"Marble Trip"
by Mayetra & Beryll
The faint scratching of a quill tip on parchment roused Fahima from sleep. She cracked open one eye and saw a sleep-blurred image of Pet working on something at his desk. She briefly considered getting up but was still rather worn out so she burrowed deeper under the coverlet with Baby who was purring contently. She had just started to drift back to sleep when a pounding at their chamber door jerked her back awake. She listened with half an ear as Pet got up and answered it.
“Petronius, the new marble for the library has arrived!”
Fahima stifled a groan. It was her Uncle Anthe.
Anthemios or Uncle Anthe, as Fahima affectionately called him, was the complete opposite of his brother Petronius. He was a short, portly man in his late thirties. His features were rather bland and unremarkable. Short, neatly trimmed dark brown hair capped his head and his brown eyes twinkled with mirth. A Greek by birth, he favored the long white robes of his homeland. They were pristine, not a wrinkle or speck of dirt to be found. He carried a shoulder pouch where he kept all his things, which usually included a supply of honey cakes for bribing Fahima. The two things that he shared with Petronius were that they were vampires with the same sire, and they both adored Fahima.
She quickly rolled to Pet’s side of the bed and slid silently down to the floor. Once there, she crawled under the bed, feeling no shame at hiding because the alternative was guaranteed to be much worse.
“Nice,” Pet answered his brother in an amused voice.
“Is Fahima anywhere near? I’m sure she wants to see it!” Anthemios continued to gush.
“Actually I think she’s under the bed looking for something,” Pet answered in a sly voice. “Isn’t that right, Luv?”
Fahima resisted the urge to curse but thought the words instead, knowing that Pet could read her mind. She added, if you weren’t dead, I’d kill you, for good measure. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was going on a boring tour looking at equally boring rocks with Uncle Anthe. It wasn’t that she disliked her uncle, quite the opposite. But that didn’t change the fact that what he considered fascinating entertainment, others found to be excruciating torture. She began to snore rather loudly.
“She’ll be right with you,” Pet announced, laughter lacing his words.
The next thing Fahima felt was his cold hand firmly grasping her around the ankle. One quick tug and he hauled her out from under the bed and lifted her into the air. She hung there, wearing one of his old shirts and a pair of shorts with a rip along one side of the seat that exposed most of her butt cheek. Dust and debris pulled out from under the bed with her rained down as she swung slightly through the air. She sneezed twice before glaring up at Pet.
“Dear Uncle Anthemios is here and he wants to show you something pretty,” Pet said, his lips spread in a wide, mischievous grin. He continued, ignoring the deadly looks being sent his way, “And as you know I have meetings to attend tonight, I am sure you will be grateful for his company.”
Fahima’s glare had grown into a full-blown scowl. Thinking fast, she pressed her hands to her stomach. “I’m not feeling well, Pet. My tummy hurts. I think it may have something to do with the bath you made me take the other day.” She groaned, rather unconvincingly, for good measure.
Anthemios in his usual oblivious manner, said, “I have the perfect thing for you, dear, I brought you honey cakes.” A broad smile was fixed upon his plump face and he seemed quite pleased with himself for coming up with a solution to her tummy trouble. It never even crossed his mind that the last thing a child with a tummy ache needed was honey cakes.
Pet dropped Fahima, who fell in a heap at his feet. She grunted in annoyance, but unable to resist the lure of her favorite treat announced, “I think I’m feeling better, now.” She flashed Anthemios a large grin. “Have I mentioned lately that you are my favorite uncle?”
Anthemios beamed at her.
Fahima got to her feet and began to search through the mound of clothing nearest her. She picked up a tunic and inspected it. There was a small rip along the seam on one shoulder and an unidentifiable food stain on the front. She sniffed it for good measure. Since the shirt didn’t smell too offensive, she decided it would do. Scrambling out of Pet’s shirt, which hung on her tiny frame like a tent, she pulled the tunic over her head.
Deciding that wearing the ripped shorts would drive Anthe insane with the need to replace them, she searched for another pair. Unable to locate any in the general vicinity, she plucked a pair of longer pants from a pile. There was a hole in one knee and ground in dirt on the other but Fahima felt that they weren’t too bad. Actually, they were rather comfortable and broken in nicely.
From behind her she heard Anthemios cluck his tongue in disapproval. “Petronius, you really need to find her some decent clothing.”
“I couldn’t agree more, why don’t you take care of it for me, Anthemios. You have so much more sense in style than me.”
Anthemios was delighted. “Why, of course! I’d be more than happy to take care of the little dear!” He continued to Fahima, “We’ll have so much fun turning you into a proper young lady, won’t we, my dear!”
