Date: August 31, 2000 (Aether: January 9, 3906)
Place: Shakir's Chambers - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Shahar, Thalia
Scene: The Queen-Maharani visits the Shakir of Khalida, who has at last been restored to Atesh-Gah. But the once-proud woman who was called the "Lioness" of her Clan is diminished, her faith and spirit shattered by the supposed death of Khalid and the loss of her husband. Thus, Thalia -- an Empyrean -- tries to rekindle a spark of hope within the Varati woman who has devoted her life to Khalid Atar.

Shakir's Chambers - Atesh Gah - Haven:       Subtleties rather than garish expressions of rank and wealth are preferred in the arched, airy climes of the Pasha's quarters. These rooms have been selected for their windows, which are slender and many in number, the gauzy draperies typically open to allow the breeze and sunlight to bathe the suite in serenity. Furniture is minimal and what exists is of Varati make and preference, though decidedly elegant: most noticeable is the desk at which she performs her tasks. Fresh fruit, Akaashi spring water, and delicate sweets are ever in evidence for the visitor's comfort and usage.
      The floor itself is marble, white and glistening with a high polish, though colorful rugs (in Khalida red, blue, and gold) wrought by the renowned Varati weavers cover much of that impressive flooring. Lastly, perhaps in tribute to Shahar's softer side, fresh-cut flowers are dotted about the room in crystalline vases. The overall effect is open, clutter-free, and clean... much like, one imagines, the Shakir's mind.

A point of fact: winter and summer, snow or rain or sunshine, the rooms of the Shakir of Clan Khalida are open to the elements. Windows are left unlatched, curtains spread to allow whatever natural light to filter in, and in much of the year the gardens below provide magnificent fragrance to the obsidian-lined chambers. So the fact that the suite, even after the return of its mistress, is shut, shuttered, dark and dismal, speaks well of the mood within.

Guards are posted, as per the norm, at least, two Agni-Haidar, two Khalida guards, but the mood about the rooms of Shahar Khalida is somber. Almost, one would say, like a tomb.

Into the darkness, light pours as the doorway between the suite and the hallway opens to reveal the pale figure of the Varati Queen. She steps lightly into the room, her wings shuttered on her back.

Though large explosions rocked the embassy the previous day, the Queen does not appear to have experienced the trauma. She looks as she did before Shahar left on her disastrous journey, the pure white counterpart to Khalid's dark fury.

Thalia does not venture far into the suite, coming to a halt as she takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then, a soft voice calls out, "Shahar?" This is not tentative query, but the sweet, gentle sound of a shepherdess coaxing forth a shy lamb.

A figure makes itself known: no female, this, but a boy, a shudra of no more than twelve who bows respectfully toward the Maharani -- those of the Shakir's household are no average Varati, it would seem -- before speaking in the piping sopranic voice of his age. "O, honored Maharani of my people, if you desire to see the Imphada, she is within her bedchambers... but I do not know if she is awake." Helpful, as honest as he can manage, and oozing humility.

Thalia may sound and look like the same woman of many months ago, but her actions show a woman who has grown in confidence and assurity of her position, despite the actions of her enemies. With a courteous nod to the shudra, Thalia requests, "Bring a backless chair to the bedchamber." She does not elaborate on the purpose of her visit, though the request for seating is portent enough. The Queen then strides briskly across the chamber to the bedroom.

A scurrying scuffle of feet imply that the boy is doing as dictated while the Queen of the Varati, bewinged like the husband many believe dead, enters the bedroom proper.

It, too, is suffused in dark, with a few candles offering meager, modest illumination in what is a sober environment. No one stirs within, but a figure is curled against the cushions, a fetal position beneath heaps of coverlets... Shahar, presumably. From a distance, determining if she is awake is a challenge.

Thalia walks boldly over to the side of the bed. Though the room is cloaked in shadows which flicker and bring an ache to the eyes, Thalia does not ask for the curtains to be drawn open. Instead, she waits for the arrival of her chair, looking over curled figure in the dim illumination. "Shahar?" she queries again.

Sounds come from behind the Maharani -- the shudra returns with the stool in hand, presenting it with a reverent bow. But he peeks at the bed when the woman within -- or what is left of the woman within -- bestirs, opening eyes to focus on the woman nearby. The Empyrean woman. And from the Shakir, a flickering expression of confusion follows. But yes, she is awake.

Thalia places herself upon the stool, giving the shudra another nod. She reaches into the covers and attempts to draw forth Shahar's hand. "Shahar," she says, maternally, but with unwavering conviction, "it is time to live again."

