Crossroads Of Fate

Our fate is sealed.

Most of us find our own way out and have no desire to return to playing hide and seek

~Bahar

Another night stretched on in solitude, and Safah found herself lying awake, tormented by grief and memories of her family. She hadn't heard when Xara returned, for the weight of her sorrow often plunged her into the depths of sleepless nights. The pain was a relentless companion, one that she could not escape.

Physical wounds, like the arrow that had pierced her back as she fled and the dagger that had stabbed her stomach in the desperate fight beside her father before his tragic end, were slowly healing. But the agony that tore at her heart was the most relentless of all. It was a pain so profound that it had caused her to lose consciousness more than once.

The physical pain, although real and lingering, paled in comparison to the emotional anguish that threatened to consume her. She was driven by the need for retribution, not merely to heal her own wounds but to avenge the wrongs done to her family. The thought of her family's suffering, her father's murder, and the loss of all those she loved haunted her every moment.

She knew that if she didn't find a way to avenge her family, this profound pain would continue to eat away at her. It was as if her heart was breaking, piece by piece, and she could feel herself slipping away. She couldn't let that happen. She was determined to fight, to reclaim her family's honor, and to ensure that the Rezaygat and their Lord paid the price for their unspeakable crimes. Her resolve was unyielding, and she was willing to face any danger, no matter how great, to see her mission through.

"Good morning, my lady," Xara greeted, her voice filled with optimism as she entered the hut.

Safah awoke to a world where mornings had lost their luster. Her reply was laden with the weight of her burden, her voice heavy with a sense of despair. "There is nothing good about any morning as long as Lord Azar lives."

This dialogue had become a routine between them. Xara, with her colorful disposition, could not fully comprehend the darkness that had enveloped Safah's world.

Safah's first question was about the elusive bandit, Bahar. "Have you succeeded in locating the bandit?" she inquired, her hopes hinging on the information Xara would provide.

Xara's face lit up with relief and concern. "I did! He is right now passed out with the goats at the back," she answered. Together, they made their way to the back of the hut, where the goats and sheep were kept.

Safah's eyes widened in amazement at the sight that met her. Among the animals lay a young man, sprawled out in an undignified slumber. He wore brown trousers and a white tunic, now soiled and darkened from the dirt and dung. His face was buried in the dirt.

Xara moved to awaken him, but Safah halted her. Instead, she filled a bucket with water and, with purpose, splashed it upon the unconscious man. He jolted awake with a start, his startled cries ringing out, "I'm up! I'm up!"

"Wake and shine," Xara chuckled as he rubbed his eyes, slowly coming to his senses. He looked around in confusion, his gaze holding an odd mischief.

"Oi, ladies fair and pretty," he greeted them with a grin, his deep accent adding a touch of rustic charm to his words. "What can me do for ye?" He attempted to rise to his feet but kept slipping in the muck beneath him.

Safah couldn't help but feel a growing sense of skepticism. "Please, Xara," she implored, her voice laced with concern, "this goat of a man can't even stand on his feet. How could he possibly guide me through the treacherous woods on our journey North?"

She retraced her steps, heading back to the hut. She lay on the simple bed, her thoughts consumed by the dilemma of how to traverse the dangerous woods that separated her from the North. While she appreciated Xara's efforts in locating a guide, the idea of relying on a man who had been unable to keep his balance among a herd of goats seemed preposterous.

"Lady Safah! Are you inside?" Xara's gentle voice resonated as she entered the hut. She held a bowl of fresh milk in her hands, likely freshly milked from the ewes. With a caring disposition, she offered the bowl to her, insisting that she drink.

She eyed the bowl warily, her weary evident. "I hate this, Xara. It smells bad and taste even worst" she commented, her tone heavy with suspicion.

"It will help rejuvenate your weary body, my lady," the old lady said, her voice filled with concern. She extended the bowl to Safah, urging her to take a sip.

She accepted the bowl and she swiftly downed the milk in a single gulp, despite her reservations. The nourishment would be vital for the trials ahead.

"What have you done with the 'goat man'?" She inquired, her voice carrying a hint of sarcasm. Xara gave her a 'don't be so judgemental' glare

"Well, he is as foolish as a goat, isn't he?" The nickname she had given to Bahar reflected her doubts about his capabilities, even though she recognized that her choice of guide was limited

"My lady, I understand your skepticism, but sometimes it's the most unlikely of individuals who surprise us," she replied with a thoughtful tone.

She knew that Xara had her best interests at heart, but her heart was heavy with the weight of her responsibilities. She took a deep breath and finally conceded, "Very well, Xara. If you believe he had what it take, then I shall trust your judgment."

She was determined not to let her days in exile be consumed by idleness. Although Xara strongly discouraged her from doing physical tasks, Safah insisted on helping clean the hut and engage in simple chores. She had been gradually recovering from her physical wounds and found it difficult to remain inactive.

