Scheherazade and the King Ch. 06

"My good men," the king said suddenly, his interruption sending the room into immediate and complete silence, "I'm afraid we must continue this meeting at another hour. Let us adjourn until tomorrow."

It took every fibre of his being to keep from yelling at the old men as they slowly gathered themselves up and left the room, but he waited patiently and in silence as they shuffled outside.

Finally, he closed the door behind them and sat down with Scheherazade's writing, quickly losing himself in the dark story she wove:

I remember waking up for the first time. Everything burned. My throat was on fire, my lungs felt as if they had been scoured with flames, and every inch of my body felt raw and sore.

I did not know who I was, where I was or when I was, but I knew I was alive.

Sometimes I wonder if that's what birth feels like. If it is, I am glad we do not remember it.

Slowly my vision came into focus and I saw a man beside me. I tried to speak to him, but no sound came out. He noticed me finally as I tried to will my limbs to movement and came to stand over me.

"Oh are you awake?" He asked. "Well, in a few moments you will wish you had not woken at all."

I doubt that I shall ever forget those words; they are the first ones I remember hearing. At first I could not understand them — as if they were blurred on the page in my mind — but slowly they came into focus and I knew their meaning.

I tried to sign to the man that I could not speak, but I could barely get my arm to move.

"What's the matter with you?" The man asked me. "Can't you talk?"

I shook my head as best I could.

"Well, well," the man chuckled. "I wonder what Captain will think of that?"

I looked at him blankly but dread was building in my heart. I tried to remember something — anything — but it was as if my mind had been wiped clean.

I wanted to know why I could hardly move, why I was in so much pain, where I was, who I was... But all I could do was lay in silence.

Suddenly the door opened and another man came into the room. If I didn't know I was in danger before, one look in his eyes and I knew it then.

"So she is awake?" The man asked, leaning over the table to examine me. His voice sounded like metal grinding against metal.

"Aye, Captain," the other man said. "But I don't think she can speak at all."

"Is that true arrain txiki?" The man asked me mockingly.

I stared up at him helplessly. Little fish. If that was what I was, he was most certainly the shark.

Suddenly the man's hand shot out and caught my cheek. I cried out but not a sound escaped my lips.

He straightened and shivered slightly, his eyes never leaving me.

"Oh, I am going to enjoy this," he said, shrugging his coat from his shoulders. "I would have keelhauled you long ago had I known it would leave you like this."

Keelhauled. I knew then what had been done to me but I still did not know what it meant. All I knew for certain was that my pain had come at this man's hands.

The man pulled off his shirt and grabbed my chin: "I won't have to gag you any more, will I?"

I looked to the other man — what I was hoping for, I do not know. He merely laughed as he closed the door behind him.

"You probably cannot move too much right now," the man said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

His body was a map of pain — every inch of his torso was covered with scars.

"That is to be expected," he said, his eyes glinting with grim satisfaction. "After all, the barnacles barely left you with an inch of skin on your hide. I thought you would be drowned by the time we hauled you back up. Imagine my surprise when we drag you aboard the ship and you're still alive. But, now, to find you have no voice? Fate is a wicked woman and she smiles on me."

"Who are you?" I mouthed the words as clearly as I could.

His eyes were quick and he understood what I was asking as if I'd said it aloud: "Did you just ask me who I am?"

The smile that curved his thin lips when I nodded was the most eerie sight I've ever witnessed. There was nothing human in that smile.

"To you, arrain txiki, I am God," he said, tracing a finger up and down my arm. His nail was gentle at first, but soon he was dragging it sharply across my skin. "I am the master of your fate and you belong to me in every sense of the word. Your life is in my hands and, if you wish to keep it, you must obey my every command."

I felt myself slipping back into the darkness with each word he spoke. I did not have the strength to comprehend all that he was saying to me.

But, before I could fade into unconsciousness, he began to touch me. I felt his teeth on my breasts and his fingernails on my skin. The last thing I felt was his fingers inside me. I went gratefully into the darkness and I prayed that I would never awaken again... Just as the sailor predicted.

I did, of course. I woke up for the second time to find that he was inside me, rutting wildly without a care as to the fact that I was unconscious. I let loose silent screams and tried to fight him but all my efforts earned me was a black eye.

