check if Hasdai was alive and well.
And it did not take long for them to find the physician: As soon as they stepped into the sparsely populated room that Julien knew all too well, Hasdai's familiar face turned to them. With an open and honest smile, he walked toward the three with arms outstretched. "Words cannot express how glad I am to see you all again, my dear friends!" Hasdai exclaimed, embracing Julien first.
"I should say the same!" Julien replied, returning the hug, "by the way, I believe you'll love to see these." Stepping back, Julien raised his grafted and perfectly healthy arm, and commanded for Robert to do the same and raise his still not fully formed one. "Every single suggestion you gave, every single prediction you made, they all turned out to be right. I cannot thank you enough, Hasdai," he said, his voice tinged with emotion.
The physician looked at Julien with a face bordering on confusion. "I certainly gave you suggestions and made some predictions, but you acted on them, my friend. That’s by far the most important part," he said, turning his curious gaze to Robert. "Robert gets livelier by the day, I see, good to know... Where is Urraca, by the way? Did everything work out all right?"
"Yes, all is well," Julien replied, though a hint of doubt still lingered in his voice, "she is currently visiting the Emir’s sister. We are heading north now, toward the Kingdom of Pamplona, but we made a quick stop to leave her here in safety before Robert, Tariq, and I continue on our way."
Hasdai’s expression suddenly grew serious. "Well, I was already glad you came to see me, but now I truly thank God for it," he commented, beginning to walk toward a small, private room adjoining the infirmary. Beckoning the others to follow, he added: "Come, we need to talk."
As Julien, Tariq, and Robert crossed the doorway, they found themselves in a modest room filled with sparse and meek furniture, but brimming with books in all directions. This must be where Hasdai retires to his studies, Julien thought. The physician closed the door behind them and, with a note of urgency in his voice, immediately began: “I assume you all remember the Christian caravan we met by Sherish, right? The one that safely brought me back here,” he said rhetorically, quickly continuing, “we had to stop by Badajoz before turning eastwards, and there, connecting with other caravans, we learned that the Emir of Badajoz intends to invade Toledo and ultimately seize the taifa from Al-Qadir.”
Julien’s reaction was mixed. Though this news didn’t sound promising, he was still a novice regarding Iberian politics and didn’t fully grasp the repercussions of such a change. He did recall, however, that Christian levies were reinforcing a fort on the route from Badajoz to Toledo. “That might not work out well for the Emir of Badajoz, Hasdai,” the young Enochian commented. “Pedro, Urraca’s father, seemed quite sure there are reinforcements in a fort between the two cities.”
“Do you mean Cantuares?” Hasdai promptly asked, then answered himself, “Because if that is the place you are referring to, we stopped by, and I could describe it as ‘mothballed,’ if I’m being optimistic, or just ‘abandoned,’ if you’d rather hear a realistic take.”
“Well, that’s just nonsensical, isn’t it?” Tariq added. “Why would Al-Qadir abandon such an important defense?”
“Because he believes it to be manned by Alfonso’s men, that is why,” Hasdai retorted. “I simply refuse to delve into politics, so I’m organizing my things to leave as soon as possible. I find it hard to believe that the Emir of Badajoz would simply order the sacking of the city and the pillaging of the Alcázar like the Berbers did long ago, so there might not be immediate danger for most people, but...” The physician let a quick, sad smirk cross his face, “but God knows what the leaders of Badajoz might think of my people…”
He needn’t say more. Julien and Tariq exchanged uncomfortable glances, both too embarrassed to address the clearly grim subject.
“Such is life, or so I'd like to believe. One must do what they must,” the physician continued, trying to move past the bitter topic, “sorry for my slight detour, my friends. The point I want to make here is that, as a noblewoman, Urraca might be a valuable hostage if Toledo falls. Furthermore, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Christians walking these halls, so she might also be the only Christian woman in the entire Alcázar.” He took a deep breath before continuing: “Far be it from me to spook you, my friends, but I strongly believe Urraca would be safer journeying north with you.”
…
Some time later, a deeply confused Urraca was once again saying her goodbyes to the Emir’s sister, the Alcázar, and the city of Toledo. The weight of her confusion was palpable as she very much struggled to grasp why the Emir of Badajoz would consider attacking an ally of Alfonso VI. The grand spires and ancient walls of the city, one last time a backdrop to their departure, seemed to hold onto her lingering questions. “Hasdai has never given us reasons to doubt him, though,” she remarked as the small host rode away from the grand city.
“He made quite the prediction about the fate of Toledo, and once again gave us a strong suggestion,” Julien replied with a earnest smile, his tone confident, “what can I do but act on it?”