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The Blessed Runaway

By Sirius

In the early hours, just as the eastern sky was starting to glimmer and the stars beginning to fade, the glorious palace of the Adi, supreme magistrate of the Blessed City of Anagari, stood absolutely silent. Even the guards who were supposed to maintain a constant march along the walls of the palace were leaning on their staffs and taking naps. In those peaceful, prosperous times, there was little need for vigilance at that hour. Besides, any potential thief would be daunted by the high walls. With the gates closed and barred for the night, there was no way to get in. However, with a bit of persistence, a considerable amount of evasion, and most importantly a makeshift rope of tied bedsheets, one could just possibly get out. While the guards napped, a nimble little feline figure made his way down the high wall, then dropped the last eight feet or so and landed softly on all fours. No one took notice. The feline figure glanced in each direction, ears perked and wary, then dashed off into the pre-dawn haze.

"Galah! Rouse yourself. Wake up, you heathen, and for pity's sake, make yourself presentable!"

The grating voice cut through the morning's half-asleep bliss and stirred Sher Galah to full wakefulness, quite against his will. The jackal growled and opened his rheumy eyes just a crack to glower at Advar Akhu, one of the Adi's closest ministers and a perennial thorn in Galah's side. The nasty, short little mole was standing right at Galah's bedside, squinting at him through his round, thick little spectacles. They made his eyes look enormous, buglike. Something had the mole greatly distressed; he was fidgeting with his robe, and his nostrils were flared. Galah would have probably maimed anyone else who had the temerity to come into his quarters unannounced like this, but he had to tolerate Akhu for the Adi's sake.

"By the gods, are you hung over?" Akhu made a point of waving his hand in front of his nose to clear away Galah's morning breath. "Get yourself up and decent! We have an emergency! There's no time to waste!"

"Unless the palace is under siege, wake me when the sun's high in the sky." Galah turned over. He looked to the empty spot beside him in his bed. Damn, another one that had left early in the morning. Oh well, it was for the best. The less Akhu knew about the jackal's proclivities, the better.

The Advar actually poked him, right in the back with the sharp tip of his claw. Galah had a brief, unproductive impulse to take that mole's stubby little finger and break it, but he quickly suppressed it. The jackal threw back the sheets and sat up, fully nude. Akhu averted his eyes with an expression of marked distaste. Fine, the insecure little twit could recoil all he wanted to. Galah could care less.

"Put some blasted clothes on," said Akhu, shuffling to Galah's closet and pulling out the jackal's uniform. "and get to the court at once! The Blessed Son has gone missing!"

Galah rubbed his eyes. "You mean Bharis has run away again."

Akhu threw the pieces of Galah's outfit at him. "I mean we don't know what has happened, and in but a scant few hours he is due to meet his future wife for the first time! The envoy from Djunhari will be here by noon! The Blessed Son must be found and made ready to greet the princess! This is serious business, Sher Galah! If Bharis is not found, it will be your head and mine!"

"Oh, stop panicking," said the jackal, pulling on his pants and grooming himself, "we both know he's probably no further than the Turtle Bridge, and even if he is, he'll be back well before lunch. Without any money, his stomach will guide him home!"

"Unacceptable!" snapped the mole, "you must retrieve him! Now go to the court and explain your plan to the Adi!"

The jackal slipped on his vest, made a few last-minute adjustments to his appearance, then headed for the door. As he passed Akhu, Galah paused for a moment. He slowly turned his head, looked down at the little mole with a predatory eye, then mock-lunged at him, snapping his jaws. Akhu flinched backwards with a prissy shriek. Galah chuckled and headed out. There were definitely some small perks to this job.

The Venerated Adi, the wise old Vanapuri, welcomed Galah with a warm smile that belied his underlying tension. His deep voice sounded troubled. "Welcome, my dearest Sher; I do hope the Advar provided a gentle awakening. I normally would be loath to call upon your services at this hour for such a trivial task, but today is a momentous occasion."

