Prynne's wrists and ankles jingled lightly, her bare feet silent as she followed the servant to her husband's quarters. Keeping her head bowed, Prynne cleared her mind of her previous activities so that she might give her husband her full attention. They walked past beautiful columns, gardens, pools, and fountains, past the slaves,servants, and wives of the Merchant Prince Fahim Asgarri on their way to his rooms. Above them shone the bright stars of the sky, and the moon in her beauty, glittering down upon the still waters of the inner courtyards.
Folding her hands before her, Prynne waited respectfully as the servant entered her husband's quarters to announce her arrival. Quietly she entered, pleased that her husband's eyes still raked over her naked form as it had two years past when she had married him at the tender age of 15. She could still remember how frightened she had been of the marriage bed, but her husband was fair and gentle with her. Perhaps it was because he was an old man, no longer capable of the brutality of the bedchamber.
Kneeling before him, Prynne bowed her head and pressed her lips against the back of his hand. "Dear husband, I am honored you have sought my presence." Without speaking, Prynne obediently took the wet washcloth from the basin beside her to begin washing his feet before laying herself out in the bed for him. Her womanly obligation was very short, her husband unable to maintain himself for more than a mere minute or two before collapsing upon her, panting raggedly.
After several minutes of allowing herself to be held in her husband's arms, Prynne obediently took another wet washcloth to clean him, rising to leave him as she always did. The old man reached out, taking her wrist. He was not a strong, but he did not need be for her to obey. His voice was dry and strained, "Stay, lie with me beneath the stars tonight, dear one. It is not a night to share alone."
Confused, Prynne acquiesced, bringing a ladle full of water to his lips for him to drink before sliding back beneath the silk sheets at his side. This was the first time her husband had ever requested she sleep beside him, her heart hammering in her chest. Even though she had produced no children for him, Fahim had been a fair husband and had treated her with great favor, often to the envy of her other six sister wives. The only other wife who had been granted the honor of sharing his sleep was his first wife, a woman of his own age.
Prynne lay in the bed beside him in silence, her back towards him as she felt the rise and fall of his bare chest against her back. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
The sound of the songbirds reached her ears, waking her to the chill of the dawn. She moved to slide herself quietly from beneath her husband's arm, thinking to silently leave his chambers so that she might begin the day's chores. Yet, his arm was heavier than she remembered as it dropped onto the bed behind her. Turning, she took a closer look at her husband in the dim light of early morning. Fahim looked deep in sleep, yet there was a stillness to him that uneased her. His dark skin had a pallor to it she was certain had not been there the night prior.
Crawling back onto the bed beside her husband, she stared hard at his chest. It did not rise and fall, but remained absent of movement. Kneeling beside her husband, she reached out to touch his cheek gently with her fingertips. "Husband..." Her voice was quiet, hesitant. "Husband." She repeated again, louder this time. "Fahim." Again, he did not move. She cupped his shoulders in her hands and turned him onto his back, shaking him as tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, husband! Fahim." When still he did not move, she began backing away on her hands and knees, falling to the floor beside the bed onto her butt. Her shaking hands came up to cover her mouth as she choked back a sob. Fahim was dead!
Scrambling onto her feet, Prynne ran from the room calling out for his first wife whose rooms were closest to his. "First Sister, Nabila! First Wife!" She dropped the honorific as the woman came rushing from her room, long gray hair hanging loose and mussed from sleep. Grabbing the woman's hands, Prynne fell to her knees in front of the woman. "Oh Nabila! He has gone! Our husband as left us in the night!"
Nabila pulled her hands from Prynne's and headed directly for their husband's chambers, Prynne close on her feet. When they entered the room Nabila gave out an anguished wail, she, too, falling to her knees as she released keeling cries into the early morning air. Prynne stood silently, her own tears dried as she gazed in disbelief at the scene unfolding. Soon all of Fahim Asgarri's wives, servants, and slaves had gathered to the room where his body lay cooling.
~*~*~
The next week passed with the entire household in silence, all wearing black in respect of their departed husband. Although they were not allowed to speak, Prynne could tell that some of the wives were avoiding her. She could see the blame in their eyes.
They awaited the new moon for the ritual, something that Prynne was fighting not to feel conflicted about. Her husband was from a Mothraki desert tribe, devotees of one of the minor gods, a minor god with a funeral ritual Prynne was terrified of. For two years the wives had spoken of it first in hushed manner, and then with the fierceness of blind loyalty. It was said that when a great husband died, that his wives should join him swiftly in the afterlife. They were meant to do so by joining him in their own funeral pyres, to burn alive. Those women who could endure the pain of the fire with bravery and without fear were said to be honored greatly in the afterlife and would be reborn with the stars favor.
