1 Last Son

The old woman's cackles echoed through the deserted palace as she tenderly stroked her grandson's head. Her weathered fingers combed through the sleeping boy's black hair, her cloudy eyes fixated on the glowing pendant around his neck.

Julian jolted awake, his heart racing. Startled by the presence of the unknown woman, he jerked away in fear.

Before he had the chance to ask who she was, and where he was, a fragile voice escaped from the elder's parched lips.

"Kasim, is it you?" The old woman's mouth curled up into a sad smile as her trembling hand reached for him.

In his heady state, her crooked fingers and wrinkled hand looked like claws trying to scratch him. Julian recoiled from her grasp and stared back in bewilderment, shocked to find that he understood the foreign language she spoke.

That was when he noticed the strange clothes she wore; swaths of coarse beige material draped her stout body forming a layered dress, underneath which was a white shirt. Not exactly common old lady attire. Her wrinkled feet stuck out from under her dress, the soles of her feet were black from the layer of dust that coated the floor.

He frowned while looking down at himself and the unfamiliar clothes covering his body. Nothing was right. His eyes widened as he studied his strangely small body, which had become that of a child.

Struggling with dizziness, he staggered to his feet and dashed through the open archway into the adjacent courtyard.

The cracked tiles of the dusty courtyard echoed with each step, their faded patterns barely visible amidst overgrown dry weeds. Thorny grey vines had crept up the walls, suffocating the stones beneath. In the center of the courtyard stood a cracked statue in a pond — it was of a huge stone angel hunched over, it's massive sculpted wings reached above the walls of the courtyard, in the midst of a passionate flight. The statue was so lifelike that Julian half-expected the angel to suddenly straighten up, flap it's great wings and fly away.

Staring at the angel's face, a needle-like pressure pierced through the center of Julian's head. His vision suddenly blurred and his sight was replaced with a vivid scene of the statue and the dilapidated courtyard from many years ago. The beautiful patterned tiles underfoot, the pale statue glowed under the moonlight, guests draped in fine silks and sparkling jewels were holding golden chalices and admiring the statue's beauty. Children rushed to the pond at the base of the statue and pointed in wonder at the colourful fish swimming in it.

His headache ceased and the glamorous party scene vanished with it. Julian's head no longer hurt, but a wave of exhaustion crashed through him. He breathed heavily and stumbled forward, disoriented by the sudden vision and hoping it and everything that was going on were all part of some vivid nightmare, and that he would wake up back in his bed any moment now…

After catching his breath, he began to think clearly. If he was being honest, he barely dreamed, let alone was he able to dream the humid air or the hot sun beating down on his back, and the crunchy feeling of the weeds under his bare feet. So how could this be a dream? There was only one answer — it wasn't.

Julian unwillingly approached the base of the statue and leaned over the edge, hoping to see his reflection in the pond. However, what was left in the dried-out pond was the murky accumulation of rainwater and some tadpoles fathered by the fat frog lounging on a clump of moss and algae next to the statue's feet.

As flawed as the reflection was, Julian could still make out the unfamiliar face staring back at him in the water. A young handsome adolescent with striking amber eyes, tanned skin, and unruly black locks that had grown to his shoulders. He couldn't be sure thanks to the murkiness of the water, but he thought there might be a small pale scar just in front of his right ear.

"Kasim…"

The soft voice was lost in his chaotic thoughts.

He was in somebody else's body. And this place, wherever he was, was a far cry from the one-bedroom apartment he rented in the city. The blistering sun beat down on him, saturating the air with a humidity too different from what he was his used to. It reminded him of a troubling fact: when he had gone to bed last night, it was snowing.

His chest tightened, breaths coming in shallow gasps as panic clawed at him. This couldn't be happening. The unfamiliar reflection in the murky water mocked him. A surge of fear intertwined with anger coursed through him making him grip onto the crumbling rock of the pond's edge until his knuckles turned white.

That old woman in the other room seemed to recognize him, sort of, she called him Kasim… The word 'Kasim' echoed in his mind.

Not to mention the strange language she spoke. Although he was by no means a linguist, he'd just taken a few linguistics courses in college, the language she spoke seemed far too unfamiliar to be any modern language from Earth. If that thinking was correct, that begged the question: was he even still on Earth anymore? 

"Kasim!"

A shrill shriek pierced through his internal struggle. Swiveling around, he found a beautiful young woman standing behind him. She was dressed similarly to the women he had seen in that brief vision when he looked at the fountain. She was covered in silky drapery with an embroidered sash that crossed over her chest and tucked in at her waist. Her wrists were covered in bangles that tinkled as she pointed her accusatory finger at him.

"I've been calling you! Why are you day dreaming here?" She frowned, scanning the forsaken courtyard with a look of disdain.

"Come, we must go find uncle and tell him our plans."

She pulled Kasim's arm, dragging him out of the courtyard and into a different archway.

She hastily lead him through deserted corridors, barren gardens and uninhabited rooms, the state of this place was terrible. The walls were flaking and a few structures looked like they would topple over with a strong gust of wind. It was like he was traversing a dilapidated maze of ancient ruins.

"Remember what we talked about. Just stay firm, I'll do the talking." She said, determination etched on her face.

Since asking who it was they were meeting might give him away, he decided it was best to wait and see how the situation would unfold.

Kasim and the girl came to a stop outside of a room that had arched windows barricaded with wooden shutters. A pungent mix of smoke and steam seeped out of the slits in the wooden panels, along with the sounds of moaning, and giggles. From the noises leaking out of the room, it was obvious what was going on inside.

