Almaran from a Black Fire's Eyes
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A brief tale of the Black Fire prince, Zaqarai, during his capture in
This public article was written by [Deactivated User], and last updated on 2 Sep 2015, 18:58.
[comments] lma He woke as he was thrown into a cell, dark, dim, dank, not a scrap of food or much of a bed anywhere to be seen. The bed was a pile of straw with a mildewing elk fur over it. In one corner, there was a small chamber pot with flies buzzing over it, and in the opposite, a large cobweb the length of his forearm. He sat there, dazed for a moment. The cells were not divided by thick cinder blocks like they were in the Black Fire Keep, just divided by the same bars that constituted the cell door. To one side of him, there was a sleeping elderly man with his back to him, and on the other, there was a small young woman, not much older than he was at all, her belly swollen slightly, sitting up against the back of her cell.
A twinge of sickness tugged at his stomach. What kind of man would put a pregnant young woman in a prison cell like this? Why was she even there to begin with?
She noted his presence with a heavy sigh, and redirected her gaze elsewhere, tugging her shawl idly closer to her. A quiet tune drifted from her lips in Almaran as Zaq muttered curses to their captives. Whatever she was singing, it was beautiful. He couldn’t understand the words, but it had a mournful lilt to the music as she sang it. Zaq found his lips hushing so he could hear it better. Once silence, he picked up stray words with paradoxical juxtaposition, like peasants and rich, war and peace, and day and night. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t speak Almaran, and he didn’t want to make himself a fool.
Soon enough, she caught him staring at her, and eyed him a long moment before she muttered an Almaran greeting to him. “Fjora, ya ne jeten lerum.” Stranger, I do not mean harm. Zaq remembered being taught how to say that.
“Ne ya, os.” Neither I to you: the standard response. “Do you speak Naerian?”
She nodded. “Not well.”
“But you can understand me?”
A look of hesitation creased her brow. “Mostly.”
“What’s your name?”
“Seda Erdonnë.”
It was a simply enough said name, beautiful and easy to lilt off the tongue. “Seda. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you are?”
“Zaqarai Black Fire, son of the Reborn.”
Her eyes immediately widened and she scooted back to the back of her cell as quickly as she possibly could. “You… you are a fjoren witren and your father is too!”
“Look.” He held up his hands defensively. “I don’t know what propaganda they’ve been feeding you but I’m not whatever you just called me. I’m just a normal guy, a knight, sworn to protect maidens like you.”
She scoffed. “I am no maiden. I am married, and am bearing the second child to our marriage in the summer.”
“Many well wishes to you, madam, but in our country, you are still a lass. When did you get married, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The month I turned thirteen. My husband is quite nice to me. He treats me very well, and cares for me and the children.”
“Let me guess… he’s old enough he could be your father.” Zaq never liked Almaran culture for this reason. To have a little girl barely bloodying each month and marry her off to a man twice her age? It just did not seem like a good idea on principle.
“He could be. But he is not, and he is the father to both of my children. He is peaceful, faithful, and kindhearted. I do not believe he would ever harm a single soul.” She tugged off her shawl and re folded it about her neck and shoulders. “I do not like your mindset, Zaqarai. You do not believe Alimar is good because our king is bad. Our customs differ from Naeria. But we are not Naeria, and we dislike your presence in our own civil war.”
“I dislike your country because your customs sicken me, and we would not be involved if the mindsets from your war were not spilling into our own country. If your king’s thugs hadn’t been hired to kill my brother and me, we wouldn’t be here either.”
“It is no crime to marry young,” she said defensively. “What is there to be made sick for?”
“At the age you married, most lasses bearing children would be dead.”
“Most die before their time here, as the ice kills many young.” She looked away again. “Tundra is a hard place to live, and there is little you appear to understand of it.”
“You wouldn’t last a week in the Fae Wood.”
“Last or not, that has magic. Tundra has no beast to kill you but his own icy fingers.”
“Save the wolves, and the bears, and the people, and the water and the mountains. But of course, I know nothing of this land.”
“Wolves and bears are predictable. We’d best hush before the guard makes his next round.” ✎ Edit Article ✖ Delete Article
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