Each woman bragged about how their love for their husband was greatest, and how their pyre would burn brightest of them all to prove their loyalty to him. Prynne had never found it easy to speak of this, and was afraid that she would not be able to endure it without fear because she had been terrified of the day for the two years since she had married her husband... She had thought she would at least have more time before her husband's passing, though her dreams had told her differently now that she was looking back on them.
Of all the wives, Prynne was the youngest by nearly twenty years, and this she attributed to her reluctance and fear. She did not have the wisdom of age like her sister wives, though she yearned to be as loyal as they.
The day of their husband's passed, the wives chattering happily as they prepared to present themselves to their husband one last time. Prynne alone was somber as she oiled and braided her long black hair, several braids woven together with purple and gold trinkets. Adorned in all of her jangling jewelry and her best purple and gold wrap, Prynne joined the other women in a line. Her sister wive's children walked before them in a procession through the city streets, spreading flower petals before their jangling feet until they were outside the city walls and exposed to the cold clear night. Each woman approached their husband's funeral pyre, stopping to kiss him before going to their own pyres to be tied.
As always, Prynne did as she was expected, just as she had done her entire life... Her short seventeen years. Tears stung her eyes as she bent to press her lips against the coldness of her husband's lips one last time, one dropping down upon his cheek as she spoke quietly to him. "Why must I die to please you, husband?"
The hand's of a serving girl not much younger than Prynne led her to her own pyre on the very end. Prynne looked down on the girl who would light the fire that would consumer her flesh. The other wives had children to light their own... She choked back a sob. She had not even been blessed with a child, yet she was expected to die! There was still so much left of the world that she wished to see, and in the depths of her heart she yearned for the true love she had read of in her books. The household wise woman stepped forward, scolding her. "You displease Hakeshma and bring shame to your husband weeping so, Seventh Wife."
Prynne swallowed back her tears, her heart feeling like a cavern of despair as she stepped upon the stage of her own pyre and allowed the serving girl to tie her to the pillar of wood. The wise woman began her eulogy to the late Fahim Asgarri, first setting light to his pyre. All eyes watched as the flames began to consume his body before the next fire was lit, the fire for the first wife Nabila.
At first when the flames began licking at Nabila's feet she stayed silent, steadfast and brave. But as the fire spread up her oiled body, she began an inhuman scream. When the fire finally licked the end of her well-oiled hair, the fire spread so rapidly that Nabila's screams quickly died out. Prynne, eyes wet and wide with horror, watched as her sister wive's children lit one pyre after another.
Prynne cried out when her own fire was lit, the heat of the flames licking at her feet and up her calves. No one turned to watch the lighting of the seventh wife's fire, nor did they notice at first when the pyre began to flicker out. As Prynne's eyes began to roll back into her head from the pain, her own voice hoarse from screaming, something deeply primal within her fought back. She felt coolness at her burnt feet and ankles, the relief from the flames grabbing her attention as she looked down in horror and amazement. She was conjuring water! Thank the stars! She immediately regretted her praise to Hakshema- what she was doing was blasphemous. But oh! How good did the water feel against her burnt skin!
The flames had broken the ties at her feet and weakened the ones behind her back enough for her to free herself, jerking free of the remaining rope. As she did this, the serving girl seemed to gather her wits enough to cry out for the rest of their household. Prynne's feet moved without prompting, landing atop the charred wood of her pyre as she ran, the wood hissing from the water. Prynne ran with great strides away, the agonized screams of her sister wives fading while the enraged yells of her house's guards trailed behind her.
They were catching on her, but something deep within her spurred her forward, her bare feet slapping the ground. She stumbled as the terrain softened to untrampled sand, but still she ran, her long black hair streaming behind her. Something within her bubbled up as she yipped aloud with glee, tasting freedom for the first time, even though her life was still in danger.
When they reached the black muddy waters of the Niafi river she did not pause, did not have time to feel fear of the dangers of crocodiles and hippos. The current swept her up, strong but steady as she fought her way to the opposing shore. With the gods' blessing, Prynne made it to the other side of the river, clawing her way up through the mud of the banks. Scrambling to her knees, Prynne turned around to see if any of her pursuers had followed suit, only to see the flickering lights of torches from across the wide expanse of the river.
Panting, Prynne took off into the night, running until she began to feel her burnt legs and feet. Limping, Prynne found her way to a small cave, crawling inside. Too exhausted to care about the beasts in the night or the terrible thing she had done by escaping, Prynne took one last look at the distant flickering lights coming from the top of the wall of Essyrn before falling into a fitful sleep.
