Desert Wind Read online

  “When your holy man arrives, I will ask him to perform the Kishnu ceremony. We will have our Joining blessed by our religious leader when we return to Asaraba,” Ardalan explained to her.

  “You would expect me to convert to your religion?” she asked.

  “I am not a religious man, but I follow the tenets of my upbringing. If you wish to convert, I will leave that up to you. Any children from our Joining must be brought up in my religion.”

  Sitara nodded. She doubted there would ever be children of their union for she would not be allowed to remain with Ardalan Jaleem. She knew her father would find a way to remove her from the Asaraban’s hands before the invaders left Kishnu.

  Sabir came to stand in the entrance to the room. His woebegone expression revealed he knew what was happening and he did not approve. “We lost another two men during the night,” he said, refusing to look at Sitara. “Another four are in bad shape.”

  “I need to see to them,” Sitara said, easing out of Ardalan’s arms.

  “There is nothing she can do,” Sabir told his prince. “Their wounds are too grave.”

  “Let her at least try,” Ardalan insisted.

  Sitara walked past the major, keeping her attention straight ahead of her.

  “This is a mistake,” Sabir said.

  “It is my mistake to make,” Ardalan said.

  “And one we may all pay for,” Sabir persisted. He turned and marched off for the sound of horses arriving at the entrance to the cave was loud in the early morning air despite the rain that continued to fall.

  The holy man was little more than a scarecrow so frail were his limbs. His head was too large for his skinny body and the long sari in which he was draped nearly swallowed him. In his frail hand, he clutched a portmanteau that had seen better days and was so covered in dust, a cloud of reddish powder floated about it. He bowed low then with curious, rheumy eyes looked about him for the bride. There was a faint smile on his thin lips.

  “Her Grace is aiding the injured among my troops,” Ardalan said, but at the blank look on the holy man’s face, realized the wizened man only spoke the Kishnu language. He looked at Halim but the captain shrugged.

  “He came alone so there is no one to translate for us,” Halim told his prince. “I swear his sharp bones were cutting the mount upon which he was so precariously perched.”

  “Without benefit of a saddle?” Ardalan inquired.

  “And shoeless as you can see,” Halim said.

  Ardalan looked down at the dirty feet of the holy man and winced. Long, yellow toenails poked out from beneath the threadbare sari.

  “If he doesn’t speak Obinese, how will we know he has actually performed the ceremony?” Halim asked.

  “Sitara would not lie to me,” Ardalan said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, Halim. I am sure.”

  Ardalan swept an arm toward the pallet, indicating the holy man was to rest. He was surprised when the thin man politely inclined his head then took a seat, the soles of his feet pressed against one another. He kept his portmanteau gripped securely in his lap.

  “Pour him a cup of water, Halim,” Ardalan suggested.

  “I wish you would reconsider this,” Halim said, but when his prince cast him an annoyed look, the captain’s shoulders drooped. It was obvious he knew his words would go unheeded. He went to the water jug and poured the holy man a cup then walked over to hand it to him.

  “Dhanyavaad,” the thin man said with a lopsided grin.

  Halim looked at Ardalan who told him the word meant thank you.

  “Aapakaa svaagat hai,” the prince replied to the holy man then turned to Halim. “Well that exhausted my knowledge of Kishnu.”

  For half an hour the three men were alone in the room. The stick-thin man sitting on the pallet seemed to be nodding, his frazzled white hair like a wiry halo around his large head. It was a relief to Ardalan and Halim when Sitara came into the room.

  “I am sorry, but I was at the deathbed of one of your men,” she said quietly. “I did not feel I could leave him.”

  “I understand,” Ardalan said.

  Sitara squatted down beside the holy man and gently shook him. He came awake sputtering, his thin lips smacking. When he recognized Sitara, he shot to his feet as though there were springs in his ankles, bowing low to her with respect. The princess spoke to the fragile-looking man for quite some time then turned to point to Ardalan.

  Ancient eyes swept to the Asaraban prince and held. There seemed an eternity of sadness and misery in the holy man’s gaze before he nodded once very slowly and bent over to put his portmanteau on the floor of the cave.

  “We will need a fire,” Sitara said. She pointed to the door. “There will be a good place.”

  “A fire?” Halim questioned. “Your Grace, it is already very warm in here and—”

  “It is part of our religious ceremony,” Sitara interrupted. “We must have a fire.” She turned to Ardalan. “Do you have a clean shirt and pair of loose pants?”

  Ardalan nodded. “You want me to put them on?”

  “Aye,” she said then looked at Halim. “There are many things needed for the ceremony and Kami has them in his satchel but we need flower garlands and rings to exchange.”

  Ardalan tugged at the golden signet ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand. “Will this do?” he asked, and handed the ring to the holy man. With much bobbing of the head, the holy man kept possession of the ring.

  Halim sighed loudly then reached into the neck of his robe and withdrew a chain upon which a small golden circle was held. “It was my father’s wedding ring,” he said, taking the ring from the chain.

  “It will be given back to you after the ceremony,” Sitara assured the captain. “It is nothing more than a symbol.” She took the ring from Halim and gave it into the keeping of the holy man.

