Sanctuary

Theophile entered the sick house at dawn, intending to check on Elldin and gage the extent of the man's healing. His ability to speak would spell doom for Rana, that much was now plain. As Theo explored the terrible neck wounds, now webbed over with pale new flesh grown slowly under his ministrations and ointments, he could see the teeth marks. The one slightly elevated incisor, a crooked pattern. Distinctive. Rana did not like to be touched. Rana bit when she was touched.

Theo glanced at his own bite mark, and with his hand measured the span of the wound. Then moved his hand down to the throat of the fitfully sleeping man on the pallet before him. It was the same size. And the same elevated incisor, on the right side. There could be no doubt.

"Christ, have mercy on this poor child." He whispered. Elldin's eyes flickered, and opened. He made a croaking sound, trying to speak. Theo shook his head and quieted him, blue eyes stern.

"No, not yet. Don't try to speak yet. You will further damage yourself and I've already spent valuable time and resources on you." His voice sounded tired, a little sharp, but after all the horrors of the preceding months and weeks and days, it was difficult at times to maintain a proper bedside manner. He sighed, and turned to dip a clean cloth into a basin of well water, dabbing at the injured man's sweaty forehead.

"You and I both know that a dog did not attack you. Dogs do not climb walls." Theo watched the man's face for anything, some flicker of comprehension. But Elldin's eyes were still a little vacant. He did not respond. Nor did Theophile expect him to. But it would not be long. Andris and Sabiha were right to fear this man, and the fallout that would surely come when Rand discovered that the little escaped slave was also capable of such savagery. Elldin was a depraved and stupid man who took delight in the torment of those weaker than he, Theo knew this. But Rand found him to be a loyal and stalwart soldier. Had even made him a knight. Sad, the way the word had been diminished in meaning to the point where a man such as Rand could rise to power through his friendship with the vicious Renald de Chatillion. That Rand could then raise a man such as Elldin in status. Sad, that this world in which Theo once felt such hope was fast disintegrating all around him, every noble ideal faltering in the harsh light of reality.
He washed his hands now, and again between each patient. Outside the sun was rising, just barely lighting the sky with warm colors of rose and gold and dark orange. Theo rubbed his forehead, looking out the stone window at that sky. Gold as the shimmer in the runaway slave's dark eyes. In a world of predators and madmen, she alone seemed still soft and innocent.

"Theo? She's awake again. And speaking more coherently." It was Sabiha, standing in the doorway with the light rising behind her. She too looked tired and worried. Her eyes flicked to Elldin, who was asleep again.

"Is he…"

Theo shook his head, drawing a deep breath. "Not yet. But it will not be long, I believe. Whatever plan it is that you and Andris are forming as to the relocation of the girl, it had best be put into play soon. There is no time."

"We may have one. There is a name she remembers. I believe it may be her mother's name. And a place, a mosque in Damascus that is very small, in the shadow of a mountain. We could find this place. If it was a haven for her in the past, there is hope that it will be a haven for her now, when she needs it most. By God and Christ, Theo, it is all the hope there is. We will not suffer her to be packed off to the convent, as you suggested."

"I know, Sabiha. I know. Very well, if there is a place that you think Andris can find…"

Her face hardened, catching his implication immediately. "Andris and I, you mean. He will need help!"

"No, Sabiha. Your father would send soldiers after you, and you know he would. You would do Rana more harm than good if you accompanied her. And I cannot leave my post. Andris must go alone, there is none other we can trust."

"It's not your place to tell me this, Theo. My father rarely sends for me. Especially when he is busy sulking over some impending doom. The knowledge that there is a siege around Kerak will distract his attention. And it is barely a day's ride to Damascus from here, if we took swift horses and did not linger. I will not be dissuaded. Where Andris goes, I wish to go."

Theo looked up at that, tilting his head.

"You love him."

Sabiha fingered the dagger on her belt, looking away. Avoiding the question. "We're running out of time. Over a thousand soldiers took our city recently. And the larger army of six thousand Saracens are on the move to the west of us. That dog in the bed there," she gestured to Elldin, the dagger in her hand, "Will be able to speak soon. We are between Rana's tormentors on one side and her prospective tormentors on the other. Theo, I'm going. Within the hour. But I want you to speak to her first to make certain that she is fit to travel. We do not yet know the exact location of the place we seek, it may be that the sight of the land will jar her memory. When we reach Damascus, God will guide us."

