The Runaway Sultan
Chapter
One
A Portent
“He’s here!” a
voice cried out, echoing down the dark, silent corridors of Qataban Palace.
Jolted
awake from a dead sleep, fifteen year-old BB, Prince Bashir Baha al Din, hurled
himself out of his bed.
“It’s
a boy. It’s a boy! I’m saved!” he crowed as he ran
barefooted, clad only in his pajama bottoms . “It’s a boy. So after Ahmed it’s the boy, NOT ME.” His
laughter followed him, echoing like the messenger’s voice all the way to his brother’s
wing in opposite end of the Palace.
Throwing
open the enormous carved door, BB leapt onto his brother’s sleeping form,
waking him instantly. “Ahmed! Did
you hear? Your son is here!”
“Bonbon? What the blazes…? Get off me, get off!” Ahmed flung BB
off his back, sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
BB bounced up, too
excited to feel hurt from the tumble or being called his childhood nickname. “I
heard them calling! You have a
boy! A son, a son – it’s just been announced. I have to tell Father!”
“Don’t be a ass,”
he growled, “There’s no baby boy, Bashir, I'm going to kill you for this prank
…”
“No you
won’t. There is so a boy!”
The pattering of
more feet interrupted the night silence.
“Prince Bashir!” two servants burst in,
coming to a dead halt and folding into a deep bow. “Oh, forgive us, Your
Highness,” they bowed again to Ahmed, “Permission to speak to Prince Bashir, if
it pleases you sir.”
“It does NOT
please me. Get out. Get out! I
don’t who care who speaks to whom, get the hell out!”
Without a second
thought, they all ran, lest Ahmed begin hurling things at them.
“Hurry, Your
Majesty, he’s here,” the servant pointed to one of the back staircases.
“This way is
faster!” BB pointed.
“No,
Highness. These back stairs will
get you to the Royal Stables much faster.”
BB stopped
dead. Three whole seconds ticked
by in his head before he turned to face the men. “The Royal Stables? But …”
“Yes, Isabella is
fretting for you.”
“Isabella?”
“Yes,” bowed the
servant again, “Isabella has produced her foal. It’s male.”
“Oh no. Oh NO. So it’s not Ahmed’s baby? It’s Isabella’s foal… what about
the Royal baby?”
The servants hung
their heads, neither looked up at the Prince. Neither made eye contact. That could only mean one thing: one terrible thing. “Ahmed did not have a boy then?”
They shook their
heads, still not looking up.
“A girl?”
They nodded in
unison.
“Argh! Nooo. No, no no.” BB beat his temples and stamped his feet. “Jumping jiggery-pokery. Argh. Never mind; I still won’t be Sultan. Come on – I need to celebrate with my
lovely Isabella. What are you
waiting for?”
Hold on, I’m coming. I’m coming. BB’s forearms and neck
prickled as he skidded into the vast stable. The entrance was ablaze with
flickering torchlight, excited whispers and the sweet smell of fresh straw. Men
parted and quieted as he hurtled toward the ample birthing section.
I’m coming. He ran smack into someone.
“S- sorry…” Winded, BB doubled over, clutching his knees.
“No, it is I you
who begs your pardon, Prince BB,” Agad bowed and stepped aside, revealing
Isabella.
There she stood,
silver-white and shining in the late-night moonlight.
BB gaped.
She nickered the
moment she spotted him, pushing the musky smell of her recent foaling toward
him, warm and milky.
“Hi … I’m here.”
He looked straight at her.
She bobbed her
head.
Ignoring the
bloodied straw and afterbirth, he inched forward, wrapped his arms around her
sweaty neck and buried his face in her matted mane.
“You did it, you
wonderful, beautiful, clever girl,” BB rubbed her arched neck and then blew
into her nostrils. Snorting and
blowing in response, Isabella nickered, turning her head to one side.
BB stepped back,
“Ah, you have something to show me?” he teased.
