Chapter 206: My Closing Eyes

The great cavern was called the Garden, though nothing grew in it yet.

It was a huge hollow in the rock, big enough to hold a city, and in its roof was a window the size of a lake.

It was thick crystal, laid down by the old Arcanists in the first week of building.

Snow lay across it in a soft white sheet, and beyond the snow, through the thinner places, the night sky showed.

Twelve moons hung there.

They were pale and enormous, scattered across the dark in a ring, each one a slightly different color.

Silver, rose, a cold pearl blue.

People had stopped looking at them after the first night.

They were too beautiful, and it hurt.

Layla stood beneath them with her daughter in her arms.

She had not slept in days, her hair had fallen out of its twist, and she had not fixed it.

Amal’s head was tucked beneath her chin, and the girl’s fingers were gripped in the fabric of her dress, as they had been since the moment they stepped out of the circle.

"Mother..."

"Yes."

"It’s been too long."

"I know."

"Is Father not coming?"

Layla looked up at the moons.

The silver one was the largest.

She watched it for a long time, and she tightened her arms until Amal squeaked.

"He said he would."

"Do you believe him?"

She thought of a hall, and a pair of golden eyes, and a hand on her cheek.

She thought of the words she had said at the edge of the light.

"I trust him."

That was not an answer, but it was the only thing she had.

They stood there together, mother and daughter, the snow sliding slowly down the crystal above them.

***

The Holy Palace was probably burning.

Somewhere to the south, past the ice, the Order’s armies were pouring across the border.

They were taking the gates, they were taking the Hall, and the throne, and the banners that had hung there since the day the Sultan first sat down.

By now they were certainly carrying the treasure out of his chambers and counting it in the dark.

Malik should have been there.

He was a Sultan.

A Sultan stood on his own walls, defended them, and died on them if he had to.

That was the only job he had ever been given.

And he was here instead, on a scorched hill in the middle of nowhere, with a shovel made from a sword.

He did not care.

It was a plain fact, and he looked at it from a long way off.

He would care later... he would care for the rest of his life.

Now there was only the grave.

Malik had dug it slowly.

It was a tough ask for the current him.

He had only his left arm, and he couldn’t stand without Old Cane.

While digging, he had stopped three times to wait for the cracks in his body to stop pulling.

The earth was dry and stony.

It had taken him until the Suns had climbed from a faint yellow smudge to a bright, cold coin.

When he was finished, the hole was only a little deeper than a man’s chest.

It was humble, not nearly enough.

He lifted his father in his one arm and laid him inside.

Hakim’s eyes were still open.

Malik knelt at the edge.

He reached down and drew two fingers across the lids, and this time they stayed.

Perhaps they knew that it was goodbye, perhaps they knew that they would no longer look at the sky.

Malik stayed there for a moment longer, his hand resting on the old man’s brow, and then he took it away.

He picked up a handful of earth and let it fall.

It made a soft sound against the cloth.

Then another.

He filled the grave slowly, one handful at a time, because his arm would not carry more.

When it was done, he set a flat stone at the head and stood back from it.

This was the grave of his father, the Sultan’s father.

A grave even beggars would see as lacking.

Yet it was all he could do.

"Why did you have to die?"

The question dropped into the quiet.

"You and me... we had so much more to talk about..."

He tried to steady his breath, but it hitched again.

"I always thought that dying would be a Fate far better than this tragic life that I have lived. That my passing would perhaps free my people. Allow them to live a life free from terror. That I would finally be reunited with my loved ones."

He let out a bitter laugh.

"But we would never meet again, Father."

His hand closed into a fist.

"IT had taken you."

Gold light leaked between his fingers, and he did not feel it.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

He grabbed the stone and shook it.

"Tell me. What should I do?"

It rocked in the earth, and he shook it again, as if it might answer him.

"Damn you for leaving me."

But of course, there was no reply.

"Damn you."

There was no voice in the air, no warm hand on his shoulder, nothing but the hollow silence of a hill where the world had gone to rest.

"Ahahaha..."

His head dropped, and his hair fell forward across his face.

"There is nothing that could console me."

He exhaled a shuddering breath.

"And now, I have... I—"

His words suddenly stopped.

The ground slid out from under his boots, and the sky swung across his vision.

He thought, with a kind of distant surprise, that he should put out a hand.

The hand that remained did not move.

His knees buckled, and the dirt rose up to meet him.

Somewhere far above his head, a voice broke through:

"I-I think we got him!"

...

Forgive me.

Forgive me.

Oh Layla... O wife... forgive me.

My eyes had closed.

My eyes had closed.

Forgive me...

Forgive me for closing my eyes.