(Flashback) Where Horses Fear to Tread (Zaira)

[Abashai]

Abashai smiled, encouraged to hear Zaira's poignant humor. The dramatic events and thinly veiled emotions of the dark Cyphrus night seemed to dissipate with the morning mist, rapidly burning off as the sun rose. Safely now back behind their walls, the feelings he wrestled with in the darkness could be suppressed in order to clear his thinking. The business of the day now occupied his thoughts. He upended a water skin over his face, letting the liquid splash on his face. It was an invigorating morning luxury he could not have afforded in his desert home.

After wiping his face dry with a cloth, he rose to join his friend at the fire. <"No, our mounts can feed on the very green carpet we stand on. I, on the other hand, require this sustenance!"> He gave Zaira a wide grin, sat down and took of the meat she had prepared. He thanked her and looked in the direction of the caravan camp. <"Besides, those fools still serve a purpose. They provide a much more tempting target on the road than the two of us."> He pulled off a piece of the tender meat and popped it into his mouth. <" We should strike camp as soon as we finish. We will give them a good head start, then follow after them, just within sight."> Abashai reached for his tea, taking a swallow as he looked sidelong at Zaira. His glance lingered on the amber face, quickly searching for any hint of the ghosts that had troubled her in the night. He decided leave it lay for now. Perhaps she was shoring up some walls of her own.

[Zaira]

<”They may be more tempting in the ways of gains, but we are by far more appealing for the lack of strength. Even two stick together are easily broken.”> There was not sound of melancholy from the dancer as she spoke no added sound of pessimism. Just simply the statement, a bit of humor like a older sister reminding a younger of a familiar story moral. She was smiling lightly at Abashai’s words, as well as her own gently tearing a piece from her bread, warmed and softened a new and placed it upon her tongue.

Visions danced in her mind, of the caravan ambling past, and the pair, trailing far behind it. Indeed the caravan was a tempting target, especially if it was seen before the two straggling riders came into view. But she tried to imagine what the sight might be viewed as here, the strange procession that would be made. At the best they could be interpreted as stragglers, or at the worse rear watchmen. Those thoughts though were if the caravan was met by any other living soul that gave a thought. Be it a beast, the likely pick for a meal was clear.

The woman’s face grimaced slightly at the thought before reaching forward herself with deft fingers for the seasoned meat and brought it to her lips. Eyes were upon her, and Zaira’s motions paused under the gaze of familiar eyes, before the meat was pushed past lips and teeth began to quietly chew, her eyes returning the gaze for a moment that lingered, before finally her lashes lowered, and gaze shifted low from his face and to the grass.

Her gaze lowered and swept back up to the caravan beyond their fire.

<”I, am sorry you were worried last night.”>

[Abashai]

The benshiran male's eyes lowered, watching the remains of the tea as he swirled it in his cup. He found it sweetly amusing that, although she had visibly wrestled with a troubled heart, she was apologizing for worrying him.

<"I just don't like to see you unhappy."> He looked up, joining his friend in watching the caravan packing up. He thought about his prayer last night, his confessions to their God. In his soul, Abashai knew the time would come that Zaira and he would part ways, the paths before them diverging. The solace they each needed, the healing of wounds, the lessons to be learned, would not be found in each other, but in an individual journey with the God. Yahal would not allow his work to be hindered by their relationship. Abashai sighed. He did not want to leave her, to be alone again.

Zaira had been the closest thing to a friend he had since leaving Yahebah more that ten years ago. Even so, after all their time together, he had never told her why he fled the sacred city, why he roamed the sands. Oh, he had explained that he got into trouble as a youth that estranged him from his family, but his bouts of melancholy surely spoke to her that there was more. Zaira never pressed him for answers though. But she would stay near him and he knew she was there for him, and that was comfort in itself.