The Lioness of Khalida is a shadow of her former self, a husk; the loss of a will to live has chewed away at her soul, and her body has been ravaged as an aftereffect. Dull in coloration, dull in demeanor, she focuses on the Empyrean nearby, on the white frame of wings and croaks, "There is no Khalid... there is no Ranjeet. There is no Shahar." The mantra, it is said, she has repeated since her arrival.

Thalia says soothingly, "There is Khalid. I have faith that he will return. He is a God. He is immortal. He lives. Believe in that, and have faith that he will return." She strokes the limp hand in her grasp. "I believe he will return. With all my heart, I believe."

Tears spark in the dimmed eyes, trickling unbidden, unheeded, down hollowed cheeks while Shahar whispers, "There is no Khalid... there is no Ranjeet." And the grief that sucks away her life speaks volumes of how deeply she believes her beloved Amir-al is gone, gone with her husband.

Thalia reaches forth an finger tipped with an ivory nail and slides the back of the finger against the wet cheek, gathering up the tears against her flesh. "There is Khalid," she says firmly, promising it with her certainty. Of Shahar's husband, Thalia cannot promise, for Ranjeet was mortal, not a God. "There is Khalid," she repeats.

The insistent words have the implication of madness, but what is plain is the utter desolation of the woman uttering them. Still, her unblinking gaze twitches, then refocuses on the alabaster countenance of the wife of her beloved God-King, and a semblance of sanity, or at least comprehension, is within that gaze. Oh, says that gaze, oh, how she wants to believe. "Where...?" the whispered insistence begs. "Where?"

Thalia says confidently, "He is in Masada, under the mountain of rock the rebel Atarvani chose to cast upon his body, but this is a test." Her eyes shine as she proclaims, "This is a test, for he could free himself at any time. He is a God. This is a test for his people, to see which would hold faith. To see which are truly loyal."

Now, a touch of sadness enters Thalia's voice. "It is a cruel test, to be sure, but the hardest trials hurt the most."

"When?" Ah, full of questions is she, the Shakir of Khalida, she whose heart was shattered into a thousand pieces by the past month's events. "When?"

Thalia replies, "Very soon after you were captured. He went to free Masada after sending Ranjeet with Khalida warriors and Agni-Haidar to rescue you. There were secrets in Masada which he could not allow to fall to the unfaithful. The rebels weakened a tunnel and allowed the mountain to fall upon him." Thalia does not hold back the truth, but she appears unworried that the facts suggest an almost certain death. Her faith is strong.

Her faith is strong. She, an Empyrean, a born candala, a converted woman who calls the God-King husband, has enduring faith, while the anointed, reverent, zealous follower from her birth and beyond doubts and wails. The realization burrows past that sheet of misery, pressing closed her eyes while more tears spring forth from the proud Lioness. And, feebly, the Queen's hand is drawn toward Shahar's cheek to be pressed there, in a quiet sign of reverence and affection, of devotion and love.

Thalia bends her head down and presses her lips against the other woman's forehead in a light kiss. Her hand, she keeps it against Shahar's cheek. "He will return. Do not fear. He is like the Phoenix -- he will always rise again, stronger than those who have tried to imprison him can ever suspect." Her breath is sweet, as if Thalia had been eating mints.

"Perhaps," Thalia says softly, "the child was Khalid's way leaving you a link during this time of trial. Perhaps he knew, and did not wish for you to fear."

"Maharani..." Ah, how devastated is the once-proud purr of the Lioness, how drained of life. "My heart has died. I cannot go on. Not without them. I cannot."

Thalia replies, "You, too, must be like the Phoenix, Shahar. When your life appears to be ash, you must undergo rebirth. Remake yourself. These trials make you strong. You must find new purpose until Khalid's return. Ranjeet wanted nothing more than to free you and to see you live. Would you want his sacrifice to have been in vain? All his striving will have been for naught if you cease. Preserve his memory and his work. Live, learn, and teach."

At that reminder, Shahar drinks a deep breath and blinks, further tears scouring her cheeks but joined by no others. And some of the madness, some of the hopelessness, seems to dissipate in her eyes. "In your heart," she whispers thinly, "you think the Amir-al alive... in your heart, you believe this?"

Thalia nods and replies vocally, "Yes, I do. In my heart, I believe he is alive." She does not speak with religious conviction. Fervor is absent from her tone. Instead, her voice shows that her faith is the immovable rock, the foundation of belief upon which truth must sit. "It does not matter how long Khalid chooses to test our people and myself. I know that he is alive, and that he will return."