Fahima whipped around and started at them in utter horror. Pet was watching her with barely contained mirth and Anthemios looked absolutely rapturous at the very idea of being given a free hand with her. She was fairly speechless and barely managed to croak, “What?”
Anthemios swept her into a bear hug, exclaiming, “Oh, this will be so much fun!” He released her enough to wrap an arm about her shoulder and swept her from the room.
Fahima waited a second for Pet to put an end to his little practical joke but when he didn’t stop Anthe, she mentally called out, Papa! You can’t let him do this to me!
The whistled tune of a rather raunchy tavern song favored by his soldiers floated through her mind. Sorry, Luv, can’t hear you. I’m whistling.
You just wait, Fahima threatened. I’m going to make you pay for this. She added a few choice obscenities that would have given Anthemios heart failure if his heart were still beating and he could hear her.
However, Anthemios was too busy rambling on about all the things he planned to do to her. “A light green dress would look wonderful on you and some earrings. Yes, pearls, I think. Oh, and we will definitely have to get you some pretty bows for your hair. It’s a shame, Petronius won’t let you grow it longer.”
Fahima scowled, she completely agreed with Pet that hair to her waist was too long to fit underneath a helmet properly. Besides, hair that long could also be grasped by an enemy and used against her. Her mind worked frantically for a way to extract herself from the prospect of being Uncle Anthe’s fashion experiment.
“Really, Uncle. I don’t need any new clothes. These are perfectly fine. Besides, I don’t deserve such finery. I’ve been a very bad girl of late.”
Anthemios was beyond reasoning with. “Nonsense, my dear. I’m your uncle, I can spoil you as I please!” He pulled her into another great hug and Fahima was thankful that he had the presence of mind to watch his strength.
She shot another volley of curses at Pet. That’s it, she raged at him. I’m running away. The only response she got was warm laughter and the faint notion that he was having trouble finding his new left boot. Her mind whirled as Anthe lead her out of the fortress and began to pull her down the waterfront. Then she hit on it. The one thing that could make Uncle Anthe forget about everything else in the world. She really hated to do it, but she had little choice.
“Uncle, didn’t you say something about some pretty new stone that had arrived?”
Anthemios stopped in his tracks. “Stone? Oh dear, I completely forgot. You wanted to see the marble, didn’t you?”
Fahima forced a large grin upon her face. “Oh yes, Uncle Anthe. Nothing like eating honey cakes and looking at pretty merbe…marbe… stones with my favorite uncle in the whole, wide world.”
Anthemios looked troubled, torn between his obsession for stone and the desire to remake Fahima’s image. The marble won as Fahima hoped it would. “I guess the marble is more important…” he faltered. Then with more cheerful conviction, he added. “Okay, we’ll look at the marble first and afterwards, we can go shopping.”
Not if I can help it, Fahima thought, but her face remained a mask of enthusiasm. After all, she really did like Uncle Anthe, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
*~*
The large warehouse was sweltering from the warm, summer night. It was well lit with many oil lamps, which only added to the heat inside the building. Great slabs of various stones types were spread throughout the large cavernous room. Some were already cut into smaller blocks and squares piled into neat little stacks, while others were stacked one atop the other reaching almost to the rafters. These created narrow walkways and cut off any of the cooler outside air. Fine dust coated everything from the floor upward. Small clouds of dust whirled on eddies of wind created anytime someone moved and it tickled Fahima’s throat which each breath she took. There were people everywhere. Some hovered nearby ready at a moment’s notice to help Anthemios, while others went about their evening work routines.
Uncle Anthe had not been satisfied with merely showing her the new marble. No, he had started his tour with other stone to ‘refresh Fahima’s memory’ as he had put it. Fahima knew that once he warmed to his favorite subject, very little would stop him. So, she had tuned out his continuous lecture and munched on the honey cakes he passed along to her every few minutes.
But what had started out as boring had become torturous. The oppressive heat was beginning to make Fahima’s head ache as Uncle Anthe’s drone became an irritating buzzing in her ears. Several times she had inhaled too much dust and had been reduced to coughing fits that had brought tears to her eyes and made her throat sore. She had long since stopped sweating and her skin felt hot to the touch. Her stomach was becoming unsettled and every few minutes, Fahima would be hit with a wave of nausea.
“Uncle,” she called out to Anthemios, somewhat faintly. She wobbled slightly as she trailed after him, feeling dizzy. Her legs were shaking and her stomach had launched a full-scale rebellion.
Anthemios continued on, oblivious that anything was amiss.