Stuffing another piece of bread in his mouth, he gently but playfully bumped his shoulder against hers. <"We had better get packed up, I'm anxious to see whether these two sticks can keep from getting broken today.">

[Zaira]

Her own thoughts were blank, carefully so, only giving notice to the caravan and its peoples movements for a moment. Her mind turned firmly from the introspect that threw it into the turmoil the night before but her eyes were watching the caravan with care. Usually gentle eyes were sharp upon the people she was looking for familiar forms, as in the mercenaries from the night before and the handlers that had accompanies the foul spear holder. As well as their Head, the mountain man that had came and took them away. Caution made her wish to see their faces in the light of day, and a portion of her wished to see if the actions of the night bore consequences in the day. It was not petty but a curiosity in he judgments and punishments of these lands.

It was a futile inspection though, her food swallowed brought her eyes back to her food before her and the company she kept. Avoiding the caravan until they could part safely was the best they could do. Be wary and ready when the nights fell was all that could be done, not simply against those who would do them harm.

Food was brought to her lips as a shoulder jarred hers, and her lips curved gently with a show of humor.

<”Yes, let us,”>

[Abashai]

The benshiran travelers struck camp in relative silence, each busied with tasks that had been agreed upon soon after meeting at the oasis. Once the desertbred horses were laden with their supplies, Abashai and Zaira mounted up. When the slow-moving caravan was a good distance away, but still in sight, the pair took to the road.

Abashai's mind turned as they passed league upon league of flat grasslands. The transition to this foreign land had seemed to affect him, punctuating the purpose of the journey. While they had wandered in Eyktol, it did not seem as real. Now, where even the air had a green scent different then their home, he realized the gravity of his decision to obey his Lord.

They traveled at a leisurely pace, intending to keep their distance behind the caravan. Abashai laid the reins over the saddle horn and stretched his arms over his head, then twisted his torso, producing several pops from his spine. As he turned to twist the opposite side, he noted movement on the road some distance behind them. Watching, he could see the subjects were moving slow, but faster than the two riders. He could see horses, he thought, and a wagon or cart.

Abashai turned ahead again. Though he did not want to worry Zaira, she should know of the travellers behind them. She had become a shrewd traveler herself, and they had only made it this far by acting as a team.

Looking over at Zaira and tilting his head behind them, he remarked, <"Don't look now, it appears we may have some company.">

[Zaira]

<”Company? Can you tell of what sort?”> The woman spoke as her head turned to regard her companion. Her heels nudged the mare to speed up slightly before the reigns were gently tied to her saddle and the long waves of her hair were gently pushed beneath her Abaya, and pulled up the fabric of her veil that covered the lower part of her face up to her eyes.

Since they had left the desert where the sudden wind could kick up the sands and toss them into unprotected faces, the dancer had taken to riding uncovered, Abashai had seen Zaira’s face and form many a time it was silly to cover herself when it was only they. Yet the night before, perhaps it was a good idea amid these strangers even if they knew not the Benshiran customs.

Her hands drew the final covering over her hair before gripping the reigns again and weighing the pair’s options. In truth the dancer was far from pleased, having to cover herself for the fear of other’s impropriety yet it was a small price to pay for a peace filled night. She regarded the distance ahead of them before shifting back in her seat to look back to the approaching shadows.

<”Should we simply move out of their path give them straightway to the road, or the caravan if that is what they are after? Or shall we speed up and draw closer to our protective shadow. It is selfish but I much rather they run into the caravan first than us, they have more bodies and weapons for one.”> The voice was not yet worried, but ponderings she regarded the shapes.

<”Think the caravan knows yet?”>

[Abashai]

Abashai watched Zaira cover her head. It was a shame to cover her beauty, but he understood the necessity. It made him think of the Benshiran patriarch, Biyram, who traveled with his family through the lands of the Eypharians. His wife was beautiful and a noble of the land plotted to kill Biyram and his sons in order to take his wife, but Yahal delivered them. Zaira's covering could help avoid similar unpleasant encounters among the rakva.