"Will he then." Theophile straightened, and lay aside the clean linen with which he'd been drying his hands. "Very well. I know you when you get like this. Take my horse, and as you said do not linger. What name did she speak?"

They left the sick house together, heading to Sabiha's quarters, where Andris knelt on the floor beside Rana and held her small hand, coaxing her to eat a little meat and bread.

"Only one name." Sabiha looked off toward the north, to the distant hills and the lands beyond, toward Damascus, and the only oasis of safety into which they could release their newfound friend. "Mama Jamila."

Mullah Khaled's gentle mare was tiring, he'd pushed her too hard. And truth be told, he needed to pause long enough to catch his breath as well. What in the name of Allah was he doing? Worry for Rana wrenched his heart, but he knew this was a long shot at best. The desert swallowed so many, men and women and children. Even entire tribes, even armies. And they lay beneath the sands and sank into the belly of the world and were not seen again. He had rushed off to keep Nasir from doing so. Without even telling his new wife, without even telling the Sultan. The actions of a fool. But an honest fool who did not intend to return empty handed.

He followed the path of the moon until it set, and then on to dawn into the cool blackness lit only by stars. There were two keeps nearby, lands of powerful Christian lords who may have taken in a small, wandering Muslima for potential gain or some darker purpose. The Sultan had intended to send riders to them. He hoped that Nasir would have the intelligence to halt them before they could come forth and alarm the lords. William of Ussaron still held his lands. Rand of Aubrin had lost his keep, the oasis there being necessary for the war effort. It was to Ussaron that Khaled aimed for first, knowing that the survivors of the Aubrin sacking had moved to the north, to a small cluster of farms. They were in no position to bring in wanderers. If he rode hard again, after letting Adiba rest and take some water from the skin at his waist. He held it up for her, and poured some into her dry mouth. The nearest water source lay in Ussaron, he would properly water her there.

"What are we doing here, tifla? My girl." He patted the horse's neck fondly, looking out over the wasteland. "I wish you had wings. I have married a Houri, it is only fitting that I ride a Buraq." He allowed himself this small blasphemy for a moment only, but shook off the light hearted thought immediately and took a drink of water himself. Cool sand swirled about the hem of the black robes he wore, sand that was even now heating. A fool's errand, perhaps, but one he undertook gladly for the girl that his king loved, and his friend. Let these men work out between themselves how best to proceed. His own way was clear, and for that he was grateful.

It would be two hours to Ussaron. He would speak with William. He would offer what he could in exchange for Rana's return. And if she was not there, he would go to the ragged band of survivors that comprised Rand's people. They would not welcome him, emissary of their conqueror. But they would have to. He would not be turned away without information, or Rana. And if he met with threat or resistance, he would withdraw and return with a hundred men. There would be no tolerance or quarter given to friends of Renald de Chatillion. But first, courtesy and gentle words. Not from a messenger with no care for one slave, but from a holy man who knew the tricks of speech that could loosen a reluctant foe's tongue.

And with any luck or blessing, he would be back in his wife's arms before the death of the Leper King, and the bloodbath that was sure to follow.

Far behind him, the camp was stirring. Aisha slipped from the tent of her master and into the Sultan's to prepare tea and breakfast, which he would not touch. Khaled, eyes red from weeping, rose from his bunk where he had lain sleepless, and moved out into the light to find Zainab. Her husband's absence would need to be explained. Salahuddin sat in his chair, watching Aisha move timidly about the room in the halflight. It was a time of waiting, and he hated waiting. The armies would withdraw, as he had promised Baldwin, but not too far. He had seen with his own eyes the stiff way the sick man sat in his saddle. Had heard the physicians' report back after they saw him themselves, and he knew the terrible truth. The king whom he respected so much was dying. It would not be long. Nasir had advocated waiting for the Christians to make a foolish move, for he knew as well as the Sultan that the son of Sibylla, sister to the king, would not long be able to hold the throne when the death of Baldwin compelled the people to crown him. Not with the murderous evil of her husband lurking in the background. Always, Salahuddin knew that there would come a day when he and Guy de Lusignan would meet on the field of battle. And he knew it would be unpleasant. The man was not a king, he was a fool. But a deadly one.

Aisha came shyly to kneel at his feet, her head bowed, and he sighed in suppressed irritation. It was not that he was angry with the girl. He could not be cross with so cringing and pathetic a figure. But her very presence was a painful reminder of the absence of Rana. And the meddling of Nasir.

