The Desert Falcon

Chapter 1, Falcon's Perch

515 BCE Persian Empire

My brother, Rahim, peered anxiously at our father, bedridden with a sickness that I was not accustomed to seeing him afflicted with. His face was coated in a sheen of sweat and he appeared thinner than when I had last seen him.

"Is father going to be alright, Zeynab?" my brother inquired nervously, as our father groaned in some kind of pain. His breathing grew labored and I feared he was going to succumb to whatever fever this was. I placed the cool compress on his head, gently wiping away the sweat that clung to his overheated skin.  Uncertainty over my father's health ravaged through me, but I remained composed, strongly willful that he would regain his strength. 

Rahim was only thirteen to my twenty-three. Our aunt had given birth to him, but did not wish to care for him. My father took him in and for all intents and purposes, he was my brother. We resided in the town of Tazim where luckily, most did not question the large age gap between my brother and I. In our day and age it was unbecoming of a woman to abandon her own son. My father's fondness for my aunt did not allow him to bring shame to her. He had always doted on her after our grandparents' passing and since then our aunt has known no such discipline.

"I do not know," I sighed, apprehension laced in my tone. "All we can do is pray to Allah for now."

Rahim remained unconvinced of my words. He knew whenever I referred to the merciful one, it meant I truly had no answer and was simply placating his worries. While any other elder would balk at the casual mention of the merciful one in such a superficial manner, lacking faith in his ability to heal our father, our father was quite unorthodox in our religious upbringing, allowing us to follow our own religious path. My mind was too focused on other things, however, to worry much about following the teachings of the Qur'an.

Our family was not well off by any means. My father was a scholar at the university. His living came from the wealth of the baron's and wealthy merchant's progeny. Women were excluded from the education that took place, but that did not stop my father nor I from advancing my own education. My father taught arithmetic and writing. He saw no reason to restrict me from undergoing the same level of training.  I was already working to earn a living anyway.

In the Kingdom of Maghreb, a powerful Sheikhdom of the Persian Empire, education of women was expressly forbidden. It was seen as unholy, a woman's place only in the home, birthing children, unless they were kidnapped or forced to serve in a sheikh's harem. My father did not find this particularly logical, nor did I and our lessons were primarily kept in secret.  I held the conviction that he could not educate his children more than he could stop the involuntarily act of consuming air.  His life was such that he maintained the absolute conviction that if one was able, he had the obligation and responsibility to help his fellow men. And question hsi very existence.  This was due in part to the scholars who constantly engaged in the pedagogy of the Qu'ran's teachings. 

Withdrawing from my musings, Rahim was beginning to show signs of becoming a man. He pressed towards me, frustration lining his features and said, "What should we do? We cannot linger here and watch him die."

"I do not know," I said, feeling the anxiety of the past several days twisting in my abdomen.  I was thankful my father's condition had stabilized, for he did not show signs of further deterioration.  However, there was little improvement in his health that I could observe, nor did the color of his pallor return. "He needs a physician," I finally admitted. I knew it was not easy for me to admit such a thing, but it has come to a point where I recognized that I needed outside assistance. 

"I can fetch the one in our hospitals here," Rahim said, nearly getting up ready to head out.  He was eager to be useful.  After all, my father was his own.