  “But flowers?” Halim inquired. “How many are we talking about? There are some kinds of wildflowers growing around the base of the mountain.”

  “Those will do,” Satira said. “Just enough for a garland for his neck and mine. Have someone thread them on heavy twine.”

  “Whatever,” Halim said, and left mumbling to send a soldier to gather the flowers.

  “Anything else?” Ardalan asked.

  “I need the captain to stand in as my father,” she answered. “Kiyan can portray my brother.”

  “Do I need—?”

  Sitara shook her head. “No, but you will need to pay close attention to the holy one’s words and repeat them after him when he urges you.” Her brows drew together. “Are you still sure you wish to do this?”

  “Aye,” he stated. “Don’t ask me again.”

  “As you wish,” she agreed, a slight blush turning her face darker.

  Ardalan found he was nervous. His palms were sweating and when he went to his war chest and took out the white kameez and pants to change into them, he noticed his hands were shaking. Surprised at his reaction to the impending ceremony he walked past Sitara and went farther into the cave to change his clothing.

  The holy man said something to Sitara and they were laughing as Halim joined them.

  “What amuses you, Your Grace?” Halim asked suspiciously as he and another man came into the room. The man with Halim carried a bundle of twigs in his hands and set them down to begin building the requested fire.

  Sitara smiled. “Kami made mention of the prince’s modesty in going to another room to change his clothing. Under the circumstances, he found it endearing.”

  “This is a terrible mistake he is making,” Halim insisted.

  “And I have told him as much, but he will not listen to reason,” she agreed with Halim. “Perhaps the gods will intervene and all will be right after all, Captain.”

  It was obvious from the look on his face that Halim didn’t trust the softness of her voice or her inability to look him in the eye when she spoke. There was something clandestine about her that set his teeth on e
dge but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—or feared she meant harm to his prince—it was more a feeling of things in the works that he was failing to either see or understand.

  “Will this ceremony be legal?” Halim asked.

  Sitara nodded. “It will be legal and binding. For me, there will never be another groom unless the prince meets his fate, and I pray that will be a long, long time in coming.”

  “If you are worried he will take additional brides,” Halim said, “that won’t happen. He will never put you aside for another.”

  Ardalan returned so quietly no one heard him until he was standing just inside the room. He was barefoot, and for that reason alone Sitara found him remarkably attractive. His long black hair was lying loosely about his shoulders and was curling slightly in the heat. The loose white cotton shirt and pants fit his tall physique perfectly—stretching across broad shoulders and molding gently to his lean hips.

  “Feyad, fetch Tarik,” Ardalan told the soldier who had started the fire. “Tell him the princess requests his presence at her Joining.”

  The soldier struck a fist over his heart and backed out of the room, hurrying to do the prince’s bidding.

  “The men know of our Joining?” Sitara asked.

  “They will now,” Ardalan replied. “Feyad has the biggest mouth among the troops.”

  “Is there anything else you need?” Halim asked as a soldier came in carrying two garlands of pale blue flowers he and another soldier had threaded.

  Sitara looked to the holy man and spoke softly to him. He shook his head and pointed to Halim.

  “It is your duty to stand in as my father, Captain,” Sitara told the burly man. “There is not much for you to do except to pour out a portion of the sacred water to—” She stopped for the holy man was speaking rapidly to her in a low voice. She looked at Hilam. “We need the tarpaulin you used last evening and men to hold it.”

  “Tarpaulin?” Halim frowned, but went off in search of the tarp.

  “We do not have the traditional mandapa or wedding canopy so we will have to improvise,” she told him.

  “There is more to a Kishnu Joining than I realized,” Ardalan mumbled. He was watching the holy man setting out jars and dishes of things on the ground. He arched a brow when the thin man pointed at a large rock and indicated he wanted it moved.

  Sitara started toward the rock but Ardalan waved her away and went to pick it up himself. He bent over, picked up the rock and then brought it back to lay it down on the spot to which the holy man pointed. “I hope this isn’t intended to crush my skull,” he quipped.

  Sitara giggled at his droll tone. “I think that is all,” she said.

  The men who had held the tarpaulin over their prince the night before came into the room, wriggling so they would all fit as they held the canvas over the heads of those gathered. Tarik came scrambling after them, nearly tripping over the fire as he joined Halim on the other side of the holy man.

  Ardalan was sweltering from the trapped heat of the fire beneath the canopy of the tarp but if that was what Sitara wanted, that was what he’d give her. For almost an hour he stood there and repeated words the holy man said slowly to him. The couple draped the garlands around one another’s necks, she fed him honey and a strange-tasting creamy substance he found slightly sour and distasteful. He watched Sitara spreading some kind of herbs over her palms and watched Halim pour a jar of water onto the ground and was told it signified the giving of Sitara to the prince in marriage. He and Sitara faced one another and the holy man tied her shirt and his together in a knot to symbolize the sacred union between them. They exchanged the rings and he recited more words he did not understand. Sandalwood, herbs, sugar, rice, clarified butter and twigs were tossed into the ritual fire. There was standing here, sitting there, facing one another and reciting more strange words until Ardalan lost track of time. Tarik poured sacrificial food into Sitara’s hands and she cast the sacrifice into the fire. They walked three times around the fire as sweat poured from Ardalan’s upper body. Twice more the ritual was repeated and they stepped up upon the rock with each passage around the fire and when that was done and more Kishnu words spoken, they took seven steps around the fire and with each step Sitara spoke the sacred words in Soqui so Ardalan and those gathered understood.