"My lord, no trouble is too great in my service to you." Galah bowed deeply. He meant it as well. He loved Vanapuri, loved him not unlike a father-figure. The old tiger was a stern leader, yet in his personal moments he had such a gentle, kind face that Galah felt nothing but compassion for him.

"Perhaps you can teach him the lesson I cannot," mused Vanapuri, stroking his chin. "I have warned him time and again about this sort of thing, but he does not listen...and this time I know he does it to spite me. It is grievously difficult to raise him without my wife, Galah. Would that I could have her serenity."

"I am sure the boy's mother watches over him from the heavens," said Galah. "And it is no effort for me to retrieve him when he needs more than just watching."

Vanapuri chuckled. "I fear he shall need more than even that someday, Galah. He grows increasingly impertinent with each passing day. I often wonder what sort of Adi he will make when I am gone."

"I am sure, my lord, that your reign will last for many more years to come. And when it comes time for my lord to be welcomed into the heavens, this Sher will make certain that the Blessed Son rules fairly and justly."

Something about Galah's words gave Vanapuri pause. He looked at the jackal with a troubled eye. Galah froze, wondering if he'd committed some horrible misstep.

"You must remember, Galah, it is not the place of the Sher to determine the rule of the Adi. Only the Adi himself may determine such things. We must endeavor together now, while I still live and breathe, to insure that Bharis grow up a good man."

"I beg my lord's pardon," Galah said, bowing right to the ground. "I meant no disrespect."

Vanapuri smiled that warm smile, and Galah knew all was forgiven. "You needn't concern yourself with such things, Sher. It was a perfectly understandable mistake. Now go. I trust you know my son's scent, and he is poor with stealth. It should be no trouble finding him, yes?"

Galah rose and saluted stiffly. "I shall have him back within the hour, my lord."

"Excellent. Set you to your task, Galah. Good hunting."

Galah swiftly found Bharis's makeshift rope of bedsheets near the base of the high walls, and from there the trail was plain. He knew the boy's scent as well as he knew all the other scents of the palace. For once, the jackal did not speed through the streets in open pursuit, as was his usual manner. This time he kept his sword sheathed and wore an all-concealing cloak, complete with a hood that kept his face in shadow. It was too stiflingly hot to wear such things today, but he did not want to draw attention to himself, especially when he had to apprehend Bharis. Galah's worst fear was that the boy would be recognized and held for ransom by some petty, opportunistic thug. The Blessed Son had only ever been by the commonfolk from a distance, but Galah was sure there was still a chance of him being noticed.

The trail led him to the main marketplace, then down a side alley, one littered with refuse and trash. Galah's heartbeat quickened as he realized the trail ended at a shady-looking shop. Just what had Bharis gotten himself into?

Just as Galah was pondering what to do, Bharis himself burst out of the shop's entrance, dashing right past the jackal without recognizing him. The Blessed Son was clad in the same manner of cloak as the jackal, although on the young tiger it was much more ill-fitting. Before Galah even had time to turn and call to Bharis, the enraged master of the shop, a huge bellowing ox, ran past Galah as well, shouting obscenities. Oh, this couldn't get any worse.

Galah snapped into motion, his limber legs propelling him into a sprint. He ran back to the main market square, where an eager crowd of curiosity-seekers was already gathering in a ring around the shopkeeper and the boy. Bharis was thankfully still hooded, but he had drawn a small dagger and was wielding it while the shopkeeper circled him.

"THIEF!" cried the shopkeeper. "Foul street rat! How dare you steal from my shop!"

"I stole nothing!" Bharis growled at the shopkeeper, his tail lashing back and forth.

"LIAR! Filthy, sticky-fingered urchin! I will see you carved into quivering bits!" The shopkeeper flexed his hands, eager for a fight. Galah fought his way through the crowd, then when he realized there was no more room for subterfuge, he threw off his cloak, the uniform beneath commanding instant recognition.

"Official business of the palace!" shouted the jackal. "Make way for Sher Galah!"

Both Bharis and the shopkeeper stared as Galah pushed through the throng of onlookers. The jackal clapped a firm hand on Bharis's neck, taking hold of the tiger's scruff. "I have been looking for this one for a long time."

