Mercy and Monsters - Chapter 4
“It’s alright,” Mercedes wrapped her arms tenderly around her child, and Mija did not even wonder how her mother had found her. “It’s alright, mami. I’ve got you.”
Sarkin Tchibiri sewed the rest of the snake’s skin round the drums and said to Kanajeji, “Whatever you wish for in this world, do as our forefathers did of old.” Kanajeji said: “Show me, and I will do even as they did.”
-The Kano Chronicle
“Mija?” Raul knocked on the door to his sister’s room.
“Yes?” Mija poked her head out, and Raul found to his surprise that his sister’s face was now covered in make-up.
“I… I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a walk, is all,” Raul chuckled at the sight of Mija all gussied up.
“Oh, that sounds fun,” Mija smiled, before remembering. “But I have to finish this. It’s part of my training.”
“Training?” Raul raised an eyebrow.
“Yes!” Mija grinned excitedly. “Mama’s got me doing it. She says it’s part of my becoming a warrior, like Queen Aminatu!”
“Who?”
“I didn’t really know how this related to warrior stuff, but then mama explained that it’s like war-paint! You can’t enter battle until you prepare yourself properly, she says.”
“Do the Hausa wear war-paint?” Raul wondered. He’d thought that to be largely an exaggeration.
“So I have to do this all by myself, and then show it to her before the ball tonight, so that she can give me corrections and stuff,” Mija went back to her dresser to return to her task.
“Well, I think I can see a few things in need of correction already,” Raul glanced at his sister’s face, now completely white with powder.
“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well… for starters this powder,” Raul traced his finger against his sister’s cheek and came back with an ivory print. “Moderation is your friend, after all. And with the lipstick and mascara, quite honestly you look like a clown right now.”
“A clown!?” Mija was devastated.
“It’s fine,” Raul snickered. “I don’t think mama will begrudge you for it.”
“Nooo!” Mija sobbed. “I have to start all over again now!”
“It’s fine,” Raul insisted. “I can help you.”
“Y-you can?” Mija’s mascara was now running.
“Sure,” Raul grinned, and he spent the rest of the morning aiding his sister in her quest for the appropriate war-paint.
That day at lunch, as the Ventura family all sat around the table and ate, Mercedes was the first to break the silence.
“You look very lovely today, mami,” Mercedes smiled.
“Eh?” Diego glanced up and finally noticed his daughter’s face. “Ah. Yes. What are you doing, wearing makeup?”
“I thought she was old enough to start,” Mercedes replied calmly. “We have a ball tonight, after all.”
“Ah, yes,” Diego massaged his aching temple. “That emir, Fransĩs.”
“Raul helped me,” Mija piped up.
“Did you now?” Mercedes smiled at her son.
“Only a little bit,” Raul said. “I just gave her the occasional tip.”
“Well, you both did a good job,” Mercedes said. “This afternoon I shall help you find a dress.”
“But I already have loads of dresses,” Mija furrowed her brow.
“Yes, but remember,” Mercedes smiled. “Along with war-paint, you must prepare your military tunic.”
“Oh! That’s right!” Mija wondered how she could have overlooked such a thing.
“War-paint? What?” Diego looked confused.
“Just a little game we’re playing, dear,” Mercedes laughed serenely.
“I better finish quick!” Mija began to scarf down her food, before a bark from her mother halted her hurry.
“Mami, a true amazon treats every task with the weight it deserves. Do you understand?”
“I… I guess so.” In truth, she did not, but Mija at least knew enough to recognize her mother’s warning against eating too quickly. Carefully examining how Mercedes daintily dined on her own food, Mija tried her best to imitate her mother’s graceful movements. And though her own attempts were pitiful in comparison, once the meal had finished and the plates been taken by the servants, a smiling nod from Mercedes let Mija know she had taken the right course of action.
“Now you won’t have wind in the afternoon,” Mercedes said as she took her daughter’s hand. “And believe me, the maid who fits you into your dress will thank you for that.”
Mija was positively radiant that night, as the Andalusi emissaries flocked to compliment and court her favor at the ball. What grace, what poise! The crowd sighed at Mija’s every movement. If this was the beauty of a mere girl, imagine how alluring she would be in the full flower of womanhood. Mija giggled and smiled at the compliments, as it was pleasant to be the center of attention. But at the back of her mind, she could not help but wonder what all this had to do with being an amazon.
