Part One: Calormen

Chapter One

Calormen, the year 1008

From her second floor balcony, Zahara could see white caps forming on the ocean. The seas had been rough since a bad storm two nights ago, and the wind still blew with alarming force. No boats were currently visible on the horizon, which wasn't that surprising given the weather conditions. The sun was shining brightly, though, and the wind was warm since it came from the Great Desert to the North. Even with the breeze, it seemed like a good day for a walk: Any day, in fact, was a good day to get away from the strange and silent house for at least a little while.

Zahara turned and quietly shut the balcony doors so as to not wake her son; she paused for a moment after they closed with a click, but the little boy didn't stir from his bed. At fifteen months old, he was a heavy sleeper and never had a problem settling in for a nap, which Zahara was grateful for.

Before she left the bedchamber, she paused in front of an ornate golden mirror and made sure her black mourning attire was properly positioned. A few hairs had escaped her scarf which needed to be tucked under and pinned into place, and the sheer veil that covered everything but her eyes had slipped too far down her nose. She sighed before taking a step back to inspect her entire figure, but everything else about the flowing silk robes seemed to be in order. Only her hands, eyes, and forehead hinted that she actually possessed a layer of skin under her clothing.

Only eight more months and you can dress like a normal woman again, she thought to herself. Four months ago, Zahara's husband, Rasheed, a powerful general in Calormen's army, was killed in battle. Zahara was immediately sent away to her father's remote house on the coast of the province of Zalindreh to sequester herself away from society for the customary year-long mourning period. Only four slaves and her son, Aydin, were allowed to accompany her, and absolutely no visitors, family or friends, were allowed anywhere near her until the proper period of grief was over. For Zahara, the year away was both a welcome relief and a bit of a bore. She enjoyed the time alone with her son, but having no contact with the outside world was more tedious than she had ever expected.

Zahara exited her bedroom and walked down the tile stairs, taking a right at the bottom in order to go down another hallway leading to the kitchen. Her female slaves, and oddly the only other people in the world she considered real friends, were seated at a table with a few items of clothing spread before them. They were mending various pieces and sewing a few new ones for the baby. Both were talking in hushed tones, but stopped and greeted Zahara politely when she entered the room.

"I'm going for a walk while Aydin is asleep. Will you go sit with him, Mahtab, in case he wakes while I'm not there?" Zahara spoke quietly, although she wasn't sure why: There was no one else in the house to disturb.

"Of course, Tarkheena." Mahtab immediately stood and gathered her work, taking it directly upstairs to Zahara's bedroom.

Zahara nodded goodbye to the remaining woman, Malia, and then walked out of the back entrance onto a small tiled patio. The tiles were the exact blue of the ocean, with a few gold encrusted ones spread throughout to reflect the setting sun. Opulence was what Calormenes did best, and her father never missed an opportunity to flaunt his wealth, even in houses he rarely frequented. The patio was surrounded by a garden with tall palm trees and tropical plants, which were carefully manicured to look as if they grew completely naturally. The beach was only a few steps away and Zahara immediately slipped off her shoes when she reached the sand. There was no one around to tattle on her for the lack of proper clothing.

She walked slowly down the beach, staying just out of the wave's reach. The wind felt good on her face, though Zahara wished she could feel it properly over her whole body. The storm a few days ago had blown in warmer weather, but there was no telling how long it was going to last. It never really got too cold in Zalindreh, but Zahara much preferred hot weather like that in Tashbaan to the more seasonal climes in other parts of Calormen.

Sometimes, Zahara was surprised at how blank her mind became when she wasn't attending to Aydin. It was easy to simply look around and observe the scenery instead of wondering what was happening in Tashbaan with her sisters and brothers, or wishing she could attend some dinner of state at her father's side. Zahara had become so intent on her singular task of walking that she almost walked straight past the small, weathered boat washed up on the shore.

Startled by the sight out of the corner of her eye, she turned to face the object. She was positive it hadn't been there the day before, so it must have just recently made its way inland, she reasoned. There were no footprints other than her own in the sand, however, so Zahara automatically assumed the vessel was empty; nevertheless, she approached cautiously and peered over the side.

Slumped against the side of the boat was a young man with dark hair and suntanned skin, burnt from his exposure to the sun. Without thinking, Zahara immediately lifted her robes and climbed into the boat, kneeling down beside him. He had a nasty gash on his forehead and his clothes were torn, but she couldn't tell if there were more hidden injuries…or even if he was already dead. She bit her lip and slowly leaned in, trying to hear a breath or some sign of life. Nothing.

Zahara pulled back and sighed. He must be a sailor caught in the storm, the poor thing. As she stared at the body and wondered what to do, she suddenly noticed the slight rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing, but barely. Well, there's nothing for it now, Zahara thought to herself. He needed help quickly, and considering her house was the only thing visible for miles, her assistance was all she could give, even if it broke every Calormene mourning rule in the book.

Zahara quickly scrambled out of the boat and ran back down the beach in the direction she'd come. There was no way she could get him back to the house by herself. When she reached the patio, she immediately began yelling for Abbas and Taher, her two male slaves. She paused and slumped against a chair for a moment, out of breath, before the men came barreling out of the house.

"Tarkheena, are you alright? Is there an intruder?" Both men looked alarmed.

Zahara shook her head and pointed down the beach in the direction of the boat.

"No, no. Please, I need your help. I was walking and found a boat washed up on shore. There's a young man inside, unconscious. I thought he was dead, but he's breathing. You must bring him here, but be as gentle as you can. Just moving him might kill him." Zahara finally caught her breath and straightened back up, rubbing a cramp in her side.

The men stood still for a moment, obviously surprised at the news and Zahara's instructions, but quickly set off in the direction she pointed. Zahara hurried inside the house and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Both Mahtab and Malia were there getting Aydin dressed: apparently he'd woken from his nap while Zahara was gone.

"Mahtab, please watch Aydin. Malia, I need you to help me. Abbas and Taher are bringing an injured man back to the house. I need you to bring water, some soup and bread, bandages…" Zahara ticked things off on her fingers as she thought of them and then shook her head, certain she was forgetting something. Both Mahtab and Malia wore identical expressions of shock on their faces, but neither questioned their mistress and Malia hurried downstairs.

"Tarkheena, a man?" Mahtab questioned as she lifted Aydin into her arms. "Wherever did you find a man? And…no one is supposed to see you," she added hesitantly.

Zahara shrugged and said defiantly, "Well, it simply cannot be helped, Mahtab. Are we supposed to let him die? Now, I'm going to get the bedroom next door ready. Have Abbas and Taher bring him there, and carefully," she emphasized.

Mahtab nodded and carried Aydin downstairs to wait for the men to come back while Zahara entered what would become the young man's room. She turned down the sheets and opened the windows to let some fresh air in, moving a table and chair over to the side of the bed where Malia set down the supplies. In a few minutes, the sounds of Abbas and Taher struggling up the stairs floated in through the open doorway, and Zahara opened the door wide to let them in.

"Is he still alive?" she asked anxiously.

They nodded as they gently set him down the bed. He gave a slight moan, but then was still. Zahara could see a deathly pallor underneath his sunburn and she immediately began cooling his sweat-soaked face with a cool cloth. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her brain registered that this man was not a Calormene, no matter how suntanned his skin. Judging by his clothes, he was certainly from Archenland… or Narnia.