"What are you doing?" hissed Bharis, but Galah swiftly motioned him to be silent.

"Almighty Sher, this rabble has stolen from me, an honest shopkeeper," said the shopkeeper, affecting a pose of contrition. "I humbly beseech our beloved Sher to release the boy to me, that I may extract what he pilfered with his nimble fingers -- and then slice those very fingers off!"

The crowd murmured excitedly. They loved a good, bloody scene.

"And what, good shopkeeper, did this boy steal from you, precisely?" asked Galah.

"Well, it -- it's an item of no consequence! Really, must we bother with details?"

"Indeed we must. If you cannot tell me, I cannot punish him for the crime," Galah said quietly but firmly. "Please, enlighten me."

All eyes were on the shopkeeper. The big ox stammered and fidgeted, then pointed a shaky finger at Bharis. "It does not matter! I still stand by my word -- that boy is a thief!"

"He has other crimes to answer for," said Galah, "and I promise you, if we find your item on his person, it will be removed and returned to you. Now step aside, shopkeeper -- I must bring him back to the palace."

"NO!" Bharis pulled away, but Galah held him firmly.

The shopkeeper seemed unsatisfied with this arrangement, but as Galah led Bharis away, the big ox sneered and jeered, filling the square with his raucous laughter. "Now you will suffer for your deeds, little thief! Sher Galah shows no mercy! He'll tear off your ears and string them on a necklace! He'll flay your hide for a belt!"

Bharis stuck his tongue out at the shopkeeper, and Galah squeezed the tiger's neckruff harder. "Come along, Blessed Son. You've given me some trouble, and I would have words with you."

Galah did not take Bharis to the palace. Instead, the jackal led the young tiger to the outskirts of the city. The guards at the city gates normally would have demanded to know the business of all who passed in or out, but at the sight of Galah, the guards saluted and said no more. Once past the gates, Galah led Bharis to a nice place in the shadow of the outer walls, a place where there were many trees and no people. Galah sometimes came here when he had his rare introspective moods.

"Now what did you steal?" Galah held out his hand. "Give it here."

"Just this..." Bharis took an apple out of the folds of his cloak, and handed it to the jackal. "I was hungry."

Galah chuckled. "I told your father that your stomach would lead you back to the palace. I did not think you would stoop to petty theft."

"I don't want to go back to the palace."

"I know that," Galah said, his smile fading, "but you must. Today is a very important day for you and your father. This pairing must be arranged -- it is a good alliance for our city and our nation."

"I don't care! I don't want to be married to some girl I've never seen! I don't even like women! They're vile! They stink and they cannot be trusted!" Bharis made a face.

"Your mother was a woman, and you did not think so poorly of her, did you?"

Bharis stiffened. "Do not speak of her."

There was an uncomfortable silence between them. After a while, Galah spoke. "You miss her greatly, don't you, Bharis? You never used to act so recklessly."

The young tiger nodded mutely, and in that moment Galah saw not a proud son of nobility but a fragile, hurt little boy. That was all Bharis truly was, underneath his anger and defiance. Galah reached out and hugged Bharis to his chest, holding him tightly, protocols be damned.

"If she was here," whispered Bharis, "I would not have to run away. She would not let Father treat me so. She was always so kind to me."

"I miss her as well, young lord," said Galah softly. "I do indeed."

"Why must I be married off?" Bharis said. "Talk to my father, Galah...tell him to call it off! He listens to you."

"You know I cannot do that. Sometimes, dear Blessed Son, we must do things that are more important than our desires. That is the nature of duty."

"And what about what I want? When do I get what I want?"

"When you become Adi," said Galah, "you may have whatever you want, because then you will be ruler. But until that day comes, you must be ready to make concessions for your father. I should not have to instruct you in this; you should already know it. Bharis, please...do not torment your father so. Will you come back to the palace with me?"

"I cannot get married to that princess." Bharis shook his head vehemently. "I do not like women. Not at all. Not one bit! I hate them! You understand, Galah -- you're the same way!"