“Mama, I don’t understand,” she said when at last she had a chance to be by Mercedes’ side.
“Just think, mami,” Mercedes motioned gracefully. “Every pair of eyes in the room is on you now. They like you, and as a result, they like Zarzuela. Do you see?”
“I… I guess so,” Mija faintly recalled the interest Andalus and Carolina had in Ibery.
“And now the emir, when he looks upon our land, shall see how his entourage was charmed by you, and thus shall be more receptive to your father’s own attack.”
“Attack?” Mija gasped, before retrieving her composure again.
“Yes,” Mercedes motioned towards Don Diego, now conversing with Emir Fransĩs Ben Farānsheskū. “Your father is fighting a most frightening battle right now.”
Mija stared at her father and the emir. It didn’t seem like they were battling, merely engaged in diplomatic talks. But then she noticed how both the hidalgo and the emir were dressed in their most resplendent clothes, surrounded by their most trusted and elite guardsmen, and drinking far more than she had ever seen her father do before. By all appearances, the two lords seemed like the very best of friends. And yet, as Mija noticed the guarded gazes of the surrounding soldiers, she began to understand the true tensions that lay just beneath the surface of their negotiations.
“Mama,” Mija said.
“Yes?”
“When you talk about war-paint, and tunics, and battle, you don’t mean like the real kind, do you?”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘real’,” was all Mercedes said, before the noise of a crowd drew everyone’s attention.
“What’s going on?” Fransĩs glanced at the hordes of guests amassing by the balcony.
“I… don’t know,” Diego grunted. “Let us see for ourselves.”
“There! In the water!” one onlooker pointed to the sea which the balcony overlooked.
“It’s a man!” another cried.
“He’s wounded!” yet another shouted.
“Hold on!” Without a moment’s hesitation, Raul leapt into the water and swam out towards the man.
By the time Mija and Mercedes had made their way to the balcony, they could see Raul, helping the man onto the shoreline. He was, indeed, badly wounded, though with the distance and the darkness it was hard to judge how badly. Still, it was evident that the man required immediate medical attention, and the guests were asked to go about the festivities as planned, while the hidalgo and his doctors went to aid the man.
“Please, my friend, let me come with you,” Emir Ben Farānsheskū insisted. “My entourage includes some of the finest healers of Andalus. It would be my honor to help this poor wretch.”
“Very well,” Don Diego could not think of a reason to refuse the emir, and so relented.
“I wonder where that man came from?” Mija asked worriedly.
“Well, it isn’t as though you would have any reason to find out,” Mercedes replied. “Not unless you suddenly had to see the doctor yourself.”
“Hm?” Mija glanced up in surprise at her mother.
“A proper lady hardly concerns herself with such violent and gruesome matters,” Mercedes pointed out. “Why, the very sight of such a grisly spectacle should be enough to bring any young lady to dizziness and fainting.”
Mija stared at her mother for a moment, before a grin slowly made its way to her face.
“Thank you, mama,” Mija whispered, before making her leave.
“Why, not at all, my child,” Mercedes smiled.
Before Mija had made it to the physician’s room, where the wounded man would no doubt be found, the sound of screams ringing across the halls brought her pace to a halt. Was that the wounded man? Why was he screaming? Mija’s heart began to grow cold as she hurried towards the physician’s room.
To her surprise, she found Fransĩs and her father outside the physician’s room, the hidalgo doing his best to reassure the emir.
“I don’t know why he erupted like that,” Diego said. “Truly, I don’t.”
“It’s alright, my friend,” Fransĩs sighed. “I am used to the sight of a Moor inspiring fear in an Antilian soldier.”
Soldier? Mija wondered. The wounded man was a soldier? And the sight of Fransĩs had made him scream…
“Mami!” Diego barked when he noticed his daughter. “What are you doing here?”
“I-!” Mija stammered, before remembering her story. “I feel unwell. Kind of dizzy and sick.”
“I do not blame you,” Fransĩs grinned. “Such a sight is surely too much for a lady to bear. Here, if you need a hand to steady you, allow me.”