He looked back again at the shapes moving on the road behind them. Though they were moving faster than the caravan, he guessed it was only because the caravan moved so slow. <"I don't think we need to be alarmed. Doesn't look to me like they are in a rush to overtake us."> Abashai turned back and continued, looking to the distant caravan ahead. <I doubt that the caravan has seen them yet. Let's just keep an eye on both groups for now."> If those on the road behind did appear to be moving to attack, the benshiran riders could easily catch up with the crawling caravan.

Abashai looked over again at his companion, clad in her flowing garment, only her piercing blue eyes below dark, delicate brows visible. As he attempted to study Zaira without being obvious, last night's dilemma returned. To Abashai, his life seemed like a piece of fabric that intertwined destiny, the will of the divine, the will of the flesh, uncertainty and faith. Some threads pulled against one another, threatening to unravel the cloth. Some parts were visible, some parts unknown. The mortal benshiran could only see a small portion, as if by lamplight in the night, illuminating only his immediate surroundings. Right now, all he knew for sure was that he was to be obedient.

The seemingly endless grasslands surrounding him only emphasized the spiritual wilderness Abashai felt inside. But, like the road through Cyphrus, he knew that he must follow Yahal's path in order to safely make it through this time in his life. He began to see the comparison between his physical journey and his spiritual one. Maybe that was the idea. His travel through Mizahar was an analogy for his spiritual journey. This small revelation gave him some comfort, because this road beneath his horse lead to burgeoning civilization in Syliras. Maybe his spiritual journey would lead to a similar reward.

He glanced back at the woman riding next to him. Though her head was covered, he knew every curve of her face, had studied her many times by orange firelight. He wanted to reach out and lay his hand on her arm, to simply touch her. But he resisted. Why torment himself?

She was a lovely young woman who Yahal also led. Abashai did not believe she had been marked by the god as he had, but he somehow knew that the dancer was special to their lord. The Holy One had given her dreams, and she felt a tug in her heart.

He had awoke this morning with an affirmation in his heart, confirmation of what he had feared...the friend's paths were diverging, and they had to separate. Abashai tried to deny it, but as the day wore on, he could no longer ignore the fact. He felt a pang of guilt, for he knew why it had to happen. His own dawning affections for Zaira were interfering with his faith. It was not that his god did not want Abashai to care for someone, but now was not the time. The desert man had dedicated this time in his life to Yahal in order to grow and heal. But Abashai would not abandon her. Yahal, he thought, please don't ask me to abandon her, do not test my faith in that way. I will not leave her unless I know she will be safe, that she will be alright. She has been a good friend, and I will not fail her.

Abashai turned again to see the road behind them. The travelers to the rear were closer. There was indeed a wagon, covered in fact. There was a couple riders on horse and a few people quickly walking alongside too. Then he heard an odd sound. Singing. The group was singing. It was a lively, almost silly sounding tune. He looked over at Zaira, puzzled at first, then laughed.

[Zaira]

<”I hope so, it would be nice to have a day free of excitement able to simply look. I am just growing use to seeing green, green, green. Who would have thought I would already miss the gold, browns, and reds of the desert sands and rocks?”> The voice was hopeful that the words Abashai spoke were true, that the group at their back was in no rush to overtake them and the caravan ahead. Her voice already lightening in gentle jest and soft wonder still at the sea of green they continued to pass.

She for a time began to wonder if this place was but an oasis that they would pass back to sands, yet they had not, and for that her heart lifted and hammered anew with excitement despite their first night with its people. The familiar feel had Zaira’s eyes glancing to her side, Abashai gazing upon her was not, an unfamiliar feeling, something she had accepted and grown to… enjoy. It at times made her face flush and her gaze word divert away , yet even then, the pace within her chest faltered, and sped.