Bharis's words struck Galah to the core. The jackal looked warily about the grove of trees, to make certain no one had heard. He felt as if someone had punched him swiftly in the gut. "What...what do you mean, Blessed Son?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Bharis looked up at Galah, and his gaze was almost accusatory. "Don't you?"

"You...you haven't told anyone, have you?" Galah knelt and looked Bharis in the eye.

"Nobody knows about you but me," said Bharis, "and only the servant boys know about me, and they won't tell anyone."

Galah searched Bharis's face for any hint of deception, but there was none. The boy meant every word he said.

"Listen to me then, Bharis. You must keep this a secret -- and you still must be wed. I know how unbearable it is to keep a secret such as this, believe me. However, it is the burden of men like us. Remember, you need only wed the princess to seal the alliance. You don't have to...you know. You don't have to do...that."

Bharis scoffed. "I hope not! Ugh!"

Galah chuckled. "Is that what you were running away from?"

"No," Bharis said. "I was running away from Father. You only ever see how he treats me when you're around. You make him gentle, but when you're gone...he's cruel."

"I do not believe that," said Galah, "and I think you see your father as a greater tyrant than he is, simply because it is he that makes the choices of your life for now. But have faith, young one; I promise a time will come when you will have the freedom to do whatever it is you please. You will become Adi, and this city will be yours. Trust in that."

Bharis sighed. "Will you be there when I become Adi?"

"I will serve you as loyally as I serve your father."

The young tiger nodded. Galah hugged him once more. Just this once, while no one was watching, the jackal would leave behind his iron will. The boy needed this kindness.

And then, abruptly, Bharis kissed Galah. It was not the passionate kiss of an adult, but neither was it the chaste little peck of a child. Bharis's muzzle met Galah's, lingered there for a moment in soft contact, then drifted away. The jackal pulled back, his face flushing with surprise and embarrassment. "Bharis...! What are you...what are you doing?"

The young tiger gave him a cunning look, the kind of look boys would give other boys when they dared them to do something against the rules. "Did you like that?"

"NO! Bharis, my young lord, you are thirteen! THIRTEEN! You should not even be thinking about things like that! Please...for your sake and mine...you must not do that again. I beg you. Let us forget that happened."

Bharis sighed an exasperated little sigh. "Fine."

The jackal took Bharis's hands in his. "You must be patient. You must see that in time, things will be better. Everything will be better. Now come, my young lord...let us return to your father, that he may worry no longer."

The Adi was conversing with Advar Akhu as Galah returned, bringing Bharis with him. Galah bowed, pushing Bharis down to make sure the young tiger bowed as well. "I return as promised, my lord, with your son safe and unharmed."

"Very well done," said Vanapuri. "your diligence is ever constant. You are dismissed, Galah; resume your regular duties."

Akhu gave Galah a silent but pointed look; the mole clearly did not hold the jackal in the same high esteem as the Adi did. Galah couldn't resist giving Akhu a faintly smug wink. Galah let Bharis go, then bowed and exited the Adi's chambers, shutting the door behind him.

As the door shut, Galah caught a glimpse of the change in Vanapuri's old face. The old tiger was looking down at his son with an expression of deep dissatisfaction bordering on fierce anger, and it made his old face somewhat ugly. Galah turned his eyes away, not wanting to know this side of the Adi. The door shut with a thick thud. Galah readied himself for another day of patrols, eager to find the lawbreakers of the Blessed City and march them off to justice -- or simply to bring them justice by his own blade.

That evening, the jackal paid another visit to Vanapuri. The Adi stood alone in his chambers, pensive. Galah bowed, then quietly entered. "How did the reception go?"

"It went well, and the marriage is ensured, yet I am troubled."

"Why, my lord?"

"These alliances are tenuous at best, and I fear that for all my diplomatic efforts, they may all fall apart in time, and we will again become a nation of squabbling, selfish cities who cannot unite except in name. We shall not realize how vulnerable we have all become until it is too late."

"My lord, what do you mean?"

