I opened my mouth, and made to answer, but no sound came out. Faysal, seeing my difficulty, raised my head and brought a shallow bowl to my lips. The bowl contained honey water which I drank, and it seemed to free my tongue. "Where am I?" I asked; the voice I heard was not my own; at least, I no longer recognized it as mine.
"Lord Sadiq's palace," he answered. "Do you have much pain?"
It took me a moment to think about this. Yes, I decided, there was pain-a continual, insistent pulsing ache in every limb and muscle-but I had become used to it. "No more than before," I answered in the same husky, wheezing, unfamiliar voice.
"The amir wishes you to know that he has sent a messenger to bring a physician from Baghdat. He will arrive tomorrow, if it pleases Allah. Meanwhile, we will do all that may be done to preserve your life. You must help us in this by eating and drinking what is given you. Do you understand what I am saying?"
I nodded.
Faysal sat for a moment, an expression of keen appraisal on his face; had I been a horse, I do not think he would have given much for me. "It is important to the amir that you live," he said, as if I might require persuasion. Finally, he rose to go, but as he stepped to the doorway, he said, "Kazimain is skilled in healing. Lord Sadiq has ordained that she shall attend you until the physician comes. Do whatever she says."
He left me then, but I heard him speaking to someone in the corridor outside. After a moment, the voices stopped and a young woman entered the room. She carried a small brass platter with flat bread and fruit, and small brass bowls. Kneeling, she placed the platter beside me, and began tearing the bread between her long fingers.
When she finished, she took a bit of bread, dipped it into one of the bowls, and held it to my mouth. I opened my mouth and she fed me; the bread was soft and the sauce sweet. I chewed and swallowed, whereupon the process was repeated until I had finished. She then gave me another drink, and prepared to feed me some more bread. All at once I was overwhelmed by exhaustion; sleep, like a rolling billow of the ocean, pulled me down into its dark depths. "No more," I murmured, fighting to keep my eyes open.
The young woman replaced the bread, picked up the brass tray, and stood. "Thank you, Kazimain," I whispered in my own tongue.
My use of her name surprised her, I think, for she paused to look at me curiously before turning and vanishing from my sight. That expression of surprised curiosity occupied my shattered thoughts for a goodly while-indeed, for far longer than anyone might have imagined. It was the last thing I saw, or remembered seeing, for a very long time. During the night, late and alone, I lapsed into a fevered sleep from which they could not wake me.
48
Alone and in darkness I wandered, a spirit lost and unaware, clouds of unknowing bearing me wherever they would. I descended to the realm of the dead, the dominion of lost souls who, in an earlier age, ended their lives in the underworld as shades in a lightless, hopeless eternity. In this state, I endured: beyond caring, beyond feeling, beyond all desire…save this and this alone: to wreak vengeance on the one who had betrayed me.
I no longer feared death, but I refused to die while the man who had brought about my suffering still lived and drew breath. Whatever life was left to me, I would devote to avenging myself and all those who had likewise suffered and died at his hands. This I vowed with all my heart. If I was to die and endure the torment of an everlasting existence beyond God's grace, so be it! But before I lay down in my grave, I would savour the cold solace of revenge.
That thought flickered in my consciousness like the flame of a solitary candle. Whenever I felt myself drifting away, the flame drew me back, holding me with its feeble, guttering light. It seemed I spent a lifetime like this, hovering between life and death. I heard voices speaking in obscure tongues; sometimes I dreamed strange dreams of exotic places beneath suns of burning white. Oft-times I had visions wherein I was laboured over by beings in white robes who administered draughts of healing elixirs.
Then one day I came to myself; awareness returned and I heard someone close beside me singing-a low, lovely voice, though the words were unknown to me. I opened my eyes to see Kazimain sitting beside me, dressed in palest bird's-egg blue, a bag of crimson silk in her hand. The honey-yellow sunlight of a late afternoon was pouring in through a high-arched open windhole behind her. Outside, I could see rooftops-a few red-tiled and pitched, and some with bright white bulging domes like great eggs; most were flat, however, with canopies of various colours strung over ropes; many had plants, or even small trees. I saw several tall, finger-thin towers with pointed tops soaring above, striving like spears above the rest.
From the bag in her hand, Kazimain withdrew a few kernels of barley and, half-turning, placed these on the white stone windhole ledge. Even as she withdrew her hand, a small grey-green bird appeared, cocked a bold bead of an eye at her, and began pecking at the kernels.
"A friend of yours?" I asked. Though my voice was but the faintest gasp of a whisper, she spun round as if I had screamed aloud. She gave me a wide-eyed, horrified look and fled the room. I heard her pattering footsteps grow fainter as she ran away.
I turned my attention to the room. It was the same bare cell I had known before: only the low pallet of carpets for my bed, beside which had been added two large cushions on the floor and a wooden stand bearing the weight of a large brass platter containing fruit, and a pitcher and jars. The walls were rose-coloured, and the floor white marble. Save for the windhole, there was nothing else to be seen.
My injured shoulder was still wrapped, but my other arm was free, so with small, slow, aching movements I grasped and drew aside the thin cloth which covered me to get a better look at my battered limbs. The bruises were still there, of course, in their hundreds; they were deep-coloured, but they had lost the awful purple hue and were now the ghastly yellow-green tinge of old wounds. The swelling had gone, however, and the throbbing ache as well; what is more, some of the smaller cuts were almost healed over. By this I surmised that a fair amount of time had passed-days, at least; possibly many days.
Though I possessed no recollection of how long I had been unconscious, my mind was clear. Aside from the bruises, my body felt reasonably sound. Determined to prove this for myself, I took a deep breath and pushed myself up into a sitting position. The attempt was a disaster: instantly, black flecks swarmed in my eyes, and pain seared through my head. A sound like churning water filled my ears, and I collapsed on the bed.
A moment later, the sound of voices and rushing feet beyond the doorway alerted me to the arrival of visitors, so I quickly pulled the light coverlet over myself just as a white-turbaned man with skin the colour of polished mahogany and a nose like a hawk's beak appeared in the doorway; he was dressed in white and wore a circular medallion on a thick gold chain around his neck.
Kazimain hovered behind him, her dark eyes shining with excitement. Seeing that I was awake, the man raised his hands heavenward, threw back his head, and loosed a long, heartfelt paean. Then, composing himself once more, he proceeded to my bedside and bent over me. He placed a cool hand on my forehead, and gazed searchingly into my eyes. He reached down and took me by the hand and pressed his fingers to the underside of my wrist.
After a moment, he turned and spoke to Kazimain, who ducked her head and withdrew from the room. Then, taking hold of the cloth, the man pulled the covering aside and knelt down, pressing his fingers here and there, and glancing now and again when I winced at the pain his probing caused. Next, he took my head between his palms, moved it this way and that, touched my chin and opened my mouth to peer inside.