In her previous life at the Baldar manor, Safah's mornings had been filled with a bustling routine. She had embraced the tradition that only the women of the Baldar clan were responsible for cooking breakfast, a unique custom that set them apart from other noble families. While maids took care of cleaning and some kitchen assistance, the culinary art was exclusively the domain of the women. She had learned to prepare a variety of dishes and had cherished the time spent with the chatty aunties who would gather in the kitchen for gossip and shared camaraderie.

Her thoughts wandered back to the sheikha, her father's first wife, and her commanding presence. The sheikha had been a force to be reckoned with, in charge of the Baldar household. She managed budgets, scrutinized everything that entered or left the manor, and even occasionally participated in meetings with the men. She was the ultimate voice for the women of the Ta'isha clan. However, now she was nothing more than a distant memory, along with the rest of the Baldar family who had been ruthlessly killed.

She couldn't help but think of her mother, the third wife of her father, who had come from the distant East. Safah had inherited her mother's fair skin, pale complexion, long wavy hair, and captivating, dreamy eyes. Her mother's elegant presence had often left people feeling intimidated, even without the added value of the Baldar's harsh reputation. Her mother had been married into the Ta'isha clan from a distant one, the Humur. She remembered how her mother was a distant and exotic presence, and she often wondered about her and the homeland she hailed from.

Safah contemplated the possibility of reaching out to the Humur clan. They may not have been as powerful as the Baldar, but they could be a vital stepping stone in her quest for justice. Her mother's memory deserved some peace, and by reconnecting with her mother's roots, Safah believed she could take a step toward that goal. As her mind raced with these thoughts, she recognized the daunting reality that only the North held the power to offer her the army she needed to avenge her family and her clan.

The sun reached its midday zenith, a polite yet persistent knock echoed at the door of the hut. Xara was out tending to her goats, leaving her alone within the modest dwelling. She had maintained a deliberate distance from the villagers, not wanting to reveal her presence. She was well aware that rumors had a way of weaving themselves through the very walls of a community.

The knock came again, this time more insistent, accompanied by a distinct voice that was both unfamiliar and yet oddly familiar. "Oi! Me feel yer presence inside," the voice called out in a thick, rustic accent.

She couldn't help but groan audibly. She had been anticipating this visit; Xara had informed her that the supposed guide would return later to discuss the details of their journey. She took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing the man who had already earned her disdain.

"I hope you don't still stink," she quipped as she took in his appearance. He had traded his earlier state of disarray for a more presentable ensemble—a neatly tailored pair of trousers and a tunic. As she scrutinized him, she noted the brightness of his green eyes. Her hetred remained intact, but she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Bahar than met the eye.

"Aiii! Me heart breaks, fair lady," Bahar exclaimed dramatically, clutching his chest as if deeply wounded. He flashed a roguish grin, clearly unoffended by her previous comment. "Yet ye hurt me deeply."

She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his antics. "Whatever," she replied dismissively, retreating into the hut. He followed her inside, his curiosity piqued by her demeanor.

"I have a job for you," she stated bluntly, her gaze steady as she regarded the man.

"Fair lady," Bahar began, "Xara told me yer be wantin' a guide North, but such a journey, it don't come cheap." He settled onto a stool that she had offered, while she perched on the edge of her bed.

She had been trained in the art of reading people since childhood, and from the moment she had laid eyes on him, she sensed that he wasn't as interested in the coin as he was in her identity.

"You seem intent on knowin' who I am," she observed, her gaze penetrating. "My name is Safah, and I need a guide North. I have coins—silver, gold—whatever you decide. How much for the journey, and are you skilled with a sword?"

He regarded her with an odd curiosity. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Safah is a nobility name, specifically among the nobility of the East. The skin, the eyes—all suggest an Eastern origin. But too bold, not much grace and elegance. That suggests the Ta'isha clan. You must be of mixed parentage. Going North suggests only one thing, and with the fact that you're in hiding, you must be a Baldar who survived the massacre."

She was taken aback by his insightful analysis, but she was not one to be underestimated. She decided to play the same game, summing up his identity. "Bahar sounds Ta'isha, but you lack the fake accent of the villagers. You're too pale to be a Rezaygat and too composed to be a commoner. With those bright green eyes and an air of arrogance, well, I could simply say you're from a fallen house—fake name, fake caste, and a fake life. That's the life of an outcast."

Bahar's eyes widened at her astute observations. She had quickly surmised that he belonged to a fallen noble house in the North, one that had been charged with treason and dismantled. His family's lands had been seized, and they had been exiled. While most of his family had met a tragic fate, some had chosen to start new lives in distant lands, and he seemed to be one of the fortunate survivors who had managed to escape.