Huddled in the
cool safety of her shadow, still damp but upright on wobbly legs, was
Isabella’s foal. She licked its
head and nudged it forward so BB could have a better look.
“Isabella,” he
whispered falling to his knees. “He’s beautiful … perfect and beautiful. Come here little one, yes, that’s
it. I’m not going to hurt you,” BB
placed a hand on the newborn’s damp back.
“Eleven months we’ve been waiting for you, did you know that, little
chap?”
Without a sounds,
someone handed BB a clean towel and he began the slow and gentle process of
cleaning off the sticky amniotic fluid. “You’re so handsome little one and by the time the sun comes
up, you’ll be ready to run around outside, did you know that?” A gentle ripple of laughter warmed his heart. Everyone loved an easy birth.
He was almost
finished rubbing the foal’s face, when he gasped, “Double faint-star? Isabella, did you make a double
faint-star?” he turned to look at his mare and then returned to her foal’s
forehead.
Isabella whinnied
and curled back her lips, tossing her neck, flailing her mane, delighted.
“Come, Agad,” BB
called to the head groom, “Tell me about these markings.”
Crouching low,
Agad put his hands together and faced BB. “Begging your pardon, Prince BB, but
you must not inspect the horse before putting its horse-cloth on.”
“Horse-cloth?
Agad, I don’t care about the horse-cloth, or the value of the foal. Horse-cloths are for people who are
buying horses. This one’s not for
sale and never will be.” BB waved a dismissive hand, “I want you to tell me
about these,” he pointed to the two pinprick markings on the foal’s forehead.
“Very well
then. Let us take a closer look.
Inspection torch,” he called out, making the foal jump.
“Shh.” BB stroked
the skittish baby, “Be gentle, Agad if you please.”
“Ah, he doesn’t
mind,” Agad grinned.
“But I mind. I don’t want him startled. Not now. Not ever. Please treat him with kindness and
consideration.”
Agad dropped his
head, “Of course, Prince BB. I’m
foolishly excited and lost my head.”
BB patted the
man’s arm, “I know. Now tell me
what you see.”
“Hmm.” The
head-groom’s voice seemed stuck in his throat as he illuminated the shivering
body nostril to rump.
“What do you mean,
‘Hmm’? Spit it out, man.”
“Hmm. Yes definitely twin faint-stars, which
would usually be good but …” Agad’s voice trailed off.
“But, what? Agad?”
Every movement
froze. Every sound stilled. Even Isabella seemed to be holding her
huge breath.
“Oh, Prince BB,
this is difficult. So
difficult. There is more, but I do
not wish to be the bearer of this portent. It is too heavy even for me to say aloud.” Agad bowed his
head.
“Nonsense.” BB
returned to rubbing the damp foal pulling him closer. “Everything looks perfect. I know a double
faint-star is a sign of good things to come. What the blazes do you see that I don’t?” BB motioned for
the Royal Veterinarian to come close.
“Come, come. You look too
and don’t dare tell me he doesn’t look perfect.”
The two men
muttered, poked, lifted, splayed and further examined the colt until BB could
contain himself no further. “That’s enough! Tell me what you’ve found. Whatever it is, I’m going to keep the foal, I tell you.”
“Well, it’s not
that easy,” the veterinarian pushed back his white hair. Agad mirrored his expression and shook
his head.
“It’s this right
here,” the older man pointed to the foal’s armpit.
“What? Smelly armpits already?” BB chortled a
ripple of laughter echoed behind him. “Really Isabella, I’m shocked,” BB looked
up at her feigning a stern look.
She tossed her head and continued to stare down at them.
“Your Highness,
Prince Bashir …” Agad began. BB
sobered up, knowing that the head groom meant business when he addressed him by
his full name. “This marking in the armpit, this feather-marking is called a
Kukhapit. It is a powerful
portent.”
The silence that
followed was brittle.
Everyone seemed to
lean in.
The foal edged
closer to its dam.
“Portent?” BB’s
voice cracked.
“Yes. It means all relatives of owner will
die before him.”
