“Do not fear for him, I’m sure he shall return to us soon.” She pulled back and looked down at her daughter’s bare feet. “Dearest, I do wish you might wear shoes sometimes.”
Leila frowned at her. “It’s not raining today. You know I only wear shoes when it rains.”
Fatima shook her head at her daughter’s odd penchant. As Leila drew back, Fatima embraced her twins Aisha and Faridah. Both kissed her cheeks in turn.
“You’re taking too long!” Mumina insisted, stamping her foot and scattering her crown of flowers from the previous day to the ground.
The eleven-year-old twins turned in the circle of their mother’s arms. Faridah stuck her tongue out at her little sister. Mumina would have delivered a kick to her sister’s calves, if her elder brother and sister, who waited patiently beside Mumina, had not held her back.
A scant year separated Fatima’s next child, Qamar, from the twins Aisha and Faridah, and from her younger brother, Muhammad. The boy and girl shared the same birth date and behaved in the same manner. They held each other’s hands and bowed before their mother. A lock of Muhammad’s black hair fell over his eyes. When he stood, Fatima smoothed his curls, which he promptly tousled again with a smirk.
After Fatima knelt, hugged and kissed Mumina, she also admonished the little tyrant to behave herself. Amoda brought the younger children, Qabiha and Saliha. Although four years of age, Qabiha barely spoke and her stare seemed vacant, as though she was not aware of the world around her. Fatima worried for her silent, wide-eyed child and lingered over her embraces with Qabiha, before she kissed Saliha’s cheek.
Amoda said, “I shall take good care of them, my Sultana.”
Fatima nodded. “Where is my Ismail?”
“I am here, Ummi .”
He led two horses and one pack animal from the stables.
“I don’t understand why we can’t go with you.” Mumina pouted. “We haven’t seen Grandfather since Qabiha was born.”
Fatima looked over her daughter’s head to Amoda, who said, “Come, children, do not pester your mother. Allow her to take her leave.”
Groans filled the air, but several pairs of feet shuffled into the house. Amoda set Qabiha and Saliha at her feet, squeezed Fatima’s hand in her own and raised it to her lips briefly. “God go with you, my Sultana.”
Fatima grasped her eldest son’s narrow shoulders. “I pray our God guide you always, Ismail. You have charge of the household in the absence of your parents. You shall, I trust, defer to the wisdom of Marzuq, Leeta and Amoda. Watch over your brother and sisters.”
“Yes, Ummi ,” Ismail replied.
Fatima kissed both his cheeks and hugged him against her. He groaned for respite and wriggled from her grasp. He smoothed the wrinkles in his sleeves and bowed, before he followed his chattering siblings into the castle.
Fatima had told only one person the purpose of her hasty departure to Gharnatah with Niranjan, but almost everyone suspected the cause related to Faraj, whom they assumed still fought at Tarif. Only her younger sister Alimah knew the truth.
The widowed Sultana stood in silence beside a column. The wind battered Alimah’s body and billowed her blue-black veils behind her back. Years after the death of her husband, she still wore mourning colors.
Fatima held out her hand to Alimah. After a moment, her sister’s slim fingers clasped hers. In silence, they stood together, foreheads touching. Fatima squeezed Alimah’s hand.
“I wish you would change your mind and come with me to Gharnatah.”
“I promised myself I would never return while the Sultan lived. Why should I go now?”
The pain of betrayal embittered Alimah’s unforgiving tone. Fatima believed the feelings were justified, but she despaired at her sister’s lingering hatred. “Dearest, he is still our father….”
Alimah pulled away and hugged her body against the descending chill. “He is the Sultan of Gharnatah first, a
Leila frowned at her. “It’s not raining today. You know I only wear shoes when it rains.”
Fatima shook her head at her daughter’s odd penchant. As Leila drew back, Fatima embraced her twins Aisha and Faridah. Both kissed her cheeks in turn.
“You’re taking too long!” Mumina insisted, stamping her foot and scattering her crown of flowers from the previous day to the ground.
The eleven-year-old twins turned in the circle of their mother’s arms. Faridah stuck her tongue out at her little sister. Mumina would have delivered a kick to her sister’s calves, if her elder brother and sister, who waited patiently beside Mumina, had not held her back.
A scant year separated Fatima’s next child, Qamar, from the twins Aisha and Faridah, and from her younger brother, Muhammad. The boy and girl shared the same birth date and behaved in the same manner. They held each other’s hands and bowed before their mother. A lock of Muhammad’s black hair fell over his eyes. When he stood, Fatima smoothed his curls, which he promptly tousled again with a smirk.
After Fatima knelt, hugged and kissed Mumina, she also admonished the little tyrant to behave herself. Amoda brought the younger children, Qabiha and Saliha. Although four years of age, Qabiha barely spoke and her stare seemed vacant, as though she was not aware of the world around her. Fatima worried for her silent, wide-eyed child and lingered over her embraces with Qabiha, before she kissed Saliha’s cheek.
Amoda said, “I shall take good care of them, my Sultana.”
Fatima nodded. “Where is my Ismail?”
“I am here, Ummi .”
He led two horses and one pack animal from the stables.
“I don’t understand why we can’t go with you.” Mumina pouted. “We haven’t seen Grandfather since Qabiha was born.”
Fatima looked over her daughter’s head to Amoda, who said, “Come, children, do not pester your mother. Allow her to take her leave.”
Groans filled the air, but several pairs of feet shuffled into the house. Amoda set Qabiha and Saliha at her feet, squeezed Fatima’s hand in her own and raised it to her lips briefly. “God go with you, my Sultana.”
Fatima grasped her eldest son’s narrow shoulders. “I pray our God guide you always, Ismail. You have charge of the household in the absence of your parents. You shall, I trust, defer to the wisdom of Marzuq, Leeta and Amoda. Watch over your brother and sisters.”
“Yes, Ummi ,” Ismail replied.
Fatima kissed both his cheeks and hugged him against her. He groaned for respite and wriggled from her grasp. He smoothed the wrinkles in his sleeves and bowed, before he followed his chattering siblings into the castle.
Fatima had told only one person the purpose of her hasty departure to Gharnatah with Niranjan, but almost everyone suspected the cause related to Faraj, whom they assumed still fought at Tarif. Only her younger sister Alimah knew the truth.
The widowed Sultana stood in silence beside a column. The wind battered Alimah’s body and billowed her blue-black veils behind her back. Years after the death of her husband, she still wore mourning colors.
Fatima held out her hand to Alimah. After a moment, her sister’s slim fingers clasped hers. In silence, they stood together, foreheads touching. Fatima squeezed Alimah’s hand.
“I wish you would change your mind and come with me to Gharnatah.”
“I promised myself I would never return while the Sultan lived. Why should I go now?”
The pain of betrayal embittered Alimah’s unforgiving tone. Fatima believed the feelings were justified, but she despaired at her sister’s lingering hatred. “Dearest, he is still our father….”
Alimah pulled away and hugged her body against the descending chill. “He is the Sultan of Gharnatah first, a
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