The Visit
Lord Eraban, a respected member of Madar’s ruling Council, receives unexpected news that his old friend Asif, Chief Elder of the Oases, is coming to Madar with a request, but Eraban fears he will be unable to help as Madar is now determined to sever their ties with its ancient ally.Meanwhile, his wife, Lady Unpar, insists on discussing an urgent family matter that Eraban has repeatedly avoided.
The hallway in the Arvan Household was draped in heavy stillness, even though it was the middle of the day. Slanted beams of light filtered through high arched windows and fell across carved pillars and the tiled mosaics beneath them. At the center of the hall, a marble fountain made lulling sounds as its waters tumbled over green-veined stone.
The silence was broken by the sound of hurried footsteps. Lord Eraban appeared, striding forward in long, vigorous steps, carrying the unmistakable air of a man with something urgent to announce. His face glistened with sweat, and his green linen shirt clung to his broad back. He dropped heavily onto the edge of the fountain and let a weary groan escape his lips, then started rubbing his face with both his hands.
Moments later, he found himself staring down at the mosaic set into the marble floor beneath his feet, depicting the Twin Gods Bonkidu and Tindyr—half falcon, half man—midflight, bearing the treasures they had stolen from the realm of Almas, the Great Engineer. Bonkidu held a gerbil and a hammer; Tindyr, a worm and a shovel. These gifts they would later bestow upon the Founders, who would use them to build the great city of Madar.
His musings came to an end when he noticed Lady Unpar standing at the end of the corridor, her deep blue eyes, a singular, hereditary trait of her family, fixing him with mild surprise.
“I thought I heard your footsteps,” she said as she approached him slowly. “Why are you sitting here in your riding clothes, staring at the mosaic?”
“I have just received word from Asif saying that he is visiting, and I came to tell you,” he announced briskly.
“He is? When?”
“In a matter of days, I think. He is probably on his way already.”
“Is this visit about his daughter’s Blood-Cutting ceremony?”
Lord Eraban stood up and started stretching his arms behind his back. “I have a feeling it is. It has been nearly a year since he mentioned his daughter receiving . . . what is it again?”
“Her Bedura Call. And you call yourself his friend,” Lady Unpar teased. “But don’t you find it convenient that the girl who received the Bedura Call happens to be Asif’s own daughter?” she asked, her voice laced with barbed amusement.
He shrugged. “There is no law against that. Just because he is the Chief Elder of the Oases does not mean the Call could not fall upon his daughter.”
“Still, the Temple of Inanwa, the one where the Call has come from, stands in Asif’s domain, the Oasis of Barata. I find that to be too many coincidences.”
He cast a glance of mock suspicion at her. “You seem unusually well-informed about the traditions of the Oases.”
Lady Unpar smiled. “I have heard so much about the Oases over the years from you and from Her Majesty that it is impossible not to become well-informed,” she said.
“Speaking about Her Majesty, perhaps it would be better if she does not learn about Asif’s visit,” he said.
“Now, now, you are being too cautious,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “So what if she is a little curious sometimes?”
“A little curious!” He exclaimed. “That is what you said many years ago when she started asking all these questions about the Oases. Do you remember how that little curiosity of hers almost got everyone in trouble?”
“That was many years ago, as you said. She has learned her lesson since then,” Lady Unpar replied.
“Good, and I hope things remain that way,” he muttered, half to himself.
“I feel so deeply for Asif, though. Making that long journey for nothing.”
“I feel for him as well dear Unpar,” he said with a long sigh. “I sincerely wish I could accept his invitation, but my hands are tied as you know.”
“Are you certain you cannot persuade the Council to grant him this one favor, if only as a final courtesy?”
“Quite certain,” he replied. “Since I took my seat on the Council this year, I have never seen it more determined to sever ties with the Oases and the Dinkha Domains. I am only glad I resigned my post as Emissary before this sad turn of events.”
“What will you say to him, then?”
Lord Eraban scratched his head thoughtfully. “I have deliberated all morning, and the best explanation I could think of is that the Council is too preoccupied with the question of succession right now.”
“And should Asif come to you for favors as a Council member in the days ahead? What answer will you give him?”
“Asif is too proud to beg for favors, but should that day ever come, I shall find an answer for him then,” he said, brushing past her and heading toward the staircase. “I am going to change then head back out. Will you order the bathhouse to be prepared?”
“Certainly, but I wanted to speak with you before you go,” she said.
He stopped and turned slowly to face her. “Is this about Eladyr again?” He asked.
She nodded. Lord Eraban walked back toward her, then gently took her hands into his own and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “We will talk, my love, as much as you like. But not today.”
“Then when?” she asked, making no effort to hide the edge in her voice. “You have managed to find excuses to avoid the subject every time I tried to bring it up with you.”
He opened his mouth to reply but stopped when he noticed a young slave girl gliding silently down the corridor. She bowed her head respectfully and disappeared into a side passage.
“When I am fully focused and free from any distractions,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lady Unpar drew back her hands and wrapped her arms around her chest like a shield.
“Remember, Eraban. I never wanted you to bring that boy to our household in the first place. Only for your sake had I consented to that.”
“I know, I know, and I thank you for your patience,” he said, looking at her earnestly. “But I am asking you to be patient a little longer.”
“Fine, I will wait a little longer, but I will not be patient forever,” she said after what felt like a long pause. “I do not wish to wake up one morning and find our son heading to the middle of nowhere to become a soldier.”
“Thank you, thank you, my love,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly for a long, quiet moment before finally letting go, then he turned and bounded toward the staircase.
Lady Unpar then watched him run up the stairs, humming a tune. She let out a long sigh, and cursed Inabu under her breath. Had he not died, she would not be saddled with his son. Sometimes, her anger shifted toward Moyvar. What kind of mother abandons her own child? Perhaps the boy was simply impossible to love. Most boys take after their fathers, and the stories she had heard of Inabu’s viciousness and his infamous wrestling parlors were enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. Even so, why was this burden thrust upon her when his mother was alive and well, enjoying her hard-won freedom somewhere?
“Damn Inabu and may he rot in hell,” she muttered to herself. “And damn Moyvar, wherever she might be.”
