A Dancer's Retreat [Zub / Training]

A blazing gaze looked down upon Reiman banners, the Sun interested in Trepolis that morning. It was not clear where he might be looking, but it seemed that his golden light was concentrated upon Flavrian’s estate, where Zubaidah was training with the centurion Lukios.

‘Huh, there’s something wrong…’ As they crossed blades, for the ninth or tenth time in a row, Lukios looked towards Zubaidah with a puzzled expression. ‘Is my form off?’ Tired but playful, stretching her arms from their hour-long session, Zubaidah shared a smile and joking sighs with Lukios.

‘Nah, quite the opposite.’ He was met with a wider smile from Zubaidah, twirling her spear towards Lukios. ‘So is it too good?’

‘I don’t know if I’d phrase - ’ He was interrupted from a balcony overlooking the courtyard, where Flavrian was watching over their practice. ‘Your form and your manner conflict with one another.’

‘What do you mean?’

She received his message with a bit of sass, eyes smouldering towards him, as if challenging Flavrian’s opinion. He did not back down, however, looking down at Zubaidah with his usual stoic expression, marred only by his ruffled collar and untied shoes.

‘You are well-versed in conventional Reiman and Parthevian spearmanship. I cannot doubt your skills from each school, but your manner does not suit the form taught within either school.’

‘How might I phrase it best?’

He paused for a second, thinking about what he meant, before his eyes brightened with an answer.

‘You are a dancer at heart.’

‘Your manner as a dancer asks for fluidness and spontaneity such that your adherence to Reiman or Parthevian teachings restricts your own combat-style. There is a spear in your hand, but your body does not see it as something organic to its own fluidness.’

‘How might I solve that problem?’

‘Hmm, I doubt that myself or Lukios could provide any solutions, if I am being honest.’

‘I would not call that helpful.’

‘Let me think…’ He glanced towards the study on the other side of the balcony doors, gaze focused towards something unseen. ‘Hmm, you should ask Anna.’ He turned towards Zubaidah, stern and confidant, before he hesitated and his confidence fell. ‘Hmm, but she retired to her dancer’s retreat…’

Confusion came upon Zubaidah, before her smile grew even wider and brighter, launching into a string of questions and more questions.

‘What retreat? Wait, you don’t mean that retreat? How has she even been allowed to host it? She is still under house arrest, is she not?!’

‘One question at a time, please!’ He watched the sky, racking his brain, and flitted between study and clouds in his gaze. ‘First, she was relieved from her house arrest, thanks to your and Caligulas’ help. As for the rest, I am sure that you know the details better than me. All I know is that Anna went away in such a hurry that I can only imagine the fun she has planned. Especially with all the wine she packed for herself…’

When he looked back towards Zubaidah, however, Flavrian saw Lukios standing alone in the courtyard. With one glance towards the smiling Lukios, he realised that Zubaidah had gone as soon as he said ‘Anna’.

‘Well, that was a bit quick, and a bit rude…’

‘A pair of wings makes the journey faster.'

Of course, Zubaidah did not encounter the note’s author, but she had an idea about whose hand had been involved - one as metallic as Sirrush itself.

She watched the fields and meadows unravel into Anna’s summer-home, a mansion of bright marble, and memories flooded into her mind.

But more than that, she felt a warm feeling come into her heart, as if she was coming home.

As the party burst into full swing, Zubaidah mingled with the other guests, buzzing from drink and excitement. Indeed, she had never been more excited than she was right here, coming across stars rising and shining in the entertainment industry. She had needed this after the trauma of the Barris circus, for this confirmed that she belonged amongst the world of performance arts.

As she chatted with some singer or other, however, a pink-haired dancer tapped Zubaidah upon the shoulder, ‘Did I hear that your name was Zobeidah?’ She turned around with full grace, tossing her purple locks to the other bare shoulder, ‘No, my name is Zubaidah - ’ But she froze mid-turn as she realised that she had some bare recognition of this woman, ‘Wait, do I know - ’

‘Sukhainah, is that you?’

‘How…’ She had not heard that name for so long, Zubaidah was almost uncertain whether her ears were feeding her some false information. ‘No, it can’t be - ’ She could only think of a handful who knew her childhood name, and fewer still who could have survived Parthevia.

‘Kut?’

She thudded into Zubaidah with a massive hug. It was warm and tight, as if Kut was afraid that either of them would disappear at any moment, but welcome nonetheless. For with one hug, Kut and Zubaidah returned to the warmth of their childhood, when they were but innocent girls, forgetting the party around them both.

‘Look how much you’ve changed…’

‘I thought…’ Liquid sprung within her eyes, but the tears would not fall. ‘I know…’ Their embrace was too warm for such sadness, tightening until neither of them could not breathe. ‘I thought you were gone too.’

‘How did you…’

‘I would rather leave that - ’ Kut began to look away, whether from regret or sadness, but Zubaidah pulled her closer. ‘You don’t need to explain yourself.’

‘I can understand…’

After a moment longer in her embrace, Kut loosened her grip and looked at Zubaidah with a bright smile, ‘So when did you meet Anna?’ She glanced over at their host, who was now conversing with the radiant Ho Lea, seeming impressed that Zubaidah had such contacts. ‘I was living in Reim for some time, making a living in the circus, when she found me and brought me into care.’

‘She saw your talent for dancing then?’

‘Hey, you were always better than me!’

‘Heh, I know.’

‘Still haven’t learnt the meaning of humility, I see?’

‘Why should I be humble when I’m so good?’

‘Hey, you’re not that good!’

‘What was it your mother always said - ’ Kut stopped and stuttered, looking at Zubaiudah as if she had broken some expensive vase, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean - ’

‘It’s fine…’ Her voice might remained strong, but Zubaidah's expression betrayed the emotions willing inside her chest, ‘Really, don’t worry about it.’

