The past three months had wrought huge changes, both physical and emotional, in the brothers, and no one had noticed the differences more than Asima. She had begun to spend more time with them again these days and passed many hours sitting in the shelter of their small room while her father, intent on some business errand or other, merrily presumed her to be in her room, reading and playing.
She lay on the floor on a thick blanket, her head cradled on Samir’s crossed ankles. The smaller brother had changed the most. The physical training and exercise that their uncle was putting them through had bulked Samir out. Where he had been small and reed-like, now his muscles rippled beneath his shirt sleeves. He could lift Asima from the floor by one hand without breaking a sweat. He was toned and at the peak of his physical fitness. If rooftop chases had still held any interest for the three of them, Asima was sure that Samir would be unreachable.
But the greater change was in the boy himself. Something had changed in Samir’s soul. It was as though a candle in his heart had been snuffed.
Oh, he was still a loving and charming person, and many candles still burned within him, but occasionally, when caught off guard, she could see the effect of that one light that had vanished. There was a shadow that haunted him sometimes. To begin with, she had feared this change in Samir and recoiled deeper than ever into Ghassan’s arms. But then one evening, when she had seen Samir alone, she had seen that darkness cloud his eyes and, on an impulse, she had clutched him and held him so tight that she felt him gasp. As she looked up, she saw those shadows melt away and a light, stronger than ever, shone from within those sparkling eyes.
And that was it. She knew now that only she could heal whatever had broken inside Samir. They never spoke of it but, when he needed her, she made sure she was always there.
She looked across at Ghassan, who sat smiling at them, and she was sure his smile was false. The larger brother had become powerful indeed. They were approaching ten years of age now, but Ghassan was already a physical match for most of the men of M’Dahz. Indeed, he was already taller than some of the foreign merchants from the north, and yet his impressive physique was tempered now with a gentleness and humility. He often deferred to Samir when choices were made and seemed, at times, almost to be in awe of his brother.
Strange changes, indeed. But there had been changes in Asima too. Ghassan had held everything she needed; still did. There was nothing she could look for in a boy that she would not find in Ghassan. And yet the darkness within Samir fascinated and pulled at her and she found herself more often in Samir’s arms that those of the taller brother these days.
And Ghassan must recognise that. It must sadden him. And yet he said nothing and merely watched them both with a fraternal smile.
It was a warm evening, and the breeze had died down just before dusk, leaving a cloying stillness that hung in the air as though the world held its breath. The faintest streaks of pink and azure hung in the west as the sun journeyed to the underworld for the night, where it would be renewed by the hammer and forge of the fire God. Soon, the boys would be called down for their evening meal, once Faraj had returned from his duties, and Asima really should go, although recently the boys’ mother had become aware of her evening visits and, while raising the occasional meaningful eyebrow at her, had kept remarkably silent on the subject.
So she would probably wait here while dinner was prepared and, as was now often the case, Nadia would set out the meals and then call to the girl she knew was lurking upstairs. She would have automatically set a spare place for Asima. With the extra income Faraj brought into the household, they now ate well and could afford a little generosity. And her own father was so busy trying to keep his business afloat in what he kept referring to as ‘the turbulent climate’ that he often forgot to feed them, and they had to rely on a late supper of salad and cold meat.
Faraj would be weary but pleasant. He always finished late, as there was ever much to do in the port district. He…
She blinked as she heard the door open. Faraj was early?
“Nadia? Children?”
Their uncle’s voice held an ominous tone that made Asima sit up. She had been around the family often enough to know that ‘children’ meant the three of them, and that Faraj presumed she was there. Had he meant the brothers, he would have said ‘boys’. Ghassan and Samir began to move; clearly they also had recognised something in the man’s tone. The three children hurried down the stairs, Asima keeping to the rear, to find Faraj, having hung his sword and bag by the door, seated with crossed legs by the low table. Bowls and plates had been laid out in preparation, but the food was far from ready by this time. The boys’ mother had appeared from the kitchen and padded quietly over to sit at the table, gesturing the children to join them.
“What is it, Faraj?”
Their mother raised the question. It would have been impolite for one of the children to do so. Their uncle’s brow was low and troubled, and his eyes were dark. He reached for the date wine in the centre of the table and poured himself a long draught, from which he took a pull before speaking.
“I am not sure where to begin…”
“Faraj?”
“Many rumours are flying around M’Dahz, and you will hear all of them within the next day, but I have the grains of truth at the centre of the rumours. I have confirmed this from several solid sources and the news is not good.”
There was a silence around the table as everyone waited impatiently.
“And you will like my decision even less than my news.”
Samir and Ghassan shuffled in their seat. Something leaden had settled in the pit of their stomachs. They waited what seemed an eternity for their uncle to take another swig and then continue.
“The Empire we serve and that shelters us has broken. Word arrived today at the port directly from the capital: the Emperor is dead. General Caerdin has revolted and burned the palace to the ground, General Avitus has named him traitor and declared martial law in the capitol; the army is in chaos.”
The family and their visitor stared in astonishment at Faraj as they listened to his tidings.
“Of course” he went on “this was all days ago; probably more than a week. It takes that long to sail from Velutio to M’Dahz. And for those of us on the Empire’s periphery things become bleaker still.”
He took another swig.
“The Imperial navy has been recalled to the capitol. Without them, ships are prey to both pirates and Pelasian raiders, and so, on the dawn tide when the last Imperial warship in M’Dahz sails north, all the Imperial merchants sail with her. They will not risk staying this close to the border without protection. The garrison of M’Dahz had been recalled to Calphoris by the Southern Marshal. The town is now defenceless and there is no protection for merchants by land or by sea. You know what that means…”
All of them nodded sombrely. With no protection and so close to both Pelasian lands and pirate waters, merchants would stop using M’Dahz as their marketplace. The desert caravans would dry up and the port would languish emptily. All trade would stop and the town would die. Samir shrugged uncomfortably.
“There are two possibilities then? A good and a bad?”
Faraj nodded.
“In the best future, the crisis in the capital will be resolved. A new Emperor will be crowned, the navy will be redeployed and everything will return to normal. That is possible, but it relies on many things beyond our reach and our control.”
He took a deep breath.
“Alternatively, Pelasia will take advantage of the situation and annexe as much land as possible. M’Dahz will then be the first to go, but at least it will survive as a Pelasian town, rather than vanishing under the sands.”
Again silence reigned and his audience dropped their eyes to the floor. Ghassan looked up worriedly at his uncle, his lip quivering slightly as he spoke.
“And what is your decision, uncle?”
Faraj shook his head sadly.
“The wealthy will flee M’Dahz, probably to Calphoris. Many of the poor will go too, but where they have homes and jobs here, they will become beggars there. We cannot flee, or we will lose the little we have. And so we must fight to preserve what we can. As soon as the sun rises, I go to the port to join the militia.”
Their mother shook her head.