Slowly, I learned things about where I was. We were aboard a ship and the men who crewed her belonged to no country or king. They attacked ships and settlements indiscriminately and they always left death and destruction in their wake.

I belonged to the captain but he hated me with the kind of vehemence I could not understand. He never told me what I did to him. He much rather enjoyed telling me what he had done and would do to me. Sometimes, when he attacked a settlement, he would take a woman prisoner and make me watch as he raped her and tortured her. He would tell me: "I did this to you too. Don't you remember? Go ahead, feel for the scars." Then he would kill her before my eyes and say: "Don't you wish you had it so easy?"

Shariyar read the page three times before he could fully comprehend the words written upon it. He could tell that it had been difficult for her to write — here and there the round imprint of a tear had smudged the ink.

He could barely keep his fingers steady as he placed the parchment on the table. Something that felt a great deal like guilt squirmed in the pit of his stomach. He quelled it immediately — what the girl had endured at the hands of another was not his concern.

++++++++

In the darkness of the dungeon chamber, Scheherazade searched for the bead she had sacrificed her dignity to save. She crawled on her hands and knees across the dirt floor, feeling every inch of the space before her with careful fingers.

Finally, her fingertips met with the smooth glass of the eye bead and she cried out in wonder as she held it in her hands, clasping it tenderly to her heart.

She fell asleep with the bead clutched firmly in her fist and did not awaken until the pangs of hunger brought her sharply into the realm of consciousness.

The girl waited in the darkness, naked and alone with only the sounds of her own growling stomach to break the monotony of the silence, for hours until, finally, she heard a key in the door. Light suddenly flooded the chamber and she squinted up at the figure that loomed in the doorway.

"Are you awake, gypsy?"

The king's voice resounded through the chamber.

"Yes," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"Are you well-rested?" He asked, his tone dark and mocking.

"No," the girl muttered. "I'm thirsty and I'm starving."

Shariyar was silent.

The girl's voice came out of the darkness once again: "You hurt me."

Shariyar grimaced at the accusation in her tone — his chest felt tight.

"If you want food, you will have to come with me," he said after a few moments' silence.

Scheherazade stood up and made her way to the stairwell slowly, keeping one palm against the rough wall at all times. With great effort, she ascended the stairs. Each step felt like a mountain. Stars appeared before her eyes as she finally reached the top of the stairs and her legs gave way beneath her.

Shariyar watched the girl intently — she was worse off than he had first thought. Her breathing grew laboured as she climbed the stairs. He saw the signs that she was about to faint just in time and he lunged forward, pulling her into his arms before she collapsed.

He held her for a moment without moving. His lungs were working wildly even though he had expended very little effort to keep her from falling. It was not exertion that set his pulse racing; no, it was fear. He pressed his head against her chest to ensure she was still alive and breathed a shaky sigh of relief when he heard her heart pounding steadily in her chest.

Suddenly he heard the sharp sound of glass upon stone. Shariyar watched as the blue bead escaped from the girl's limp fingers, rolling down the hall with unnatural slowness.

He glanced down at the unconscious girl and then back at the bead. Gently, he leaned her body against the wall and stood to chase the small piece of glass. He caught it between two fingers and held it up, admiring the deep blues and striking whites of its design for the briefest of moments. Then, all at once, he felt the weight of its unblinking gaze on his soul and quickly tucked it in his pocket.

Shariyar walked back to the girl's slumped figure and lifted her into his arms, carrying her lifeless body back to his room.

He laid her on the bed and, with warm cloths softly freed her body from the stains of his sins.

++++++++

Scheherazade woke the next morning to the heat of the sun on her limbs. She sat up slowly, trying to stop the world from swimming around her.

She slid off the bed and onto the floor, grateful for the cold, unmoving marble. Eventually, the world ceased swirling and she cast a furtive eye around the room.

A platter of food and pitchers of water awaited her at the table.

With what remained of her strength, Scheherazade pulled herself to her feet and staggered to the table. She sat down heavily and pulled a tumbler of water towards her, gulping the cool liquid straight from the pitcher.

She did not care that water spilled down her chin, nor did she care that the food stained her lips as she tore into the plates of meat and unleavened bread like an animal.

It was only when she was satiated that she realised Shariyar had left her something else — at the other end of the table lay a roll of parchment and a quill with ink.