Mikhail and Ahmed

MIKHAIL II

*The House in the Cerulean Sea is another Queer story that I loved and want to highlight. 

This chapter is *lightly* edited. Emphasis on *light*

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Several minutes pass with no more additions to the palace floor. We are all here, we have all been located, brought out and sequestered in the one room. We all sense the stillness, the suspense of waiting for our fate. Even the soldiers gathered around us have stopped moving. They are still waiting for the order. To slaughter or enslave us. I don't know.

Then we sense movement once again coming from behind us. Two more soldiers enter and escort someone who seems as lost and terrified as the rest of us. He is brought around to the front of the hall, mere steps from the king's throne, surveying us as he circumnavigates us. He looks frail and middle aged. His robes are neat yet humble. As he nears the front, I see the gold twine rope tied around his garments, signifying his place among the royal scholars. He is a man of learning.

The grave man from before steps up to the newcomer and speaks to him in this language that I forgot I knew. Slowly the comprehension settles into me and my brain works hard to digest and translate in my troubled state. My effort soon proves unnecessary. The scribe speaks to us in our Damascan tongue. "Prince Ahmed of the Jasmine City would like your attention." Pointless words, for we were all speechless and hanging onto his every breath. Prince Ahmed. The name and title rings in my head. Jasmine City. The realization clicks into place.

I can feel my heart pound as if this is all there's left, the last moments of my life. Ilena once again unconsciously reaches for me. She rests her hand on my own and I become nauseous from the contact but I cannot bring myself to move away. Not if these will be our last seconds together. I won't cut off her affection no matter how uneasy I am with it.

Prince Ahmed speaks again and it seems as a collective that we have all stopped breathing. The scribe-translator now speaks. "You are all to remove your servant cuffs; you will no longer be needing them." I look down at my wrists, my stomach dropping. I will myself to move but it all feels too final. It seems as if everything I ever was flashes before my eyes. My brief, captive life, gone in one instant. I am not the only one who grapples with the task. He might as well have asked us to undress ourselves and lay down in our own graves.

The Prince witnesses our collective stillness and impatiently walks up to our group. He kneels down to a young woman I recognize as working in the wash rooms. She trembles and looks away from his intimidating figure. He takes her arm and then her wrist. He seizes the cuff and gently works it up past her fingers. It clatters to the floor and her crying stops. He does the same to the other arm, which she offers to him more willingly. She caresses her naked wrists and lays them back into her lap. Slowly, we follow her lead.

Prince Ahmed stands and speaks again. "From this moment on, you are no longer servants of Damascan," the translator dictates. "King Edmund is dead." A collective gasp rings out among the group. "You will leave here equipped with wages from the treasury sufficient enough to last you six months. Enough time to move on, start over, and start a new life."

My heart stirs for a different reason. I cannot seem to fathom what I am hearing. "If you wish to stay on and serve us during the transition of power, you are free to do so. We will compensate you for your efforts. You are free to choose."

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By late afternoon with numb limbs and shocked senses Ilena and I file out of the castle. We are joined by dozens of our former fellow servants who also exit with shaky steps and stunned expressions, distant looks. I carry a pouch filled with several silver coins. It is the first time in my twenty one years of living that I am in this close proximity to riches of this nature Ilena carries a bag with identical contents including food rations from the kitchen. Everyone who left was given this gift. The invaders kept their word, compensating us and setting us free.

The afternoon sun feels surreally bright and imposing. Each step feels heavy and uncertain. I feel as though this is too good to be true. I feel as though a string tied around my waist will eventually grow taut, anchoring me to the spot, to this place, preventing me from going a step further from the castle. The both of us are silent as we walk into the city, eyeing the destruction around us.

Already we've encountered countless dead soldiers lining the streets. A body occasionally being shifted by a citizen or a sentry invader. A few women and parents wail near the bodies of the soldiers. And as our company enters the main road all of the attention falls upon us. Every sentiment of grief, confusion, loss, anger, and blame is sent our way and we encounter one unforgiving stare after another.

We are bruised and disheveled and teeming with confusion. Our presence in the town brings about a fresh wave of intense emotion. Soon the queries come and the shouting begins. Traitors, they call us. Rebel slaves. A few ask why their relatives have been killed for the sake of freeing people as low as us?

We walk on as the attention grows. Finally the fresh mourners have someone defenseless to land their blame upon. The presence of the sentries keeps the rousing mob at bay. They cut quick anxious looks at the armed guards and think twice about approaching us with violent intentions. Eventually the group of us that left the castle peels off in small groups and even as individuals. Heading to relatives' homes--for those from here who were former debt prisoners--and inns--for those who hail from other places and had the misfortune to be captured and brought here. I keep close to Ilena and she directs me to her family's home, a place she had not seen in years. I have nowhere else to go. I stick by her.

With each step we take, bringing us closer to this new life, I am filled with anticipation and uncertainty  What will our new lives look like? Is there a place for us among a community so hostile. I walk along completely dissociating and I wonder when the events of the day will sink in and finally feel real. 

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Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! 

How do you feel about the denseness of the language?