Ghali's Story

When Ghali woke up again, the sun was going down. His head hurt, and he seemed to have an unquenchable thirst, which was not satisfied by drinking the multiple carafes of water that the guards brought him. He checked himself as best he could for pinpricks and bruises - he saw none. Perhaps the doctor had only looked at him, then. Guards took him out twice to relieve himself, but otherwise kept him inside and barefoot, his wrists and ankles secured tightly in such a manner that sleeping was the only position comfortable to be in.

When night fell, they brought him a meal, which he ate slowly, by lamplight, before promptly falling asleep again.

He woke, hours later, to low voices and the sounds of human movement in the camp. Ghali opened his eyes, on guard immediately, and sat up as best he could, trying silently to get free of the thin bedsheets they'd given him.

Then there was more movement, heavy and specific, at the doorflap to his tent, and a figure arrived. Ghali froze, halfway between sitting up and lying down, and watched it. The figure took shape as a man, but his face was shadowed by the unlit room. He came closer to the bed, and as he did, Ghali saw the size of him, the full shape, the kingly presence. He leaned forward, his keffiyah obscuring his face. The thin light of a lamp flickered behind him - on, off. His face appeared, then was gone again. In the slivers of image, Ghali saw darkly tanned skin and a smooth, handsome face.
"Hello, carrier." the man said, evenly.
Ghali swallowed.
"My name is Ghali."
"Ah. Of course. Hello, Ghali."
Ghali did not feel it necessary to respond to this. The man didn't seem to mind; he moved lazily around the room towards the bed, his voice the same patient, curious tone as when he'd first spoken.

When he came closer to the bed where Ghali now sat tied, the carrier flinched away as much as his ropes would allow. The figure paused, then came forward and took Ghali's slim chin in his hand, tilting the face upwards. Startled and embarrassed, Ghali averted his eyes immediately. The man made an approving noise and released him.
"How long have you been a carrier, Ghali?"
Ghali set his jaw and was silent. The man waited a moment, then raised both hands outwards.
"This is not a trap. No one is here to hurt you. Now answer my question: how long have you been a carrier, Ghali?"
There was some steel in the voice, some impulsion on Ghali to obey, and suddenly the carrier felt resistance grow strong within him. He was not obliged to a stranger. Carrier or not, he did not belong to this man. He did not have to do as he was told.
Furthermore, it was not so long ago that Ghali had been clinging by his fingertips to the precipice of survival. If this man expected a father-coddled carrier, then he would be greatly surprised.
With vitriol, Ghali snapped,
"I don't have to answer to a bastard like you."
The sheikh's response was automatic, and the strike landed cleanly across Ghali's face.
Ghali held his position for a moment, stunned by the contact. The man leaned down so that their faces were close, and Ghali was tempted, by the proximity, to spit at him. He didn't, fearing retaliation. The man's breath disturbed the hair on Ghali's neck; the closeness was unnerving, with the man having just struck him, and now standing silent. Eventually, the sheikh spoke, and said in a drawling voice with a curious accent,
"It would have been easier simply to say, 'Not long.'"

~

A late meal had come and been eaten in silence; the dishes had been cleared and now the man, who had introduced himself as Azim, was resting in a makeshift chair across the room and staring at Ghali. The carrier, for good behavior during the meal, had been untied and was rubbing his wrist and ankles rather dramatically.
Azim tolerated this display for a few moments before speaking.
"Let us be clear on things, Ghali."
A spike of anxiety leapt up in the carrier's stomach, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. The sheikh continued.
"I am certain that by this point, you understand what is happening here?"
Ghali thought about playing dumb, but decided against it - he nodded tightly.
"What is it?" the sheikh asked, testing him.
"You want to use me to negotiate with my father. You've stalked us for some time now. You're going to threaten to rape me, or maybe you really will."
Azim's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his dark eyes looked perplexed.
"And how did you cobble together the pieces to form that idea?" he inquired, voice both vexed and curious.
Ghali shrugged.
"Your men knew my name, before I told them. They separated me from my guards in the market. They knew who I was - they targeted me, specifically. But I'm not important, besides being a carrier. My father is. And if you know who I am, I'm sure you know who he is. And if you specifically decided to kidnap Anthony Duke's only carrier son, I'm sure it was for some reason - some political reason between you and him."
Azim raised a single brow.
"And the rest?"
Ghali looked embarrassed and frightened; he hesitated again.
"I think you think that's just the easiest way to scare me."
Azim nodded sagely, as if considering this. He leaned back, resting his hands on his knees, his size seeming more massive.
"And is that what I'm doing? Scaring you?"
Ghali shrugged.
"You're trying."
"Am I?" Azim asked, feigning surprise. "With my soft bed and full meals? Tea and after-dinner conversations? Doctors to ensure your good health? Are you terrified yet?"
Ghali glared at him.
"No." he bit out, eventually. "And I never will be."
Azim smiled curiously at that, and took a long sip of his tea.
"Ah," he said, quietly, "Well, excellent."

~:~