For the briefest of moments, Mija swore she could see a flash of fury on her father’s features, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, and so quickly that she wondered if she had even seen it at all.
“Perhaps your healers could look after her,” Diego said. “Our patient seems unwilling to have them around, and I would consider it a great honor for such highly-regarded physicians to check on my daughter.”
“Yes, of course,” Fransĩs nodded. “I can see she is precious to you.” And at once he summoned one of his doctors to examine the girl.
“Is the man going to be alright?” Mija chanced to ask once she was alone with the healer.
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” the doctor shrugged as he felt Mija’s forehead. “He’s badly wounded though, and babbling about some plot or some such.”
“Plot?” Mija pondered.
“Yes. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” the healer grinned. “And from the looks of things, I should say you’ll be alright too. Just get some rest, and drink plenty of fluids.”
“Alright, thank you,” Mija was glad the doctor had been of such help.
To Mija’s surprise, Emir Ben Farānsheskū and his entourage left the very next morning. The emir apologized profusely, but explained that some sudden, urgent business had come up, and that it required his immediate attention. He thanked the lord and lady of the house, and kissed Mija’s hand before his departure.
“I hope we meet again,” he said, and presented the girl with a bouquet before entering his carriage and leaving.
“He seems really nice,” Mija smelled the pretty flowers in her bouquet.
“Yes,” Diego grumbled. “I’m sure he does.”
“Where’s Raul, by the way?” Mija asked.
“Still with our patient,” Mercedes gently took the flowers off Mija’s hands. “He hasn’t left the man’s side since last night.”
“‘Our patient’ wouldn’t let him,” Diego grumbled. “Not since he caught sight of Ben Farānsheskū.”
“I wonder why,” Mija pondered aloud, but received no answer in reply. With nothing better to do then, Mija decided to join her brother, and see if he would be more receptive to her line of questioning.
As had been told, Raul was by the wounded soldier’s bedside, sound asleep in the chair where he sat. The soldier, meanwhile, was weak but awake, quietly reading a book when Mija entered the room.
“Knock-knock,” Mija grinned as she saw her brother’s snoring face. Sneakily she moved to pinch his nose and wake him up, before a word from the soldier halted her.
“Please don’t,” the soldier mumbled hoarsely. “He has been up all night. I told him if there was trouble I would scream. He has done so much for me, let him rest, please.”
“Oh. Um, uh, alright,” Mija saw how serious the situation was, and then remembered her reason for being there. “So, what happened? Why were you in the water last night?”
At that, the soldier laughed weakly. “I was swimming. Swimming to freedom, and I had almost made it to the shore, before exhaustion finally took hold of me.”
“But why were you swimming?”
“Because my crew and I had been sent by the Antilian crown to patrol the waters of Emir Ben Farānsheskū’s realm,” the soldier said. “We suspected him of planning to invade Ibery.”
“But… I thought the caliph didn’t want to do that,” Mija remembered what her brother had said of buffer zones.
“He doesn’t,” the soldier replied. “But Ben Farānsheskū does. He’s been wanting to invade Antile ever since his last attempt failed miserably. That was the last serious attempt at war between Andalus and the Iber kingdoms, and Ben Farānsheskū has felt like a laughingstock in the Andalusi court ever since.”
“But if the caliph doesn’t want to invade, doesn’t the emir have to do what he says?”
“Yes, but Ben Farānsheskū believes he can justify his actions with all the land he will acquire for the caliphate. Perhaps he even hopes to overthrow the caliph himself.”
Mija shuddered as she heard the soldier speak of Ben Farānsheskū in such villainous terms. Was this the same Fransĩs Ben Farānsheskū who had not moments ago kissed her hand and given her flowers? Mija could hardly believe that such a charming and eloquent man was capable of such callous designs.
“Do you have any proof?” Mija asked carefully. “How do you know all this anyway?”
At that, the soldier sighed. “My crew was discovered, hiding in the rocks where we dispatched our spies. We were tortured, I do not know for how long. I passed out, and they thought me dead, so they dumped me in the sea. As for proof, I regret to say that I have none. I only know what my torturers let slip during my time there.
“I do not ask you to believe me,” the soldier said. “But as soon as I recover, I must return to my kingdom, and warn my king of what I have learned.”
