N.O.T.E.: I did not originally write this story in chronological order. Malik’s story interested me the most, so I wrote about him first. Chapters 9 & 10 are flashback sequences, which takes place some years before Chapter 1.
Ashara Temple of Iset (Flashback)
538th Year of the Morning Star
After many days of long travel through the Crystal Desert, they had eventually reached the Temple of Iset. It rested at the bottom of a mountain’s path, isolated from the rest of the world and long forgotten. Being one of the few remaining places untouched by war, it would have served as the perfect refuge, or so Liandra had believed.
The ancient temple had once been a majestic place frequented by pilgrims throughout the east, but the centuries have disintegrated much of it to rubble, buried beneath the shifting sands. Despite its ruined state, it retained an ethereal quality only found in nature.
Overhead, a myriad of stars shone brightly in the night sky, clustered in diamond swarms against the velvety darkness. The ground beneath them seemed to capture the very essence of moonlight, evidenced by its glow. In the desolate courtyard, towering obelisks rose from the dry earth and pointed towards the heavens, where engraved images of angels and demons crowned every limestone pillar before them.
Beauty inspires love, or so it was said in Ashara. As Liandra approached the entrance, she felt moved by its splendor. Indeed, it was a place of reverence, a homage to the gods.
Hand-in-hand, she led the young princess through the winding halls of the inner sanctum, where the air was warm and heavy, laden with the smell of incense and scented candles. And where they went, faint echoes followed their footsteps and reverberated from the cracked stones of the temple floor.
Statues of deities aligned every wall, and underneath were the altars containing offerings of wine and bread, left by the worshipers. There were no services or paeans of praise for their gods, but only silence and whispers in the dark.
They stopped before the statue of Iset, goddess of life and love. She looked down upon them with glassy eyes, from atop a marble pedestal adorned with red roses. At the base of her feet, golden flames flickered ominously, as dim as the distant stars.
Liandra turned to observe the young girl standing beside her.
Aaliyah, she was the mirror image of her mother carved in miniature. Her skin, somewhat fair for an Asharan, was a lovely shade of bronze, kissed by sunlight. Her hair, which fell in soft curls around the shoulders, was the color of sable-in-shadows. Her face--an angelic marvel.
She was a lovely sight to behold, perfect in all regards save for one flaw.
The princess was blind.
Her birth had been a most difficult one, and the babe borne from the union was a sickly thing; too small and too frail. It was a miracle that she had lived long as she did. For that, they had the goddess to thank.
“Here,” Liandra said as she handed the girl a stick of lit incense. “Iset will hear your prayers if you hold her in your heart.”
It was said that House Shahrizai was blessed by the Heavens, the bloodline of kings and heroes. Iset must listen to her, if no one else--a child pure of soul, absent of sin.
“What do I pray for?” Aaliyah asked, uncertain.
“For peace. For the safety of our people. For the war to end,” Liandra answered. And for Emperor Zakhar’s head to be mounted on a spike, she thought more fiercely.
For eighty years, the two nations held an agreement--no harm would come to the Asharan people as long as they stayed out of Drustan’s path for conquest. First, Da’jin had fallen, followed by Valyria. But all had changed when the previous emperor died, leaving his eldest son to ascend the throne. Zakhar had reneged on their promise, and invaded Ashara on the 28th night of Frostfall, as the rest of the world lay sleeping.
Liandra had known better than to trust the words of the Drustanis--all of whom were treacherous snakes. She had warned her king as such, yet he did not listen.
Nizam, a noble and virtuous man, albeit too trusting, was desperate to avoid conflict. He had clung to their words with false notions of security, refusing to aid the neighboring sovereignties in the war against Drustan.
It was too late now, as Ashara was left without allies. They were the last of the eastern kingdoms to remain standing, alone to face the eminent threat.
“I just want to go home,” Aaliyah murmured with eyes downcast, mind and body exhausted. She was fighting desperately to remain awake, against the sleep which sought to claim her.
“I’m afraid that is not possible,” Liandra answered gravely. Going home was not an option--not while the Drustanis army was marching towards their very gates. Not while cities were burned and razed, as the soldiers killed and the common folk were slaughtered. Home was the last place they’d want to be right now.
From the back of the room, she spied a young boy tending to the flames. He moved from one brazier to another, lighting them along the way in a routine fashion. Dressed in the religious garb of Aen’Shei, Liandra could only presume that he was a new acolyte.
“Excuse me,” Lianda said as she approached him from behind.
The boy jumped at her sudden words, nearly dropping the torch he carried. His eyes darted to her face, then just as quickly, they lowered and rested on her armor, unable to hold her gaze.
“What is your name, boy?” Liandra asked.
“I am Mhenlo, my lady.”
“Find High Priest Zoltan for me,” she commanded in a frigid voice, one not to be disobeyed. “I need to speak with him.”
“His Holiness is still in meditation. If you could please wait--”
“This is important,” Liandra interrupted, more harshly than she had intended. He flinched at her sharp tone, and she sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I do not have much time. There is an urgent matter which I need to discuss with him. Tell your master that Liandra of Seborhin is here. He knows me, and he will come.”
The adept nodded and quickly took his leave, too fearful to rebuff her further.
With arms crossed against her chest, Liandra stood and waited.
For many generations, her family has served House Shahrizai. It was an honor to be among the chosen five of the king’s elite guards--and she--a woman, nonetheless, was the very first.
There had been doubts. There had been objections. After all, women were known to be the gentler sex, ruled by emotion.
But she would prove them wrong. She could be just as cold, and just as ruthless if need be.
However, the upcoming task would prove to be the greatest challenge of all--more difficult than slaying any man, or climbing any mountain.