"I want to believe that..." Sickness, starvation, numbing grief have sapped the strength of the Khalida Shakir, drained her of the self-possession for which she is known and left this pale imitation of her natural self. And she sounds more childlike in the frail syllables that spill off her tongue. "I want to believe so much, but I cannot feel him, I cannot see him or know he is alive. And my Ranjeet... oh, oh how can I bear to bury him without throwing myself on the flames?"

Thalia strokes Shahar's hair. "Sometimes, it is not necessary to see to believe, or to hear the truth in order to know it. Faith is believing, even when logic says that your belief cannot possibly be true. A true test of faith is not having anything physical to support your belief, but your own heart and your own conviction. This is true no matter which God you worship -- whether you are Empyrean, Varati, Sylvan or Atlantean. Those who demand proof are those with the least faith, for they need to be convinced by others, when the truth is in their own heart."

The Queen sighs. "As for Ranjeet, funerals are a time to say goodbye, hard as that may be. They are a time to allow the past to rest, and to set spirits free to walk the next life. This is only one cycle for you, Shahar. If you are true to Ranjeet, and he is your one true love, surely you will meet in the next life, but you do not need to rush to meet him. Those who truly love us as we love them will wait for us."

But love is the centerpiece of Shahar's life, the focal point. Strength is hers, yes, but what she does, she does for love: love of the Amir-al, he that she fears dead; love for her husband, he that is most likely no more. And without that love, in its wake, is bleak enfeeblement and a loss of purpose. "What should I do, Maharani?" Ah, the trust in that hoarsely-issued query... Shahar, at least, embraces the woman that Khalid decided to take to wife.

Thalia draws a hand away to move a candle holder closer to the bed. The light chases away the shadows in the vicinity, illuminating both women in warm, molten gold. "Before all this, Khalid gave you a son. Love him, Shahar. He is yours to love, yours to cherish, yours to raise and make into a proper Varati. Begin with him. Let his childish ways give you peace in this time of trial.

"Then, you must move past your loss, as painful as it is. You should not forget Ranjeet, but you cannot allow your loss to subsume you, to eat away at your soul. He would not want it. I do not want it. I need you whole, Shahar. This test is not yet complete, and we will need to be strong to survive its length.

"I need one I can trust who can leave Atesh-Gah and travel the streets of Haven to speak of Varati matters with the other nations. I need one skilled in diplomacy, for I cannot leave these walls myself. I am a focus for people's hatred. As such a focus, my presence outside this bastion endangers others.

"Yesterday, many died because I left these walls for the courtyard. I cannot allow other innocents to die for my sake, but the process of governing does not cease because my movements are limited. Someday, I will once again go forth in my appointed duties, but until then, someone else will have to aid me in my role. This kingdom cannot fall while Khalid rests. It cannot crumble. There must be a kingdom for Khalid to reclaim when he returns."

Her words are a balm, and while some sting lingers that they come from one whose heart is not Varati by birth, Shahar embraces each syllable with the fortitude of faith that has been her mode of living for so long. Within her, the fire may have been near-suffocated, but a glimmer of flame still flickers, and Thalia has masterfully rekindled it.

Closing her eyes, body demanding rest and perhaps the nutrition long refused it, Shahar mumbles brokenly, "Then for his sake, I give myself to you, for the people, for the Kingdom. I am yours as you will command me, brave Maharani, forever."

Thalia smiles, lips curving with pleasure. "My first command is simple, Shahar. Do not continue to live in darkness. Live again. Come into the light and grow strong. Bask in the glory of Ashur Masad. When you have regained your strength, we will speak of the state of the kingdom and the many tasks which I will have waiting for you."

The answer is simple, but from the very heart earlier proclaimed as shattered. "So it is said, so it shall be...." Then Shahar leans her head against her bed's cushion once more, relinquishes a soft sigh, and relaxes. Little has changed, but within the room, the dour, somber mood seems to have eased, like the darkness that dawn's early light soon chases away.

Thalia rises from her stool. "I will ask your shudra to come and freshen your room. Now rest and think of your future not with heartache, but with hope. I am here for you Shahar. We will stand together." With this, she smiles and turns to walk away with whispering steps.

Sleep drags Shahar toward the blessed bower of that much-needed rest, away from the hopeless state in which she had been residing, and drowsily she responds, "Together, Maharani, always." Then she is gone, embraced fully by her exhaustion, with expectation of mending. With expectation of hope.

FIN  

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