“Uncle,” Fahima called again, this time a bit louder and with more desperation. Her head was pounding and everything in the room was wobbling unsteadily.
Her uncle was stroking a piece of marble and commenting on the quality of the cut, seemingly deaf to everyone around him.
“Uncle!” Fahima fairly screamed. The buzz in her ears was louder now. Her head felt like it had been stuffed to overflowing with wool. She stopped walking and stood swaying so precariously that one of the attending servants reached out to steady her.
Anthemios, for his part, absentmindedly reached into his pouch and pulled out another honey cake and offered it to her.
Fahima took one look at the sticky morsel and her stomach declared war. She turned sideways without a word and emptied most of her stomach’s contents onto the ground.
“Oh dear…” Anthemios said, suddenly realizing that something was amiss. “Are you not feeling well again? Are you sure you don’t want another cake to settle you stomach?”
Fahima’s answer was to finish emptying her tummy.
*~*
Petronius disliked this part of his duties most of all, meetings. He sat surrounded by various advisors and officials listening to their requests and concerns. He knew it was a necessary evil and over the last few centuries, he had managed to develop some patience. But essentially, he was still a man of action. He was just about to comment on something, when he felt Fahima. There was an odd sickly feeling and then her voice burst into his mind with just one word: Papa!
He knew in an instant that this was not her trying to manipulate herself out of a situation but a desperate cry for help. Something was wrong. Since the night he had rescued her from slavery, he had kept an open line into her mind. Normally, the link was barely noticeable and only served to reassure him that she was well. He respected her privacy for the most part, merely keeping tabs on her well being and checking on occasion that she wasn’t up to any real trouble. Of course, they carried on regular conversations so Fahima could use the link without even concentrating anymore.
He reached out with his mind and more fully entered hers to see what was wrong. She was sick and in a fair amount of pain.
Luv? Trying to discern from her chaotic thoughts exactly what the trouble was. He could feel that she wasn’t in an imminent danger, which was a relief. For a child her age she was amazingly sensible when it came to avoiding real danger but Petronius still felt a sharp sting of fear for her when she got scared or startled by something and her feelings washed over to him.
Her pained whimpers filled his mind along with a threat that she would burn
down the city if he didn’t come save her straightaway.
I’m coming, Luv, he told her as he rose from his seat. The assembled dignitaries looked at him in surprise. “If you will excuse me,” he told them with a slight grin, grateful for the chance to escape, “I have to go save the city.”
“Are we under attack?” one of them asked in alarm.
“Yes,” Petronius answered, now setting his face into a serious, grim look.
“By whom?”
“A terrible monster who will burn it the ground if I don’t do something about it fast.”
Rather amusing looks of utter confusion passed across their faces, but Petronius had little time to savor their reactions. He was already striding from the room. He knew he would have to pay for his lack of proper conduct later but right now Fahima really did need his help.
By the time he reached the warehouse, Fahima was in bad shape. She was curled up on the ground in a tiny ball, her body racked with dry heaves every few seconds. She was sobbing, which worried Petronius because he knew how much she disliked crying in front of others. Her face was flushed a bright red and her dark tousled hair was plastered to her forehead.
Anthemios, for his part, was alternating between patting her back, saying “There, there” in a rather helpless tone and wringing his hands nervously. He was completely at a loss on what to do for the child and looked rather relieved when he saw Petronius approaching.
“Oh, Petronius, thank Zeus! I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She was fine and then… then…” He gestured helplessly.
Petronius stooped down and gently scooped up Fahima, holding her against his chest. He felt a great heaving shudder pass through her body as she groaned in misery. To him the reason for her condition was quite obvious. He glared angrily at Anthemios and growled, “No more honey cakes!”
Not bothering to wait for a response, he stood, spun on his heel and strode quickly from the building. He crossed the square to a public cistern and sat down on the ledge. Cooling the poor girl down was the first thing to do. He draped Fahima across his lap, with her head and shoulders cradled in the crock of his arm. She lay there, limp and whimpering softly, the occasional shudder shaking her body. Gently he impressed the fact that she was safe with him on her panicked mind, which resulted in her clinging to him even more desperately.
Ripping a strip of fabric from her tunic, he dipped it into the cool water and gently began to mop her flushed face with it. He wiped away her tears, and then pressed the cloth to her forehead. Reaching over, Petronius picked up the battered metal cup used by the public to drink from and dipped it into the water. He gently poured this over Fahima’s head, careful not to let the water drip down into her ears.
“It hurts, Papa,” she cried softly as her stomach gave another lurch, but there was nothing in it to come out. Instead, she burped loudly and winced at the acrid tasted.