She must give up the child she had grown to love.
The High Priest made his entrance some time later, garbed in a simple robe of white linen and sandals made from papyrus. He was dressed simply, lacking of all earthly luxuriance save for jeweled eye of the Aen’Shei, pinned on the front of his cowl.
“Liandra,” he called out in a gentle voice as he approached her. Faint, yellow glimmers of candlelight reflected in his eyes as he smiled warmly at her in greeting. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Time had not been kind to him, Liandra observed. It had been only been two years since they’ve last seen each other, yet it appeared as if he had aged by a decade. His face was gaunt and bony, made more severe by hollow cheekbones and shadowed lines underneath tired eyes.
“Likewise, Your Holiness,” she answered, head bowed low in respect.
“But you are not here to exchange pleasantries, I trust.”
“No,” she admitted. “There is a favor I must ask of you.”
“You are afraid to say it,” he remarked at her hesitation. “I have known you since you were a child. If it is within my power, I would not refuse you.”
It was a grave responsibility, and one which she had no right to ask of anyone. “This concerns the Asharan princess,” she began.
“Is that her?” the High Priest asked as he glanced to the far side, to where Aaliyah stood in silent prayer.
“Yes,” she answered. “As you may have heard, Adhashim has fallen into Drustanis hands, just after Istan and Vabbi. They are marching further inland. Asshai might very be next within the upcoming year. The palace is no longer safe for her to stay.”
“The war has torn this land apart,” he agreed with a solemn nod. “Our temple offers sanctuary to many refugees and orphans over the years. Princess Aaliyah is more than welcome to stay.”
“No one may know of this. Her identity must be kept a secret. Should the Drustanis find her--” Liandra trailed off, unable to continue. Would they be heartless enough to kill a six-year-old girl? She was only a child. But Liandra knew well enough of Drustanis mercy, or rather the lack thereof.
“I understand,” Zoltan said in a quiet voice. “You can rest assured that she will be protected. I trust every man, woman, and child in this house without question. The people you have seen here--they have all lost something to Drustan. We are no friend to them.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness, for all of the trouble--”
“It is no trouble,” he answered with a kind smile. “I will speak Brother Jahan to make necessary arrangements for the young princess. May Iset watch over you.”
Liandra returned to find Aaliyah standing in the same position, head bowed in prayer, hands tightly clasped around the incense. A sad smile touched her lips as she watched the girl, ever so dutiful. Silently, Liandra took the incense and placed it before Iset’s altar, where the rest of the candles burned as the fragrant scents enveloped them.
A knot formed in her throat as she struggled to find the words which would not come.
Many years before, when she had entered into the king’s service, Liandra had accepted that she would have no family of her own; no husband to wed, no child to hold. Her life was given to serve--him alone, and no other. Only death would release her from duty.
The child standing before her now--the sullen girl with blue-grey eyes--had been the closest thing to a daughter that she had known and ever would. It was then that her heart grew heavy with anguish, as she knew what was to come.
“Listen to me carefully--” Liandra began as she knelt down on one knee, “You are staying here with Priest Zoltan. He will take care of you. Obey him in all respects, and do whatever he says--”
“Do not leave me,” Aaliyah cried as she held onto Liandra’s hand, not wanting to let go. “I don’t like this place--it frightens me.”
“Hush, now,” Liandra soothed as she brushed the girl’s hair. In that moment, she struggled to keep her own tears from falling. But a member of the kingsguard did not weep, Liandra reminded herself. “You are a princess, and a princess must be brave--for all of us. One day you will return to be our queen.”
“But I don’t want to stay here--”
“You must,” she answered in a stern voice, unmoved from the subject.
“Will you at least come to visit?” the girl asked with tear-filled eyes.
“That would not be wise,” Liandra answered in earnest. Visits would only draw attention, and it was uncertain when their enemies were watching.
“He does not love me,” Aaliyah said suddenly as she turned her face away.
“Who?”
“My father. That’s the reason he sent me away, isn’t it? As punishment?”
She was momentarily taken aback by the absurdity of the question. “The king has sent you away to keep you safe, sweetling.”
The princess shook her head as she bit on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. “He blames me for her death.”
Liandra immediately knew the woman she spoke of. Aaliyah’s mother, Ysera, who had died soon after childbirth due to incessant bleeding. Liandra remembered how the king had sat beside her bed for many days even after she was long gone, alone in a room smelling of blood and roses. It was believed that a part of him died along with her, for he never the same. But to say that a father would blame his own child was unthinkable.
“Childbirth is dangerous thing,” Liandra remarked quietly. “Of course he does not hold you responsible.”
“He is disappointed that I am not the son and heir he has always wanted,” Aaliyah assured in a spiteful voice.
“Nonsense,” Liandra asserted as she studied the princess with a disquieted look, unnerved that such resentment was coming from someone so young. The girl had always been a studious child, albeit one who rarely smiled, a fact that worried her royal father. “His Majesty treasures you above all else. You are the last of his blood. But he must do what is best-- it is safer for you here. The thought of losing you tears him inside,” Liandra answered in a mirthless voice. Just as it does to me, she thought inwardly.
“When can I come home?” Aaliyah asked.
“After the war is won,” Liandra answered as she embraced the girl in her arms for the last time.
“It may be one year from now--or it may be ten--but no matter long it takes, one day I will come back for you. I promise.”
I started a tumblr-thing, since it’s an efficient way to share pictures and stuff. I have some teaser pics of Chapter 10 on there if you want to check it out. ( I have about 80% of the pictures completed, but it is the writing that is difficult for me >__< ).
A question-- do you guys know why I named this chapter “Aaliyah?”
I think most people are confused about this bit.
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