QAIS

Chapter 40: A Pint of Innocence

Either side of the royal cemetery was lined by opulent gardens with magnificent mausoleums and stately tombs. The final resting places of monarchs and their families was marked by intricate scriptures and regal insignia, exuding an aura of grandeur and legacy.

The black M5 passed by the two new mausoleums, the latest addition to the scenic graveyard courtesy of Qais. But right now he was not there to offer his prayers to his late victims.

As his car traversed through the road farther into the cemetery his heart grew heavier the longer he gazed at the familiar place until a sudden Stop from his mouth had Pasha pull the car to a halt.

The butler followed his gaze to the side of the road where a little dirt path was carved amid overgrown taxus trees and wild junipers. It took him a moment to recognize the place.

This is where the other graves were. The graves of staffs and servants. The graves of less importance, if such a thing were to be graded by some odd scale. The graves that weren't guarded by jeweled rails and fragrant flowers, nor carved by the greatest memorial masons of the country. Graves that had to make their own wildflowers, and depend on themselves for prayers.

Qais felt a tug in his feet towards there, as if the soil itself had called out to him. Leaving behind the graves of the royals he walked to the more familiar one.

In a corner there, still separate from the others, lied a lone dirt-ridden grave. Only an empty headstone any indication of its presence. There was no name to it but he knew it by the shapes and dents of the stone. He knew every little chip in its surface even though it had weathered away in all these years. He felt his knees weaken the closer he went to it, not a speck of strength left in them as he knelt in front of it.

A loud wavering breath escaped him as if he had been suffocating underwater all this time. As if this is where the air to his lungs lied. His trembling fingers fisted the dirt in it, the insignia on his signet ring disappearing beneath the soil. The soil clung to his fingers, as if to dry the blood he had stained them with over the years.

It was an odd feeling that encompassed him. He couldn't call it love, nor could he call it hate. But he was tethered to it by blood and flesh. Whatever he was, and whatever he wasn't, somehow it all circled back the the inhabitant of this grave. 

He didn't know how long he had been there with his head bowed and mind devoid of the world around him. He didn't even notice the noise of the car roaring in the distance, or the sound of footsteps treading towards him.

"Qais..."

The doleful blues snapped at the familiar voice. His jaw clenched just a little harder, the vulnerable reddened streaks in his eyes pulsing with chagrin instead.

"Doctor Yasmin told me you're leaving." It was Advisor Waliyuddin. He had been observing the boy for quite a while before he decided to speak. "I figured you'd come stop by here"

"I don't know how to pray."

The older man frowned at the unexpected statement. "What?"

"I don't know how to pray." He repeated louder, deep voice wavering with abashment.

He turned around and complained like a child who had been betrayed by his closest, "Aren't fathers supposed to teach you that?"

Waliyuddin felt a weight settle in his chest at the rueful look of those blues. "You were taught more important things than that."

"Like killing people?" Qais chuckled dryly, the dying sun glimpsing in the overfilled waters of his ocean.

Waliyuddin's glare hardened. "Like serving your country."