Times, like the night before, words hovered so close beneath the thin layer of her skin, or she pulled away, from the man, the feelings, it all to keep and tend the affections in her heart for another gone. Covered though, with only her eyes to betray her, the dancer looked upon her companion, her brows gently rising in silent question before her eyes turned forward again.

Beneath the simple fabric, her teeth caught supple lip before her mouth parted, the words upon her tongue stumbling at a most strange sound that same to her ears. It was…music.

Zaira looked to Abashai who already was glancing behind them to the travelers being them. Nearer the group was easier to see, a wagon covered with riders, and even those upon foot. They played music, and sang. The puzzlement and wonder was evident in Zaira’s cerulean eyes, the look only lost for a moment at the abrupt laughter that came from her companion.

The girl blinked looking upon Abashai, before looking back again, her hand slowing the horse beneath her as she looked to the Abashai, curiosity clear.

<“What is so funny, Bashai? Do you know them?”>

[Abashai]

Abashai looked from the group behind them over to his veiled companion. <"No, I have no idea who they are. It just struck me odd. Out here I expected raiders, slavers, wild beasts and fierce Drykas, but not cheery crooning travelers." >

As they rode on, monitoring the riders behind helped distract Abashai from the weight of the matters laying on his heart. He was acutely aware of two facts, two emotions that welled inside him. They were in opposition and mutually excusive, embracing one meant denying the other. Behind his sand-worn expression a struggle ensued, one he hoped to keep from Zaira. At least until he had the strength to deny his desire for her, to encourage her to seek Yahal on her own path, as he knew he must do as well.

The pair kept their distance from the caravan ahead as the travelers behind grew closer. Eventually, Abashai and Zaira could hear the creak of the wagon wheels. The benshiran man glanced again at Zaira, then stopped and turned his horse around.

Still a stone's throw away, the strange group steadily approached. In the lead rode a large dark man, massive in fact. His bare torso bulged with muscles, adorned with a single leather strap holding a large battle axe against his back. His pate was bald, and a benevolent, toothy grin spread across his face when he saw the Benshirans turn. Slightly behind the giant and to the side rode an eypharian woman in a shimmery bronze-colored cloak. One pair of hands held her reins while a second pair pulled down her cowl to reveal black waves of shoulder-length hair. The wagon behind was driven by a gangly, scruffy man who habitually spit at the side of the road. Within the covered wagon, several more faces could be seen peering out. Abashai figured those must be the walkers he saw earlier.

After a few moments, the large man came to a halt, the rest of his band pausing behind him. With his wide grin the man spoke, his Common thickly accented. "I am Zorba. These are my friends and my family." He gestured behind him. "We are traveling entertainers, if you haven't figured that out. Since we seem to share the same road, perhaps we can ride together for awhile."

Abashai studied Zorba as he spoke. His torso bore many scars. Aside from the battle axe on his back, several more axes of various sized hung from his saddle. The desert man thought Zorba looked more like a warrior than an entertainer. He did note that when Zorba looked at Zaira, he did so quite respectfully.

The eypharian rode up next to him. It was then clear that the woman's exotic beauty was marred by a jagged scar that ran down her right cheek from just below the eye to her jaw. Zorba looked over at her. "This is my lovely bride, Anatera."

The eypharian smiled a very un-eypharian smile, especially in the presence of Benshira. Anatera's pleasant countenance seemed void of the disdain her people had of their desert neighbors. Her voice was smooth and warm. "Greetings." She looked at Abashai and then Zaira as if she understood some secret. "You do not need your veil among us sister. There is no one here that will harm you."

Zorba pointed to the distant shapes of the caravan ahead. "Were you part of the caravan? Why do you choose not to ride with them?"

[Ganmedo]

Blessings from the Cupbearer Abashai XP: Play Musical Instrument + 2 (Oud) Brawling + 1 Seduction + 1 Lore: Tension between races The importance of sleeping separately Protecting a woman's honor Being honest Zaira XP: Lore: COMMENTS: A lovely read. I would have liked to have seen this finished!