commandant | Ethics Short Story thing

Though the imperial city, being built around an oasis, seemed a perfectly pleasant place, the majority of the country was an arid desert region. As such, the climate was warm, and the summers especially so. Even children, with their seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy, would have to rest in the shade for most of the afternoon, when the sun was strongest. There is something equalizing about the weather, as everyone, from the poorest beggar to the king himself was subject to it. It was no less hot in the palace gardens than it was in the streets. Such was this certain day, the sun reigning king over all from the top of the sky. Two young men sat in the shade of a pomegranate tree within the center courtyard of the palace, deeply absorbed in the task of extracting the ruby red seeds of the fruit they held in their hands. Being high noon, the gardens were relatively deserted otherwise; save for a few of the queens attendants, taking their lunch in the shade of the date palms in the far corner while their lady took her afternoon sojourn. Save for the muted sound of their talk and the occasional whine of a cicada, it was quiet.

“Hey Jahan,” the smaller boy broke the relative silence, glancing over at his companion with dark eyes, “do you have a dream?”

The other boy looked up, popping a seed into his mouth before brushing a strand of messy brown curls out of his face. In one word, he was striking. Olive green eyes set against skin almost as dark as his hair, Jahan had the unmistakable air of royalty around him. “What do you mean, Bashir? I have dreams all the time. I told you just this morning about the one I had last night where mother had the head of a lion and made me do arithmetic problems in order to earn my dinner.”

Bashir let out a little sigh even as he continued to stare intently at his pomegranate. “Not like that. I mean like,” he turned his head to look at Jahan, “what’s the one thing you want to do more than anything in the world?”

The darker boy seemed to think on this for a moment, “well then I’d have to say to become emperor.” He stated this matter-of-factly, as it was clearly the most obvious conclusion for him to come to.

“That’s a boring answer. There’s no one else to succeed your father but you. What fun is a dream if you know it’s going to happen?”

Jahan smirked, “I’d rather look forward to something I know will happen than wish after something I don’t.”

Bashir flicked a seed at him, eliciting a small yelp. “Come on, you’ve got to have something better than that. Where’s your sense of wonder?”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Don’t start talking like you’re an adult just because you’re a year older than me. There must be something interesting you want to do,” Bashir replied as he flicked another seed at Jahan.

“Quit it! If you’re so smart then, what’s your dream?” Jahan countered, the look on his face that of someone who believes they’ve won the argument. If it were anyone else, save his parents, he would have tolerated being treated so rudely. But since it was Bashir, it was okay.

“I already did mine. I wanted to go on an adventure, so I did. That’s how I met you,” he responded calmly. Bashir had always been a smart child, and everyone in the palace would comment how his sharp wit and maturity beyond his years made the raven-haired boy the perfect foil for the impulsive, hot-headed Jahan.

“You’re one step ahead of me as always. If that’s the case, I can’t waste any time in accomplishing a dream, can I?” Jahan furrowed his brow as he tried to think up a suitable answer. “Well I guess I can’t accomplish it now, but the other thing I want most is for Bashir to be by my side, since he’s smarter than me, I’ll be better able to rule the country that way.” He looked over at Bashir, seeming satisfied with this.

Bashir paused for a moment, “… I suppose I can’t criticize that dream, can I?” He broke out into a grin, “I’ll do everything I can to make your dream happen.”

“Bashir!”

The sound of someone yelling his named jolted Bashir into wakefulness, and he lifted his head to confirm the identity of the speaker, “Ah, Leila. I’m sorry; I must have dozed off…” Bashir glanced down at the book he had been reading before closing it.

Leila was, as Jahan described her, “a woman of peerless beauty.” Her silky black hair was gathered in a perfectly neat braid thrown over her shoulder, cascading over her perfectly tan skin. Her lithe figure was cloaked in a fluttery silk gown, and everything was accentuated in gold. “That’s just like you, falling asleep with your head in a book. Haven’t you read everything in this library by now? I know it’s big but you’ve had over ten years to do it.” She said jokingly as she sat next to him.

