~Sha-Un~
19:22 Nov 15 2006
Times Read: 548
The girl, garbed in the silken layers of the Hareem, padded softly across the polished ivory floor and kow-towed respectfully to the regal man before her. His back was to her as he gazed serenely from the large opening that functioned both as a window and doorway across the glittering sea. The girl waited patiently, not making a sound, not daring to move until she had been noticed as was proper of all Shiani females. He turned when he heard the honor guards close the heavily embossed doors to his inner sanctum and he looked down at the pile of pastel silk and beading at his feet. He smiled benignly, a smile that would have been doting if the sight of her had been able to dredge up any pleasant memories. But there was none, and he saw only another of his subjects.
"Can this be my little Sha-Un?" Grand Sheikh Dybhaidh asked kindly, his voice signaling to Sha-Un to stand.
Sha-Un stood and gazed upon her king, any hint of resentment veiled from him by the opaque scarves that shielded her face. He was tall, as befitted a Shiani royal, but his advanced age had made him thinner than was perhaps wise. Even the richly embroidered blue and gold robes he wore could not hide the emaciation of his frame. His black eyes were hollowed and purple-rimmed, with a fine network of wrinkles spreading out from each corner. The incredibly high cheeks were sunken, the lips thinned to almost non-existence. A slender neck with tendons and veins showing alarmingly seemed too weak to support the large sun-rayed headdress that was his mark of office. But his spirit was stronger than his body, and his mind as ever sharp. Despite his advanced age and his apparent weakened state, he was still an able leader, still commanded the obedience of his nobles. Sha-Un suspected it would be so to his death.
"Remove your veil," he lightly commanded with an absent wave of his thin hand. "My daughters have no need to hide from me."
Sha-Un did, revealing a face as delicate as any Shiani's, but it's complexion reflecting the northern tint of her maternal heritage.
Dybhaidh's smile, if possible, became even more benign as he gazed at his offspring. "You have the face of your mother," he remarked with gentleness.
Sha-Un fought the derisive snort that threatened. She doubted he even knew which of his dozen concubines had bred her, except that it was obviously a foreign bride. The compliment was empty. Even her name was probably fed to him by a messenger rather than his own memory. Some lowly vizier who kept careful records of all the king's many children.
Though she tried to keep her face blank, some reflection in her eyes must have betrayed her for he continued, "Do not think because I do not dote on my daughters that I do not know each of you. Your mother was Giladae, the generous offering of the Lexis king. One of his own daughters." Dybhaidh smiled at the remembrance of the delicate pale beauty from the wooded glens of Glendal who had given his eyes pleasure but kept her warmth to herself. He had missed her solemn shadow about the palace these past three years. There had been something calming about the sad and aloof princess.
He sighed and brought his mind back to the present. "It is all in the past," he remarked to himself, confusing the quiet girl before him. "I have summoned you here to tell you of your future."
Uneasiness swelled in Sha-Un's chest. Any discussion about her future could mean only one thing: marriage. Sha-Un was the lowest class of Princess, little more than a slave in her father's palace. Her mother had been his least favored wife. The least called to his bedchamber. The least invited to dine with him. Sha-Un, as the product of such an unnoticed wife and a mere female had been given the bottom rung on the royal hierarchical ladder. As such, any marriage would be just as low. To a noble, she had no doubt. After all, she was still a Princess. But to a low noble, perhaps a second son or one of little wealth or holdings. One who had fallen out of favor with the king, or one who desperately wanted to command some by bedding the best princess he could afford. No matter which way the river turned, it would take her somewhere she did not want to go. Being a slave in her father's palace was infinitely better than being a pleasure slave to a forgotten noble.
Sha-Un ached to rail at her father, to denounce the unfairness of it, to demand she be given a choice. To speak out of turn was a crime among the women of Shenoa, and most were beaten for it. To argue against the wishes of their men punishable by flagation. And if she were to refuse his choice in suitor, by law he could have her stoned. Still, she was willing to risk a few bruises and a missed meal or two to have a hand in this. She prayed only that he would forgive her.
Supplication being drilled into her since birth to where it was second nature, Sha-Un dropped to the floor, her nose against the cold stone, and asked, "Please, My Lord, my father whom I honor above all others. Who have you chosen to be my honored husband, whom I shall obey and strive to please as faithfully as I have you?"
To her surprise, she was not kicked, nor were harsh words rained upon her. Instead, gentle but firm hands grasped her arms and guided her to her feet. Her father looked down on her for the first time in genuine fondness.
"All the spirit your mother possessed but would not give, she has passed into you," he said, betraying the affection he still held for her departed mother. "She was a proud woman, strong of spirit. She could not break the marriage to me, nor could she ever return to the home she loved. But she defied me still. Defied me in the only way she could. She would not love me." A shadow darkened the old king's eyes. Shadows of emotions ignored and unrequited.