“I know, Luv, just concentrate on breathing slowly. In and out, that’s it.” Petronius told her softly as he pour more water over her head. After a few minutes, he was pleased to note that her face was losing its bright red hue.
Finally, he settled her next to him on the ledge, keeping his arm around her for support. He set the cup aside and wet down the strip of cloth again. This time, he placed it against the back of her neck. “This is what happens when you eat too many honey cakes, Luv.” he scolded her gently.
Fahima sniffled and said, “It was either that or end up like Grandpa Micheal, completely nuts.”
Petronius chuckled. “You are a very brave girl, Luv.” He knew that she was going to be just fine as soon as he heard her flippant answer. Only Fahima could make such an insolent statement sound so endearing. He dipped the tin cup into the water and handed it to her. “Rinse your mouth out, Luv.”
Fahima did, spitting the water onto the ground when she was done. He refilled the cup and gave it back to her. “Drink this, slowly, Luv or you will just be sick again.”
Between sips, Fahima said, “Do you have-” She burped. “any idea how boring-”, another burp, “stone can be? But it was either that or dresses and bows.”
In her honest indignation she was impossibly cute. Petronius laughed and cuddled her close to him. “Yes. Who do you think he took on these tours before I got you? For hundreds of years upon years, the endless suffering… Can you imagine? And I didn’t even get honey cakes!”
She sniffled again and gave him a small smile. “I knew there was a trick to why you got me. You just wanted someone to take these tours for you! You wicked, wicked man!”
“Hey! I think I deserve a little pity here!” Petronius exclaimed with a look of mock hurt.
Fahima cuddled closer to him. “Okay, but only a little.”
They sat in silence for a few more moments before Fahima looked up at him and asked, “Do you think that is why Grandpa Micheal went insane? One too many trips to the quarry with Uncle Anthe?”
Petronius pretended to ponder her question for a moment. Of course the mental state of his sire had nothing to do with Anthemios' fascination with marble but it wouldn't hurt to allow Fahima that belief. “Quite possible.”
She laughed and then winced. “My tummy hurts something awful, Pet,” she complained pitifully.
“It will get better in a bit.” He picked her up, cradling her against his chest. “Let’s go back to the fortress and put you to bed. You deserve a rest.” She was still pale and a bit too green for his liking.
“Papa,” she said softly against his chest. “I didn’t mean it when I said I’d run away.” She paused for a moment before adding; “I was serious about burning down the city if you didn’t come rescue me though.”
Petronius smiled. “I know, Luv, and I came, didn’t I!”
She yawned. “I knew you would, Papa. You always rescue me when I need it.”
He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Always! After all, I love you.”
She sighed softly, her voice sleepy as she said, “I love you too, Papa.”
Petronius didn’t bother saying anything more but with a gentle mental push, put her to sleep. He cradled her close to him as he thought about what he needed to do. He’d let her sleep for a bit while he had the cook prepare a light broth. If Fahima managed to keep that down, he’d try letting her eat a little bit of bread. He knew that he needed to get something into her stomach or it would not settle properly.
He really couldn’t stay angry with Anthemios, after all, if anyone had told him over a year ago that he would be raising an eleven-year-old, he would never have believed them. He remembered how clueless he had been when he first got her, now he was making a fair impersonation of real parent. And he knew that his brother adored Fahima almost as much as he did.
His life had been so orderly and now he wondered how he ever stood a moment of it. He loved the chaos and surprises that Fahima brought into his life. He couldn’t imagine working at his desk without having to move one of her treasures or a half-eaten plate of food out of his way. He looked forward to waking and having the simple act of putting on his boots turn into an adventure as he sifted through the clutter on the floor. She had brought life back into his existence, making him realize what a boring creature of duty he had become. Now he shared each new discovery she made and having her bounce up and down on the bed telling him of her latest adventure was a treat he always looked forward to.
But mostly he loved her spirit and zest for life. The little quirks she had like sniffing everything before she ate it or her weakness for honey cakes. He loved the way she squealed when she was tickled and how she imitated him when they walked the battlements. The way she would tuck her bottom lip between her teeth when she was worried over some problem or the way the tip of her tongue would stick out between her lips when she was concentrating on doing a task she found difficult. He loved the way she called him Pet - if anyone else had dared such a thing, he would have killed them. She had stolen his heart the first moment he had peeked into her mind and he honestly didn’t want it back.
He entered the fortress and carried Fahima to their chambers; content that everything in his life was as it should be – chaotic.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Mayetra & Beryll