“I…” Mija said. “I think I’ll want to tell my papa about this. He probably wants to know.”
“Perhaps…” the soldier was suspicious. “But perhaps it is better I tell him nothing.”
“Huh?” Mija was confused. “But why?”
“I am in Zarzuela right now, correct?”
“Um, yes?”
“Zarzuela is right next to Ben Farānsheskū’s domain. Last night you even threw a ball in his honor.”
“Y-yes.”
“As it is now, Zarzuela survives because Ben Farānsheskū allows it. If he wanted to, he could send his army in right now and take over the country. The only way your parents have managed to stop him is by convincing him that it isn’t worth the trouble, that Zarzuela is more loyal to Andalus than the rest of Ibery. I know your father holds no genuine affection for the emir, but if he learns what I have learned, he would have to acknowledge the situation, and that could make him Ben Farānsheskū’s first invasion target. Ignorance of the emir’s true intentions protects him.”
Mija remembered how the soldier had screamed at the sight of Fransĩs the previous night. Could the torture he talked about have been the reason for that? Imagine, to escape the castle of one’s enemy, only to find him there in the first place you took shelter. It sounded horrifying, but also, a little too convenient. Was the soldier up to something nasty? Was he trying to trick her, and get her to look the other way as he did something mean and cruel? Something told Mija that she should perhaps tell her father everything. Her parents would know what to do about this situation. Yes, perhaps that was best.
“I’m gonna go now,” Mija muttered, before her brother awoke with a start, and stopped her in her tracks.
“M-Mija!’ Raul sputtered as he fell out of his chair. “What are you doing here?”
“I was checking up on you,” Mija said.
“You, uh, you shouldn’t…” Raul kept glancing nervously at the soldier. “What, uh, what were you two talking about?”
“I told her everything,” the soldier said. “And I was just telling her why she ought not to tell your father.”
“You…” Raul stammered before sighing. “He’s right, Mija. You shouldn’t.”
“What?” Mija was taken aback. “But why not?”
“Remember what I told you, about us being in the border zone and-”
“Yes, I know,” Mija interjected. “But if we’re going to be invaded, shouldn’t papa know about it? We have to prepare or else we’ll be taken over!”
“No, papa knowing makes us more likely to be taken over!” Raul said. “Don’t you understand?”
“No!” Mija did not. “And why do you believe this soldier guy anyway? How do we know he isn’t lying, trying to trick us or something?”
“You don’t,” the soldier replied calmly. “But I assure you that I am not.”
“Please Mija,” Raul begged. “Don’t let papa find out!”
“No!” Mija had had enough. “I’m going to tell him right now!”
And before Raul or the soldier could stop her, Mija had dashed out of the room.
“It’s alright,” the soldier said, before Raul could make to follow her. “It won’t make a difference.”
“What are you talking about?” Raul asked. “And why did you even tell her in the first place?”
“Because,” the soldier sighed, “I know what will happen next.”
“Papa?” Mija asked as she knocked on the door to her father’s study.
“Yes?” the usual gruff grunt bade her enter.
“Papa,” Mija entered the room hurriedly. “That patient! He’s a spy!”
“Eh?” From the desk where he sat, Diego stared confusedly at his daughter.
“He’s a spy for the Antilians and he says Emir Ben Farānsheskū is planning to invade! I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not but if he was then I thought you needed to know and even if he wasn’t you could tell better than me and-”
“What nonsense are you babbling on about?” Diego barked, and at once Mija’s blood ran cold.
“I… I…” Mija sputtered, but could find no words to speak.
“Emir Ben Farānsheskū is a trusted friend and ally,” Diego hissed. “I won’t have you slander his name on the word of some babbling invalid! An invasion? Ridiculous! You have made me very angry, my child. Now begone! Get out of my sight!”
“But… but…” Mija began to cry.
“I said begone!” Diego bellowed, and Mija fled her father’s wrath.
So distraught was she that Mija hardly noticed Mercedes as she bumped into the woman. And when her mother helped her back up, as the two ladies stood in the study doorway, all Mija could do was blubber even more.
“Wh-why!?” Mija bawled. “Why does he hate me?”