A heavy silence hung in the air within the hut as her gaze bore into Bahar's. her silent challenge daring him to reveal the truth. Bahar, for his part, felt exposed, and as he met her steady gaze, his eyes lost their luster. It was a confirmation of Safah's keen insight—she had seen through his charade just as he had seen through hers. He knew he wasn't the one trying to conceal his true identity; it was he who was trying to hide his past.

"You mentioned heading North," he finally spoke, breaking the silence, though his tone was somewhat defensive.

"Specifically, to Saba, the capital," she replied, crossing her legs as she maintained her focus on him.

He hesitated before responding, "It will cost you a lot."

She had an uncanny ability to see through deception. She offered some advice, a lesson she had learned from her Aunt, "You'd do well to drop the accent; it's more genuine that way. With it, you look like you're trying too hard to hide who you are."

She wasn't done yet. With a swift movement, she tossed a pouch at his feet. Gold coins spilled from it, forming a glimmering heap on the floor. He hastily collected the coins and began counting them, his eyes widening in astonishment.

"I suppose this will do," he mumbled, ready to pocket the considerable sum, but before he could, Xara entered the hut. With deftness, she snatched the pouch from Bahar's hand and began to count the coins meticulously. Both Safah and Bahar watched, their expressions filled with curiosity.

"Indeed, it is a substantial amount," Xara remarked, her eyes fixed on him. "With this, you could buy a piece of land, a herd of cows, secure a wife, and, perhaps, indulge in exotic liquor."

Safah interjected, her voice thoughtful, "Imagine having a thousand pouches like this or even larger ones. You could buy back your family's land and, if I reach the North, I may be able to negotiate a pardon for your family." The possibilities had grown exponentially, and Bahar was faced with a decision that would determine not only the course of their journey but also the direction of his own life.

Safah had mastered the art of negotiation from her father, and she knew that the first and most crucial step was to present an enticing possibility to her opponent, something they couldn't resist. She had just created that possibility for Bahar, one that only she could offer. Any outcast would jump at such an opportunity, but she was well aware that Bahar was not to be trusted. She had given him not only an ultimatum but also a potential weapon. If he knew how to wield it, he could regain his family's lost glory by selling her to any clan willing to restore his nobility.

"That's not possible; our fate is sealed. Most of us find our own way out and have no desire to return to playing hide and seek," he retorted, his voice wavering as his confidence slipped.

"As you wish," Xara said, handing the pouch back to him.

"We leave now," Safah declared, rising to her feet. She draped a thick cloak around herself, which she had likely borrowed from Xara.

"I won't stop you from going, my lady. Just be careful. Lord Azar's men are searching for you everywhere," Xara cautioned, embracing Safah warmly.

Safah turned to Bahar with distrust. "I don't trust you, Bahar. You're deceitful and untrustworthy. But understand this—you hold the fate of the entire Ta'isha clan in your hands. If I survive and reach Saba, I will return to save us. But if I don't, we will all perish under the tyranny of the Rezaygat. You, of all people, know the horrors of being at the mercy of their swords. I choose you because I believe you have the potential to be a savior." Or was it the only choice she had.

Xara had prepared two horses, ready for their journey. Safah entered the barn, where her own horse was still ailing from the infected wound it had sustained while trying to protect her. The white mare whinnied upon seeing her.

"I will come back for you. Stay alive," she whispered, bending down to stroke the horse's mane.

She hugged Xara once more, expressing her gratitude. Then, she mounted one of the horses that Xara had provided for their journey. She had purchased them a few days ago with the gold coins she had managed to escape with, knowing that they would come in handy. She had left all the coins with Xara. One pouch had gone to Bahar, and another she had pocketed for any unexpected need.

Safah knew one thing for certain now—Bahar wouldn't attempt to sell her off. She had played him, and she could see the conflict in his eyes. Who wouldn't want the promise of glory, lands, titles, and a family name with influence and power? Safah knew that if she could reclaim her father's lands and title, she would become wealthy enough to purchase all of Bahar's family lands and even restore his family name. He knew this too, but he was hesitant to hope. Hope was a precious and fragile thing in the heart of an outcast.

Characters

1. Bahar

2. Safah

3. Xara

4. Lord Azar

5. Sheikha (mentioned as Safah's father's first wife)

6. Safah's father

7. Safah's mother (from the distant East)

8. Aunties in Baldar manor

9. The villagers (implied, not explicitly named)

10. Saba (the capital mentioned)

11. The Rezaygat and their Lord (mentioned as adversaries)

12. Horses (not named, but mentioned in the barn)

13. The Humur clan (mentioned as Safah's mother's clan)

14. Lord Azar's men (mentioned as searching for Safah)

Places

1. The hut where Safah and Xara reside

2. Baldar manor

3. The treacherous woods

4. The North

5. Saba (the capital)

6. The barn where the horses are kept