“This is my true home, stubborn warrior,” said Rayshabu, running a loving hand along the kid leather surface of her couch. “I was born a noblewoman of Bahteel. My family founded the great city. My father has the ear of the king. You are welcome to stay as my guest.”
A servant offered dainty strips of fresh horn squash topped with a rich sauce of meat and spices. Although Sabit did not partake of the tidbits, the aroma brought a rumble to her belly. “But this is not Bahteel. That is not the marketplace I have trod a hundred times. Fresh horn squash cannot be had in springtime.”
“But I like horn squash,” answered Rayshabu. “That is why this place is better than the Bahteel I was raised in. I can eat horn squash whenever I like. My father never forbids me my whims. My brothers have not left for the king’s wars. My sisters do not steal my suitors away. I have even seen my mother. In this place she did not die the night I was born!” Tears glistened in the young woman’s eyes.
Sabit nodded. “Now I see you, Rayshabu. You are frightened and Heguir has offered you a blanket. You cling to it so tightly that you cannot see that it holds you as firmly as would any chain of bronze.”
“No!” snapped Rayshabu. “He thinks it is a chain, but he is wrong! This place is my escape. As long as I please him, I can stay here far longer than I am in the other world. The hurtful world.”
“The real world,” said Sabit.
“Just tell me your name, you selfish cow!” Rayshabu pounded the couch with a childish fist. “One name and he will let me stay here for three whole days! Time moves differently in this place. Three days in the other world is like years here. Years of comfort and ease. Years of beauty and art. Years of celebrations at the royal palace. Years of whispered flirtations in shadowed alcoves. Years of joy. It is the reward we all seek. He could reward you, too, if you pleased him. He rewards all of us that he must keep nearby, lest his fortress become a torment. Don’t you see? He’s trying to spare us the pain of what he must do to us!”
“‘Us’?” Sabit looked up at the word. “Who else is here?”
“I’ve said too much,” Rayshabu turned away. “Leave me if you will not speak your name! He will waken us soon enough and cast us into fear and suffering because of your stubbornness! Leave me alone to enjoy what I might!”
Sabit looked away from the young woman, tired resignation on her face. The double-peak of Mount Irrent dominated the view from this courtyard, but past the mountain’s left shoulder, there peeked a forest of lush greenery. The trees grew lofty and thin—a type that grew nowhere near Bahteel. A type that Sabit had heard about in stories from one traveler in particular.
Racing down the garden path, Sabit left Rayshabu to her shallow comforts.
— — —
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Chains is copyright (c) 2018 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every Thursday (and the occasional Monday). You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller Find more sword and sorcery fiction at http://ipressgames.com/fiction/.