In sobs, Mija left the room, blinded by tears and self-loathing. Why was her father always so angry with her? Why couldn’t she do anything to please him? Every action, every word, everything she did only resulted in gruff indifference or outright hostility from him, and she could not understand! Was she really so worthless? Would it make a difference if she were to simply die, to disappear from the face of the earth and never be seen again? Would her father even cry? Even care at all? He wouldn’t, would he? He wouldn’t care one bit.
Standing silently in the study, Mercedes turned to her husband, her gaze calm but accusatory.
“She asks a fair question,” she said.
“And you already know the answer. When she has grown she will come to understand,” Diego massaged his aching temple. How the years of diplomacy had eaten at him.
“When she has grown, the rift you create will have grown too wide,” Mercedes replied. “She will have outgrown any need or desire to hear your empty explanations.”
“And she will be safe,” Diego grumbled. “Safe and blissfully unaware of anything beyond pretty dresses and fancy balls.”
“You daft, old man,” Mercedes sighed. “She already knows. Already she has begun to learn on her own, without our intervention. She cannot be a child forever.”
“It gave me no joy to do what I did,” Diego growled. “Would you have done differently, in my position?”
“I…” Mercedes tried, but could not find an answer.
“One of us must play the part of villain,” Diego said. “If so, then let it be me.”
“Mija?” Raul quietly opened the door to his sister’s room.
“Go away!” Mija lobbed a pillow at his head, and Raul ducked.
Mija was lying in her bed, her face red and puffy from crying. Even surrounded by her loyal and faithful toys, on a bed fit for a princess, the little girl looked utterly distraught.
Raul sighed. “You told him, didn’t you?”
“He hates me! He hates me and I don’t know why and I wish he didn’t but he does and I hate it!” Mija buried her face in her pillow and howled.
“He doesn’t hate you, Mija. Really, he doesn’t. He just… when you’re older, you’ll understand.”
“I’m sick and tired of everyone saying things like that!” Mija lobbed another pillow. “Oh, you’re too young! But really they mean oh, you’re too stupid, or I don’t trust you, or I don’t really love you so I won’t tell you anything!”
“Mija-”
“Go away, Raul! And don’t come back! Ever ever ever again!”
Raul wanted to hug his sister, to hold her close and tell her everything was alright. But as he saw the look of hurt and anger on her tear-stained face, he knew there was nothing to be done then. Mija needed space, and he had to give it to her.
“Alright. Good night. I love you.”
And as he shut the door, Raul could hear his sister’s cries continuing.
The very next day, despite the state of his wounds, the soldier took a carriage back to the Kingdom of Antile. The carriage had been sent by the Antilian crown itself, and Mija briefly wondered how they had known of the soldier’s presence. Again, more suspicious behavior, and Mija suspected a plot, until Raul assured her that he had been the one to tell the crown. There had been a few Antilian nobles at the ball the night of the soldier’s entrance, and with Raul’s signal they had spirited away their compatriot back to his home. Mija was not entirely convinced. It sounded like an awfully convenient story. But she remembered what had happened the last time she’d made a fuss over such suspicions, and so decided to keep her mouth shut for the time being. Until she had proof, she would make no move, but her eyes would remain peeled until then.
Soon after the soldier’s departure, an emissary of Emir Ben Farānsheskū came to the Ventura mansion, asking for an audience with Don Diego. While the emissary kept the exact nature of his visit hidden, he asked a number of questions regarding the soldier and the state of his health. Diego, head bowed low, apologized for not letting Fransĩs know sooner, but the soldier had already left for his home country, and how was he to know that such a lowly seaman was so important to the wise and noble emir? The emissary assured Diego that he could not have known such a thing, and it was no terrible tragedy, his having left so soon. The emir had no designs on the soldier, he merely wished to know the fellow’s health, and if he had already left, then it must have meant that that health was good, which pleased the emir to no end. Diego was most joyful to hear such news, and apologized once again if he had done anything wrong in the eyes of the emir. The emissary departed quite happily by all accounts, and Mija was left confused by the whole situation. Something was going on, she knew, but its nature still eluded her.
After that, Diego became quite cheerful around the house, and he even smiled in Mija’s presence. That joy disappeared though, when he received a letter from the Antilian crown. In honor of his having saved one of their men, Raul Ventura was to be granted the title of Maritime Ambassador to the Antilian navy. To ensure that the crown did not interfere with any of Zarzuela’s maritime business, or disturb their waters without their permission, Raul was to come to the Antilian capital and work directly with its navy, as a token of King Rodrigo’s gratitude towards the young nobleman.