An unfathomable realization dawned on Sha-Un, a peek into an impossible past. "Did you love her?" she asked in awe. Love was an emotion for fairy tales and naive little girls. It did not exist in Shenoan society. Men rarely chose their own wives, and only to better their station. Women never had a say in what men would control them, and adultery by anyone was a killing offense. In a world driven by greed and ambition, such a weak and unpredictable thing as love was forbidden.
The Sheikh turned away at the query and gazed once more across the ever present sea. "Did I love her?" he repeated to himself, melancholic. "Does one love a beautiful rose? Does an artist cling desperately to the sculpture he has created? Does a man love a finely cut gem simply for its perfection?" The sorrowfulness of his voice caused Sha-Un's eyes to glisten wetly, to make her throat ache with the tide of unreleased emotion.
"No. I did not love her," he answered finally, and Sha-Un swallowed back her tears. "You cannot love something that gives nothing of itself back. Nothing. Not a kind word, not a gentle touch. Not a flicker of a smile. I admired her. I adored her. I worshiped her. And the only time she ever repaid me for my endless affections was when she gave me you."
Sha-Un raised her head and looked into the dark eyes of her father. Could it be he loved her, the lowly daughter of an unrespected dead wife? The reflection of the cold foreign woman who had refused to give him the only thing he truly desired? She had never been in her father's presence for so long before, had never heard him speak so. There was a bond between them now, a bond her little girl's heart, too long denied her sire's recognition, sorely desired. But she was not a little girl any longer, and the time for bonding had passed years ago.
In the pause that followed, Sha-Un repeated her earlier question. "Who have you chosen for me, Father?"
With a weary sigh, Dybhaidh guided her to the one chair in the sparse room and gestured for her to kneel at his feet while he eased his frame into the thinly cushioned chair. The letting down of his emotional guard had left him feeling weak, his head too heavy, his legs too soft.
"Ah, of course," he began, running his hands across the soft silk of Sha-Un's headdress absently. "Mihas Cheyzuan, High Chancellor of Immi. A young man with only four wives, all older than him," he added lightly. "You are sure to catch his interest quite frequently."
Sha-Un's hopes for a decent husband fluttered and died. His choice was of surprisingly high rank, and she would not be First Wife. She would be Fifth Wife, and only another prize for his collection. His station was even too high for her to gain favor through gratitude. She would be used and forgotten, forced to wait upon the higher ranking women and their children like a common drudge. She lowered her head in defeat.
"When am I to be sent to the High Chancellor?" she asked solemnly, silently praying for a few months yet in which to cherish her home. Her prayers were not answered.
"In two days time," the Sheikh answered, his voice once again regaining strength and composure. "Men are already making ready for the journey. You may go now, and see your own servants do the same."
Sha-Un rose and replaced the colored scarves to hide her face from anyone she might pass in the corridors. As an act of respect, she knelt before her father one last time and kissed the heavy gold ring of his right hand through the cloth. She had never done such an action in her life, but she felt with certainty that this was the last time she would see her father for some time to come.
She pulled the bell rope next to the large double doors to signal to the guard outside that she had been dismissed. As soon as they were opened wide enough to let her slim form through, she slipped between them and hurried to the harem she shared with the other unmarried females of the Sheikh's household, to the arms of her devoted ayah.
The vizier just outside the door remained bowed until the princess had rushed passed, not even honoring him with so much as a glance. Few ever did, for he was quiet and dignified and spoke only when necessary. When the girl was gone, her slippered feet moving swiftly and silently through the ivory halls, the vizier straightened and advanced into the room. He bowed again to his lord where he remained in the elegantly carved chair, head resting heavily in one age-thinned hand.
"My Lord," the vizier began, glancing needlessly at the sheaf of papers in his hand. "The wedding gifts for Chancellor Cheyzuan are ready and have been loaded unto the ship." The vizier waited for a sign of acknowledgment, but his lord remained still. He wondered if perhaps the old Sheikh had suddenly fallen ill. With a tentative step forward, he asked, "My Lord? Are you well?"
"Must it be Sha-Un, Yrjo?" Dybhaidh asked without raising his head. "The only one who is not jaded by the indolent excesses of her station. The only one who can look me in the eye and not flinch from my stare."
"My Lord, she is the only daughter of a marriageable age not already promised to another," Yrjo answered reasonably. "There was no other choice."
"Could you not send him another? Send Mae-Ka. She would be happy anywhere."
"Sire, Mae-Ka is First Wife's youngest daughter. She is destined for a higher suitor than a chancellor."
"But Sha-Un is destined for a greater life than Mihas can give her," Dybhaidh quietly argued, feeling it as surely as if the gods had shown him the future. "She is not the kind of woman who can bow to a man for very long."
"She is but a woman, My Lord," Yrjo stated with infinite wisdom. "Her destiny is what we give her."
Dybhaidh raised his head up sharply, staring at the man before him. He saw not only a sanctimonious advisor but the representation of his people.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice full of doubt. How arrogant and narrow minded to think mortal men could indefinitely control a living spirit. One day, these men would wake to learn all their wives no longer served them, all their daughters no longer honored them, that they were alone and miserable.
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