Kasim glanced up at the young woman to find a nasty scowl on her face. She scrunched up her skirt in her clenched fists and kicked open the door with one powerful strike.

The door flung open and slammed into a nearby table, knocking over some ceramics that crashed onto the floor.

"You scoundrel!"

The young woman stormed into the room pointing her finger at the shaggy man lying on the sofa with a foggy look in his eyes. On his lap, a voluptuous woman with her upper draping undone was flustered by the sudden intruders. She hurriedly tied the top of her dress back on and dashed out of the room while knotting her headscarf under her chin and shielding her face with her free hand.

The man on the couch grinned, "You have the worst timing, Suri." He reached for his pants, lazily tying up the strings.

"That's Suriya, to you. And there should be no time that I catch you with a courtesan in our family's sacred residence." Suriya hurried around the cluttered room, flinging open the shutters to dispel the stale mix of incense, perfume, and an indistinct blend of smoky spices.

The man wobbly stood up, and from his loosely buttoned shirt Kasim saw the scars littering his chest.

So far Kasim had met three residents of the deserted palace: a beautiful but bossy young woman on a determined quest, and this gruff drunken man whose business he had just interrupted, as well as a frail elderly woman. What a start…

"I am a man, so I must defend my lovely lady friend. She is not a prostitute, but a woman from a good family, far better than ours." The man picked up a metal cup, threw his head back and lazily gulped down the cup's contents. He exhaled his satisfaction after he downed the drink.

Suriya scoffed. "You say women who work at bazaars come from good families? She would have to be the daughter of the king of bazaars to be half worthy of setting foot in this palace!"

The man wiped the corners of his wet mouth with the back of his hand, which only let the remaining alcohol seep into his stubbly beard.

"What does it matter to you anyway? You would sell this place the first chance you got. You probably wouldn't care if it turned into a brothel afterwards, as long as the Madame offered you a good price."

Watching these two bicker felt oddly familiar to Kasim, like he'd seen this same scenario many times before, and he knew that if he didn't interrupt them, they would carry on this way until the sun set.

Kasim kicked a piece of broken ceramic, letting it crash into the wall, making enough noise to break Suriya and the other man out of their argument.

Suriya suddenly remembered her original purpose and smirked at Einar.

"You can't oppose me anymore, Einar. Now that the heads of our house are no longer with us, as their only son, Kasim will take their place." She stared up at Einar triumphantly.

"And Kasim is in agreement with me. We will sell the Ish-Kanaan palace to suitable buyers and split the money between us."

Einar's expression soured. "His grave isn't even cold yet and you've already turned his son against his cause. Isn't this beneath you, Suriya…"

Einar stepped past her and got on one knee before Kasim. Einar stared into the boy's eyes, the drunkenness he displayed before had vanished.

"Don't let her selfishness sway you. Your father wanted to keep our ancestral grounds. He wanted it passed down through the generations, he hoped that we might revive our former glory one day. If you decide to sell this place now, we may never get it back again." Einar's eyes burned with determination that contrasted Kasim's first impression of him.

Suriya raced forward and jutted out her arm, blocking Einar from getting any closer to Kasim.

"I'm not some unfilial wench that wants to strip this place down for gold! The hard truth is that we can't afford the maintenance to keep up Ish-Kanaan. We can either sell it now for a good price to respectable people who won't tear it down, and come back for it one day when we have the funds, or we can keep it and watch it turn to ruins around us. Which sounds better to you?"

Einar stood up and looked at Suriya coldly, "The one where I don't break my vows to my family."

Ish-Kanaan, was that the name of this place? Their family's ancestral home. It looked very dilapidated now but the family must have been extraordinarily wealthy at one point, like in the era Kasim had seen in that flashy party by the statue. How long had it been since the family had fallen? What kind of upset could have caused this decline?

Einar turned to Kasim. "I know you and your father didn't get along, but this place is worth more than your grudge. We can't sell it."

The little scar on Kasim's cheek suddenly twinged.

Once again his sight was consumed by a vision. Furious golden eyes glared down at him. Kasim's heart shuddered in terror. The back of a large hand and the afterimage of a sparkling ring on the hand's middle finger flashed across his line of sight, the hand struck him hard across his face. The taste of iron flooded his mouth and his cheek burned. Kasim reached up to soothe his swelling cheek, but when his fingers made contact with his skin, the scene disappeared like a mirage. He was back in the cluttered room listening to the pair argue.

"There's no we in this situation." Suriya pressed her finger to Einar's chest. "Kasim is the last and only son. It's his decision and he sides with me."

Kasim quietly watched the two, inhaling and exhaling measuredly to calm his anxious heart. His expression grew cloudy. Not only had he transmigrated but now he was seeing visions.

Perfect, just perfect…

Einar stalked to the back of the room where he retrieved a thick book that was coming apart at the back. He swept all the miscellaneous objects off the surface of the cabinet and thrust the book down in front of Kasim.

"The farm is paying for our palace, all we need to do is raise a little extra money to take care of ourselves, there's no need to sell Ish-Kanaan."

Einar's finger pointed at the lines of the ledger that detailed the income of the farmlands owned by the Ish-Kanaan family. Although the letters and numerals were foreign to Kasim, he once again inexplicably understood what was on the page.

"The money from the farm isn't enough," Suriya scowled at Einar.

"Just look how rundown the palace is. All that money goes into keeping the water running and stopping the buildings from collapsing on top of us. But we don't have any servants and we can barely afford to feed ourselves. What's the point of trying if we live like peasants?"