نهضة || AL NAHDA

06

'And sometimes, golden fruit is birthed by a rotten tree'

What does one do when fate brings them face to face with the commander of the Kingdom that had stolen the lives of their parents?

Zainab's mind was a forest of unanswered question blanketed by thick fog. 

Waves rippled through her sight, a mumbling voice at the back of her mind reminded her to collect herbs for ointment and she acquiesced, staggering away. 

Shadows swam in her vision and, as she stumbled through the woods, an incessant pounding forced her to squeeze her eyes shut, her palm resting against the rough bark of the nearest tree. 

Her knees gave out under her and she slid to the ground, her back against the tree, her wounded arm cradled in her lap. Her head fell back against the tree and she let her eyes shutter, fighting a losing battle against the fever birthed from the infected wound on her arm and shoulder and fed by remnants of the poison from the arrow.

'Just for a bit' she told herself, before she let darkness pull her under.

She melted into the woods as though she were a shadow.

Asad walked through the woods, his path weaving through the moon kissed trees. 

His kingdom had fallen. 

He'd spent his life rebuilding it.

His parents had fallen.

He'd spent his life mourning them.

They were a memory he'd treasured, a souvenir from a gold dusted age he'd long outgrown, an anchor when life's waves were merciless.

At the tender age of ten, he was a kettle, the happiness bubbling out of him in loud laughter and quiet mischief. His small heart loved depthlessly, for, the family he grew up in nurtured that warmth in him.

Then they left and their absence was something fierce and aching. 

The love nurtured in the little boy had bloomed into anger in the blood of the commander. 

Stealing was bad, his parents had taught him.

The betrayal ten years ago stole the most beautiful parts of his life and, as his parents were lowered into the Earth's belly, he had sworn to exact revenge.

And so the war between Dilmunia and Abbasa had started. 

But did that revenge extend to her?

A storm raged within him, the winds of agitated confusion tossing his thoughts as though they were leaves caught in a gale. 

She was too young to have killed his parents, but did that exempt her from guilt?

She was still from the Kingdom of Dilmunia. 

He'd seen it's people on the battlefield- merciless and barbaric, treacherous and devious. It's army had no code of honor and he fought them for revenge and for their oppressiveness. 

But she did not fit the mould years of confrontation with his enemy had led him to make in his mind. She had a smile that rivaled the moon and a laugh like a summer song. She had looked to everyone's injuries while they were on the run.

'Injuries that aren't tended to stink' she'd said, a mischievous smile toying with her lips and laughter in her voice.  

She had talked freely, pulling their attention away from he dangers they were in, to mundane topics that somehow seemed interesting while they took small breaks every now and then.

It had been a week since they escaped the slavers, and, while they were still at a loss about where they were, none of them had caved to panic and desperation much to his admiration and an easy camaraderie had settled between them.

But the past week had threaded friendship between strangers, Abu Dharr's revelation of everyone's true identities was a change in the canvas and the painting didn't make sense anymore.

He had seen who the people he was traveling with were without the weight of their titles weighing down on them- who they were before life made them someone else.

And his mid was struggling to reconcile the people he'd grown to know with the reputations attached too them. 

The prince of hunters was someone he'd worked with, forming a surprisingly strong alliance with over written correspondence. He hunted criminals who escaped the law and brought justice to the poor against the powerful. As such, their motives had aligned often and their resources complemented each others'. 

But Asad had never known the man behind the mask.

The King of Assassins he knew. 

They shared bad blood.

He knew not of the existence of his daughter. 

Or that she was the betrothed of his ally.

The Shadow was the rebel princess and true heir of Dilmunia. 

Half of Abbasa's revenue went into financing the war between his kingdom and hers.

But wasn't the Shadow known for her resistance to Dilunia's regime?

Did that not give them a common enemy?

However that was no fodder for trust or alliance, was it...

With a weary sigh, he turned around, retracing his footsteps towards the camp.

'Did you see Zainab?' A wide eyed Sahar ran up to him, worry lining the brown of her irises.

'No, is she not here?' 

'We looked everywhere' Abu Dharr said coming up to them with Faris at his side, the latter slipping a comforting arm around his betrothed 'she isn't here'

'What do you mean she isn't here?' Asad's voice took on a sharper edge. 

Abu Dharr looked at him with an evaluation expression while concern for the girl who'd fed the spirits of a group of escapees ate away at his mind.

'Let's split up and search the forest' Abu Dharr said, his voice placating and calm 'Mark your path and return to our campsite if you find her or if you think she is not where you are looking. Despite who we might be in the world outside, we might not have survived our injuries and our morales might not have survived this journey were it not for her. We have unveiled our true selves in this entourage and our newfound knowledge of who we are outside these woods should not change that. The past is not set in stone, perhaps there is truth to be uncovered here' 

The older man's dark eyes settled on Asad as he finished his monologue and, despite the cacophony of thoughts in his mind, the words resonated, echoing faintly. 

The past is not set in stone, perhaps there is truth to be uncovered here.