Bashir laughed, “not quite, maybe when I’m an old man I’ll have read them all. Was there something you needed, my queen?” though the title was legitimate; Bashir would often address his old friend as such in jest.

She shoved him gently in protest, “oh stop that! You wouldn’t call Jahan “my king” would you? I just wanted to see you is all.” She said as she tucked her braid behind her ear, bangles on her wrist jingling softly.

“Of course not, like his ego needs-” Bashir cut his statement short as he noticed something on Leila’s wrist. He reached out to grab her arm, evoking a startled yelp out of the woman.

“Bashir, what are you-”

“These bruises, who grabbed you like this?” He paused. He knew the answer, but was still reluctant to admit it. “…It was Jahan, wasn’t it?”

Leila looked away and nodded, sliding a golden armband down off her upper arm to display yet another bruise. “He’s just becoming more and more unreasonable Bashir. My words don’t reach him, and it seems even yours won’t now either. He won’t stop… he doesn’t care about us anymore.” She said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Bashir was at a loss for words. It was true, ever since inheriting the throne, Jahan had slowly stopped listening to Bashir’s council, where he had once practically hung on every word. He had confronted his dear friend about it many times already, but it seemed to make no difference.

“Run away with me, Bashir,” Leila said, interrupting Bashir’s thoughts, grasping his hands earnestly. “Please.”

Bashir gazed into her dark brown eyes for a moment before looking away, “You know I can’t do that.” Even if Jahan seemed to almost not be the same person anymore… a promise was a promise, after all.

Leila looked disappointed, but not deterred. “Then… just give me what I want. Jahan doesn’t have to know… It’s the least you can do to serve your queen, isn’t it?” She gripped his hands tightly.

“I…” He would have to betray his best friend. But it was for Leila’s sake. For the sake of her happiness. And as long as he stayed at Jahan’s side he could still try to bring him back to the man he’d once been. Bashir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Of course… Your happiness is my happiness, my lady Leila.”

*************

The heat in the room was almost unbearable, as was the choking smoke in the air, and the sharp stabbing pain of the broken bones in his leg. But none of that was at the forefront of Bashir’s mind. That place was reserved for the man standing over his crumpled form. The flames behind cast him in a dark silhouette, but Bashir didn’t need to see his face to know what he was feeling. “Jahan,” he managed to croak out, pushing himself up off the ground, trying to ignore the jolt he felt in his leg as he did so, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” The dark figure said, as a flame ignited in his hand, illuminating his face. “You think you can take what’s mine, condemn me, come to blows with me, and just apologize? And here I was always told of the two of us, I was the fool.” Jahan pointed his hand at his fallen friend. The anger in his voice was almost palpable.

“… I wasn’t finished.” Bashir coughed, “Jahan, I’m sorry… but I can’t stand at your side any more. You’re no longer the man I made that promise to, and I’m no longer the man who made that promise.” He knew regardless of what he said; that he was going to die. So he may as well be honest, at the end.

Jahan stared at Bashir in shock for a moment, before setting back into a furious scowl. “That’s right. I have no need for corpses at my side.” The flame on his hand grew, in preparation for an attack.

Bashir closed his eyes, bracing himself for the final blow. But it didn’t come. Not only that, but after a minute, the heat of the fire seemed to disappear entirely. Confused, he opened his eyes and looked up. The fire in the room was out. Jahan was still standing over him, arm outstretched, but the look on his face wasn’t the look of a man out to commit murder. It was the look of a man who was uncertain of his own actions.

He couldn’t kill the man who was like a brother to him.

Bashir only had a brief glance of that face before Jahan turned away. “… Get out.”

“…What?” Bashir was still struggling to understand the situation.

“I said get out!” Jahan’s temper flared, and for a moment it seemed as if the fire would start up again. “Get out of my palace! Out of my country! Out of my life!” He whirled back to face Bashir, eye’s wide, nostrils flared, his fury seeming righteous and absolute. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you on the spot! Understand!?” He turned on his heel, storming out of the room, leaving Bashir in the charred mess of a room.