"War is coming," said Vanapuri, "and I would actually welcome it in my lifetime, for I have known war; Bharis has only known peaceful times in his youth. But my emissaries have told me of the rumblings in other lands, the brewing of political thunderclouds and the echoes of battle cries on distant borders. It may not come in my lifetime, but it may come to our land by the time Bharis has taken my place. I do not know who will nock the first arrow, but it will happen, Galah, mark my words."

"If this land is under siege, my lord, I swear I shall defend it to the last."

"A sturdy defense may not be enough," said Vanapuri, "especially if the leadership is foolish. The boy and I had a fierce argument upon his return. I raised my hand to strike him, and he cringed back from it. I said things I now regret, and I never wish to again see such hatred on his face. He does not see the error of his ways, and wishes only to serve himself, not his country."

"I would beseech the Venerated Adi to be patient with his son," said Galah, "and trust in the powers of providence. He will be a good ruler; I truly believe that."

"Perhaps you are right." Vanapuri rested his gentle hand on Galah's shoulder. "You are my trusted right hand, Galah. I am ever glad to have your counsel and company."

"I live to serve the Adi and his Blessed Son, whom I love with all my heart." Galah said sincerely. He bowed deeply, then excused himself. The day had been trying, and he was as worried about Bharis and the nation as Vanapuri was, but there was to be no more concern over these matters. Galah was young and strong and vital, and he had a great hunger after the day's chase. The jackal went to the balcony and gazed out upon the city below, a city twinkling with lantern lights. Tonight he would walk among the commonfolk as one of them. He would find a place where the liquor flowed and fragrant hookah smoke filled the air. There in some low-lit corner there would be a ravishing lion with a mane of gold, or perhaps a stallion with a broad chest, and for that night the jackal could lose himself in the flesh of another. The life of a Sher was grand.

In his darkened room, Bharis sobbed until his body was weary of such exhausting emotion, and then he simply flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling with burning, frustrated eyes. He punched his tasseled pillows and swore wild curses unbecoming of a child. He cursed his father, cursed that ugly cow he was supposed to marry, cursed everything. He was a prisoner here! What life was there ahead for him but to follow in his father's footsteps, in his father's shadow? What good was being the Blessed Son if he could neither leave the palace nor enjoy any of the things that life had to offer?

Bharis pulled on the silken cord by his bed, ringing a little bell elsewhere. A few moments later, one of the servant-boys entered his room, a thin young cheetah bearing a fresh pitcher of water. Bharis waited until the cheetah had set the pitcher on his dresser, then reached out and seized the boy's wrist, baring his fangs to the fullest extent. The cheetah gave a start and looked up at Bharis with wide, terrified eyes, but did not resist.

But Bharis wasn't in the mood, after all. After a few moments' consideration, he let the cheetah-servant go. The servant darted out without a word. They were all trained to be meek, to refrain from speaking unless spoken to. It was too easy; there was no fun, no sense of furtiveness anymore about it. That moment with Galah had been exciting...but even that wasn't what Bharis truly wanted. He craved more; he wanted something that no fleshly pleasures could provide. He wanted to rule, to impose his will on others while they scurried to serve him. He wanted to be free of his father's tyranny.

Well, he would be, in time. Bharis sat down and picked up the cloak he'd worn on his trip into the city, then removed from it the small vial he'd stolen from the back of the shop. He'd swiped the apple from another stall just in case Galah or someone else had shown up, and he'd done a bit of sleight-of-hand to conceal his real prize. Of course the big ox would not have admitted to distilling or possessing such an item, for such potions as the one Bharis had taken from his stores were quite illegal. Galah was gullible in his trust of the Blessed Son; Bharis knew it would work to his advantage later, when questions were asked. The jackal would unquestionably be his advocate.

He held up the vial to the moonlight and gazed at the liquid inside. Colorless, odorless, undetectable once poured into one's drink. The victim's seizures and bloody nose would make it look as if he'd died of a brain-sickness. Bharis would hold onto this for now, would covet it and take it out in times of sorrow to remind himself that one day he would be free, by his own design, and that his father would fall like a decrepit old tree gone to rot.

Yes, he would be free, in time.