"Arabian Nights"
Part 60
by Beryll
Viggo was dying. They had all denied it as long as they possibly could. Had tried to shield Orlando from the fact, had told him pretty lies, but Orlando had known right from the start. When he had held the Prince's body in his arms, wracked with violent shudders, when Viggo had first thrown up blood, when he had looked at Orlando with clear eyes for the last time, when Orlando had seen the desperate pain in those eyes and the ugly knowledge that he was dying - Orlando had known as well.
Viggo was dying and there was nothing they could do about it.
After another hellish night Liv had finally packed up all her healing tools and left, to return only a few minutes later draped in black, with a black veils hiding her face. Seeing the dark circles under her sad eyes, and her shoulders slumping in defeat, Orlando had felt as though he should reassure her, as though he should say something cheerful.
But there was no cheer in his heart anymore.
Sweet incense was now burning in the Prince's bedchamber to drown out the stench of sickness. It was muddling Orlando's senses and he was beginning to see things move in the tendrils of the smoke rising from the brass fire bowls.
Spirits seemed to be hovering in the smoke, some with cruel laughter, some screaming and howling for the Prince. Orlando wanted to get up from where he was kneeling in a shadowed corner, wanted to banish these spirits who were already preying on Viggo's soul.
He wasn't even supposed to be here. Like all the other kittens he had been told to disappear to one of the gardens while the Caliph came to say goodbye to his son.
At last the truth about the Prince's health had reached the Caliph's ear. Orlando could only imagine what this noble man must be going through now. Losing the son he had just gained so soon. Losing him after they had parted on such a bitter note.
Still Orlando couldn't bring himself to be parted from Viggo. He had to stay close. Had to be there when... when it happened. It wouldn't be long now.
The figure on the bed looked still. In the murky half light of the bedchamber he could have been dead already. The shallow rise and fall of his chest could just as well be a trick of the wafting smoke. It took all of Orlando's willpower to stay hidden in his corner. The fever was consuming the Prince, his body having long given up the fight against it. Only a miracle would save the Prince now.
Orlando leaned further back into the shadows when he heard muffled voices from the main chamber, recognizing first the Caliph's voice and then Liv answering. Then there were soft footfalls, the heavy curtain separating the main chamber from the bedroom was lifted and the imposing figure of the Caliph ducked inside, followed by Liv who was flanked on both sides by the Caliph’s small children, clinging to her skirts.
Viggo's siblings, Orlando thought with tears pricking his eyes. The children Viggo had accepted the title of Prince for, to protect them by putting himself into harm's way. Now they were not only loosing a wonderful older brother they had barely had a chance to get to know, they were also back in the spotlight. Surely sooner or later the assassination attempts would start again. They would probably succeed at some point.
Orlando watched in silence as the Caliph made his way over to the bed where his son lay. Watched how he sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his head high, exuding an air of confidence. Didn't he see that Viggo was dying?
The Caliph gestured his children closer and they came to his side, silent, their faces worried and afraid, each grabbing one of their father’s hands and peering at the pale figure on the bed. The girl's eyes swam with tears as she reached out with a tiny hand and caressed Viggo's hand as if she hoped he would wake up and smile at her from the mere touch.
"Your brother is very ill, Kalia," the Caliph explained softly, stroking the girl's hair, "we hope he will be better soon but you must be patient."
The girl looked up at her father, tears now spilling over. "Will he die, daddy?" she asked.
"No, love," the Caliph's voice was thick with emotion now and Orlando realized that he was just keeping up the appearance of confidence so as not to scare his little ones, "give him a few days and he will be back with you at the nursery, tickling you."
The girl looked doubtful and buried her tiny, tear streaked face in her father's robes, muffling her crying. The boy draped one arm around her while his small face stayed serious and calm, mimicking his father's.
For a few minutes they all remained motionless, then the Caliph gestured to Liv, who had been hovering behind them unobtrusively. Gently she disentangled the girl from the Caliph and led both of the children out of the room, softly telling them that their brother needed to rest now.
Orlando did not miss the boy looking back over his shoulder at the still figure on the bed, his eyes haunted now. He was trying to be strong but he really was just as scared as his sister. Orlando felt the urge to hug the child, to tell him that everything would be all right but at the same time silent tears were running down his own face. Nothing would ever be all right again.
When the children were out of the room Orlando watched the Caliph's confident facade crack and break apart. His heart felt as though it would tear as the ruler of Aqaba sank down onto his knees next to the bed, taking Viggo's limp hand and hiding his face in his other hand, his head bowed.
His words were no more than a whisper but in the deathly silence of the room they were loud enough for Orlando to hear.
"Forgive me, my son, forgive me my pride and my stupid anger. How could I look the other way while you were dying? How could I be so arrogant and cruel as to leave you all alone? What kind of man am I to not have noticed your pain?"
Nothing but silence answered him. A long time the Caliph remained motionless in his submissive posture and after a while Orlando realized that he was praying.
There really was nothing else to be done for the Prince now. His fate was in the hands of Allah.
In his thoughts, Orlando joined the Caliph in prayer, begging Allah with all the crushing pain in his heart to spare the Prince. Offering his own life in exchange for Viggo's. Offering anything and everything to see the man he loved open his eyes again. To see his smile, to see fury in his eyes again, to see him live.
He was so lost in his own praying that he missed the moment when the Caliph left. The sound of the curtains falling back into place behind him were what brought him back to the ugly reality of his beloved still lying on his bed, motionless, still dying.
Slowly Orlando got up from his hidden corner and made his way over to the bed, kneeling in the place that the Caliph had just vacated. He looked down at Viggo, at his pallor, at the deep lines that his sickness had etched into his face, there was no strength left in the man who had saved Orlando that fateful day in the market. He did not shine with pride and energy anymore. He looked like an empty shell, as if his soul was already leaving him, only tethered to his body by a fine line.
Still Orlando loved him more than he ever had before. His heart seemed to break a thousand times over, bleeding freely.
Where before the hunger for life and passion had bound them together, now the emptiness seemed to flow into Orlando, slowly numbing him to everything but the pain of parting from his beloved. It simply couldn't happen. There was no way Orlando could live with this pain.
"Don't go..." he whispered, taking Viggo's hand, kissing it lightly, "don't leave me behind. You promised you would take care of me, you promised... you promised..."
Again tears ran down Orlando's face. Viggo couldn't hear him. Viggo couldn't stay with him. Allah was calling his soul away.
There was only one way to fulfil his vow to serve his Prince no matter where or how.
"I will come with you," he told the silent figure solemnly, "I will serve you, in this life or the next, I don't care as long as I am with you."
It would not be hard to find a knife, to slash open his wrists, to join his Prince in death. Everybody would understand. What higher devotion could anybody ask of a slave than loyalty even beyond death? Allah would welcome him at his Prince's side.
"I love you," Orlando whispered, "I love you so."
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
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