  “The first step is to nourish each other. The second step to grow together in strength. The third step to preserve our wealth. The fourth step to share our joys and sorrows. The fifth step to care for our children. The sixth step to be together forever. The seventh step to remain lifelong friends, the perfect halves to make a perfect whole,” she recited.

  There was more to the ceremony but Ardalan was caught up in the words she had spoken to him in his native tongue. He could not get the words out of his mind and though he watched the proceedings, took part in them, he was struck by the powerful meaning of those words and what they were to symbolize for him for the rest of his days. He tied a sacred necklace around Sitara’s neck and when she translated the words he repeated after the holy man, he felt moisture clouding his vision. The words—“Thou art the reason of my life from now on. May you live happily with me forever”—sent shivers down his spine. At the end of the ceremony, he sprinkled red powder into her hair to signify she was now a married woman.

  She was his.

  The holy man offered a blessing over the couple then held out his hand for the golden coins Halim had ready to pay him for his services.

  “Dhanyavaad,” Sitara then Ardalan said to the holy man.

  Sitara stepped closer to the wizened little man and talked to him at some length. When she was finished, she turned to her new husband and explained to him that she had sent a message to her father, telling him that what the Asaraban prince wished to do was leave Kishnu without further bloodshed. “I emphasized that I believe your intent is honorable and that you wish only peace between our people.”

  The holy man held his hand toward Ardalan and spoke in a soft, sad voice. When he was finished, he bowed low to the princess then the prince, and turned to go.

  “What did he say?” Ardalan asked as the others left them alone. When she seemed reluctant to translate, he reached out to lay a hand upon her shoulder. “Milady, what did he say?”

  Sitara looked down at her feet. “He said step now upon the path destiny has laid out for you but never forget there is one you leave behind.”

  The prince frowned. “What does that mean?”

  She shrugged. “Holy men say many things that are mysterious and otherworldly. Who knows what they are really saying?” She moved back so that his hand slid from her shoulder.

  Anger shot through Ardalan’s heart. “If it means you won’t be with me when I leave Kishnu, think again, milady. You are my wife and you will be at my side from this day forward.”

  She looked up at him and there were tears in her beautiful dark eyes. “I do not pretend to understand the ways of the Supreme Lord. He has great compassion for his followers yet often he places stones upon their pathway upon which they trip and fall. He gives us free will that we may know good and evil in this life and He expects us to make the right choice when confronted with them. I have been given many talents, many gifts, and now He and His consort have placed before me a man I suspect was Their choice in the long ago. Only time will tell what things lie in store for you and I.”

  “Sitara…” he began, but she shook her head and moved farther away from him.

  “Is it your desire to consummate our Joining before we leave the caves?” she asked in a strained voice.

  Ardalan felt as though he’d been slapped. Standing before him was a beautiful woman—his woman in the eyes of God and man—and he had every right to take her to the pallet, but her body language told him she would be relieved if he kept his hands to himself.

  “It is what a husband and wife do,” he reminded her, a muscle working in his jaw.

  She would not look at him. “And I am prepare
d to give myself to you, if you wish,” she said softly.

  It was more than anger he was experiencing at that moment. It was hurt, disappointment, insult, that she would make it a chore to come to him. She stood there like a living sacrifice seemingly steeling herself for his base attentions, and that annoyed him. No woman had ever shied away from his arms and he wasn’t about to let one start now—especially so his own wife!

  “I will not hurt you,” he said, lifting his chin in a belligerent manner.

  “I know that,” she responded. She was nervously twisting her fingers together, staring down at them as though by doing so he would decide consummating the marriage was unimportant.

  “If it is an issue of privacy…” he said then flung out a hand. “I can have Halim move the men farther back in the caves and they can drape the entrance to this room with the tarp.”

  Sitara smiled despite the anxiety flooding her soul. “That tarp is getting a workout, isn’t it, milord?”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked. “To have the entrance blocked off so we might have privacy?”

  She swallowed. “It would ease a portion of my apprehension if it is your intent that we consummate our marriage,” she agreed.

  Ardalan raked a hand through his hair then stalked from the room in search of Halim. His shoulders were hunched forward, his hands doubled into fists at his side, his teeth grinding against one another. He found Halim at the entrance to the caves watching the holy man bumping along on the back of a bony horse.

  Halim glanced around at his prince and grinned. “The horse looks as frail as its rider,” he commented.

  Ardalan cast a quick glance at the holy man then locked gazes with Halim. “Have your men find a way to hang that damned tarpaulin over the entrance to our room then move everyone back into the caves where we can have a modicum of seclusion.”

  Halim didn’t need to ask why. He just nodded then cocked his head toward the ring of hills surrounding the caves. “They’re still there and I see no indication they are getting ready to leave us in peace.”