Diego’s mood turned black then, and though Raul insisted that he had not anticipated such an outcome, still Diego cursed his son and the Antilian royal family. Mija could hardly understand, and whispered to Mercedes that she had not known that Zarzuela possessed any naval or maritime business interests, but Mercedes merely smiled ruefully. Mija asked Raul if he could simply refuse the position, but as her brother explained, a request from such a powerful king was not to be ignored. Raul would have to comply.
When the day of Raul’s departure came, his family was there to see him off. Diego gruffly wished his son well, while Mercedes kissed his cheek and urged him to be safe. Mija hugged her brother as tightly as she could, and wept into his tunic.
“I’m sorry! For getting mad at you before,” she said. “I didn’t mean it when I said never come back.”
“It’s alright,” Raul laughed. “I know you were upset. And besides, it’s not like I won’t ever be coming back. I’ll write to you, and visit when I can. And hey,” he grinned, “Being around the navy, I’m sure they’ll have a lot of charts. I’ll ask them about California when I get there.”
“But,” Mija sniffled, “I thought you said it wasn’t real.”
“Well, maybe it isn’t. But maybe it is,” Raul shrugged. “You never know. And if it is, I’ll be sure to find it for you.”
“A-alright then,” Mija wiped her eyes, and waved good luck as his carriage departed.
Throughout the months, Raul would write to his family, and every day Mija eagerly checked to see if a new letter had come. Despite his status as a minor political officer, Raul soon earned the respect of the Antilian navy men, and he was given more and more responsibilities as time went on. Raul had found no news of California yet, but assured Mija that he was still on the lookout for whatever he could find. Soon Raul was accompanying diplomatic envoys on behalf of the Antilian crown, and the crewmen of the boat he used began calling him commander instead of consul.
All this Mija read with pride and joy, but Don Diego’s moods only grew blacker with each passing letter. Mija knew that growing too close to Antile might draw the suspicions of Andalus, and so at every ball and diplomatic meeting she did her best to charm Emir Ben Farānsheskū and brush his fears aside. But at the back of her mind, Mija was not overly worried. Raul was smart and careful, and she knew her parents had done their best to keep his new position as secret as possible. So long as she remembered the words of wisdom Aminatu had given her, Mija was sure they would be alright.
Then, one day, news spread of a terrible tragedy. On the island of Barbarossa, in the White Sea, an Antilian diplomatic expedition had arrived only to find the forces of Emir Ben Farānsheskū waiting and ready. Fransĩs had long laid an unofficial claim to the island, but no-one had expected him to enforce that claim with such violence. All but one Antilian vessel was sunk that day, and Mija’s heart ran cold as she wondered if Raul had been part of that mission.
When the envoy of the king arrived at their home, Mija knew why he had come. But still she could not believe it. Still it was like if she did not hear his words they would not become true. As the envoy walked up the entranceway, Mija sputtered and sobbed, begging him to go away and leave their house in peace. Even as Mercedes held her daughter tightly, her own shoulders shaking, the girl still could not accept the news. The envoy removed his hat, as he bowed to the Ventura household, and Mija screamed and screamed and screamed. And when Diego stiffly took hold of the declaration of his son’s death, and was told of the posthumous honors and awards his son had received, Mija could bear it no longer, and she fled the foyer in horror.
It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true! Her brother couldn’t be dead. He had to still be alive, he simply had to be! Mija ran through the halls and remembered every moment she had shared, every memory she had made, with her brother by her side. There, the garden where they had walked together so often. There, the library where he had first read her the tale of California. There, her bedroom, where he had helped her put on makeup! Mija ran and ran and ran, and when at last she could bear it no longer she fell to the ground and wept. There was no escaping her brother’s ghost, no unhearing the words the envoy had spoken. Raul was gone. Her brother was dead, and all their careful schemes and diplomatic tricks had failed to save him.
“It’s alright,” Mercedes wrapped her arms tenderly around her child, and Mija did not even wonder how her mother had found her. “It’s alright, mami. I’ve got you.”