"Is there anything else my lord requires of me?" her voice was soft and breathless. He glanced at her, rubbing his temple. And it was then that he saw the bruises on her thin neck. The way she flinched when he so much as moved. Again, as he had before, he felt the guilt of this young girl's situation sting in his heart. Sending her back to her master Yasan now would only allow the man to misuse her once more. Salahuddin, even in his misery, was nevertheless merciful.

"You may clean my armor, child. And when you have finished, I wonder if you would be so kind as to read to me."

At this, she seemed to shrink.

"I….."

Of course Yasan would not have taught her to read. He rose to his feet and fetched the Qu'ran from its place of honor on the table, bringing it to her. Then he drew over a second chair, and she trembled with disbelief and nervousness when his hand on her arm bade her to rise and sit. As though she were important, and not merely a thing to be used.
"The Prophet, peace be upon him, believed in the education of women. And so you shall learn to read."

He opened the book to the very first page, and placed it in the girl's shaking hands, then sat down in the chair beside her. It was as it had been with Rana, when she was very small and Mullah Khaled taught her the alphabet, how to draw the complex letters that flowed into one another like streams joining some great river of words. There were times when the Mullah was called away on some business or other, and he, Salahuddin, would himself sit with the fierce young girl with the thirst for learning, and he showed her how to read, the sounds the words made, the poetry on her lips bringing a shine to her eyes and roses to her cheeks.

Poetry on lips he had kissed. Shining eyes that had stared into his with agony and love when he rejected her. Cheeks that he last saw wet with tears.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then drew a deep breath and placed his calloused finger beneath the first word.

"It is 'Bismillah', Aisha. This is the first word of the Qu'ran. In the name of Allah. This passage is important. It is the Fatiha, the Opening, the beginning of all prayers and the first words you shall learn."

Aisha had never dreamed that she would be permitted to learn how to read. Deep within her broken, dark, pain-filled spirit, a tiny spark kindled to life. And her brown eyes fixed on the flourishes that covered the page the Sultan held before her. It was alright. He was the ultimate ruler of their people, and Yasan her master could not beat her for doing as he asked. This was permission to grow, a permission that Rana knew and was comfortable with, but that Aisha had never before glimpsed before. In a small, tremulous voice, she whispered…"Bismillah."

"Very good. Here is a pen. And here is ink, and paper. Write this word carefully, copy it until you can write it with perfection. I will show you to take it apart, to look at each letter and to learn its sound."

Tears filled her eyes, and she dared to look up into her king's stern face.

"May Allah bless you in this life and the next, my lord."

Salahuddin did not respond, but he looked into her eyes as well for a moment. And he nodded.

There was only one blessing he desired in all the world. The return of Jerusalem to his people. But if Allah the Benevolent, the Merciful would grant him but one more boon, he dearly wished to see the tent flap twitch, and a small figure stumble through with her hair spilling from her hijab. Smiling.

Andris had saddled the horses, and Rana was gingerly eased up to sit before Sabiha on Theo's sturdy gelding. She was still pale, and weak from blood loss and the injury to her head. Confused thoughts swirled like dust demons through her mind, faces emerged from the darkness of memory and receded once more. She had to be somewhere. Something was happening, the sun was rising and there was some duty that compelled her to look to the east. She ran the tip of her tongue across a wound, healing, on the inside of her lip, and shivered. When she closed her eyes, there floated a brown-blue-green gaze on the periphery of understanding, and the taste of blood and tears on her tongue. Soft words barely remembered in her ears.

"The man...who will be your husband..."

Closing her eyes, leaning back against Sabiha as the horse began to move, Theo raising his hand in bittersweet farewell, Rana clung to the mane of the rugged beast and gave herself to whatever lay ahead.

"Rest if you can, Rana," Sabiha was telling her kindly, and the daughter of Rand de Aubrin covered her face with a white linen cloth and pinned it there, keeping out the dust and sand. Beside her, ever faithful and protective and solidly present, Andris drew his mount close to her flank and they turned toward the north.

"We will soon bring you to Damascus, to the small place you remember, and if it is a safe place then we will find this Jamila and hide you there."

"It's risky," Andris said in a low voice as they rode off, "Damascus is also the stronghold of the Saracens."

Sabiha nodded grimly, and touched the dagger at her waist.

"Believe me, Andris. I know."