‘It’s been twenty years since then…’ Kut squeezed her hand, looking into Zubaidah's eyes to reassure her that they were still together. ‘That doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt.’

‘I know, and it still does, but I don’t want that to stop me.’

‘But twenty years, huh?’

‘Yeah, it’s been that long…’

‘I can’t believe that I haven’t seen you for…’

‘But you’re here now, aren’t you?’

‘And, from what I’ve heard, you’ve been busying yourself back home, eh?’ Her smile returned, Kut gave Zubaidah a well-meaning but sharp jab to the ribs in jest. ‘As much of ‘home’ as there is left at least.’

‘Yeah, you’ve seen the capital, haven’t you?’ Kut winced a little, even if it was Zubaidah who had been hit, but her joking tone remained, ‘Well, not everywhere has been hit quite as hard!’

‘I mean, we’ve been keeping ourselves well and good where I am.’

‘And where is that?’

‘Over in Amakh!’

‘You mean the eastern coast?’ She paused for a second, as if the name Amakh had broken some spell over Zubaidah, ‘Wait, isn’t Amakh where - ’ But she was torn from her thoughts, when a group of merry-makers hoisted Kut and Zubaidah away from one another and into a new ring of entertainers.

It seemed that someone thought that they had done too much talking, and not enough dancing.

When they had tired themselves with song and dance, and the party moving towards the poolside, Kut and Zubaidah reunited when they both returned to fill their glasses to the brim. Once the wine was overflowing again, Kut drew two chairs and invited Zubaidah to keep her company, retreating from all the noise.

‘So why would you come here?’ As Kut settled into her seat, wine down her lips already, she aimed an innocent-seeming question at Zubaidah, ‘What do you mean, Kay?’

‘You know, you were never bad at dancing. In fact, you were one of the best at court. Not as good as me, of course.’

‘Well, lemme throw that back at you.’ She pointed her finger at Kut’s head, much as an arrow on bowstring, ‘If you’re the best, why did you come here either?’

‘Connections, you know?’

‘The retreat was never just for getting better at dancing. It was somewhere dancers could meet and connect. You know, a place where people and cultures would mix and form new relations! So, yeah, I came here to mingle with all these people.’

‘Well, and maybe get a collab with one or two of them.’ Kut downed the rest of her wine, grinning like a joker, ‘Oh, your intentions nearly seemed pure and poetic!’

‘Come on, Sukh, I was never one for all that.’

‘So what about you?’

‘I must admit that I came here for connections as well.’

‘Oh, yeah, climbing the social ladder?’

‘Why would I do that?’ Zubaidah began grinning, not just smiling, in a manner unseemly for a woman as graceful as herself, ‘When I’m already on the top rung?’

‘Such a brag…’

‘It was just a joke!’

‘I’m teasing you, Sukh!’

‘Ugh, you always did get on my nerves…’

‘What can I say?’ Kut stared her dead in the eye, her expression the very definition of serious, ‘I’m an expert at getting under things, whether nerves or bedsheets.’ And then she exploded into raucous giggling.

‘Hey, I did not want to know about that!’ Zubaidah started to blush, something uncommon for such a brazen woman, ‘Well, from what I’ve heard, you know a lot about the latter.’ Kut only made her blush an even bright shade of red.

‘So, anyways, you were saying?’ Kut might have enjoyed making Zubaidah squirm, but she knew when to stop. ‘What was I saying…’

‘Ah, yes, I came here because I had some problems with fighting. If I remember correctly, I was told that my ‘manner’ as a dancer does not suit the forms of combat taught to me. I thought that someone here must surely have the means to help with reconciling them both.’

‘Why am I not surprised that you’re fighting even now?’

‘Whatever could you mean?’

‘Well, you always preferred spear lessons over dancing, didn’t you?’

‘What can I say?’ She gazed at Kut with a strange expression, something mixed between longing and satisfaction, ‘I wanted to be the best at something.’

‘Oh, Sukh, I thought you didn’t think I was the best!’

‘I never said you were.’

‘Ouch, that hurts!’ She pouted a little, raising only a giggle from Zubaidah, and a laugh from Kut in turn. ‘But anyways, I think that I can help you.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘I told you that making connections was a good idea, didn’t I?’

‘Fine then, you were right.’ Zubaidah poked her in the forehead, enough that Kut recoiled, ‘But only this once.’

‘Come to my room when the party’s over then.’ She rose from her chair, inviting Zubaidah to join her, ‘I have a lot to show and tell.’

‘Until then, let's get to it!’

‘Yeah, Anna was certainly given the name ‘poisoner of Pesuoli’ for the wrong reason, wasn’t she?’

‘And how might this help me, Kay?’

Her own body was the weapon.

-----

With time and effort, Zubaidah found that her combat-style had improved massively. She was sure that Maelius would stand no chance against her new unorthodox movements, nor understand the modification made to her weapons. She had known that Anna was an unconventional woman, but she was more concerned that she had found ways to convert almost an implement into a tool to administer poison…

But speaking of poison, ‘I got you some of the strong stuff.’ As they lounged around a gazebo, Kut handed a dark-blue powder to Zubaidah, ‘Oh, belladonna?’ She took one sniff before speaking, ‘Yeah, it tastes sweet, you know? I thought you might prefer a poison easier on the tongue.’ Kut added some of the powder to her drink, watching the liquid fizz a little, before chugging it with no hesitation. ‘How sweet of you!’

After they had finished the powder, treating it more like sugar than some terrible poison, Kut took out a greenish powder and showed it to Zubaidah. ‘You up for a joint?’ She took another sniff and her eyes brightened at the familiar smell. ‘How did you get your hands on this!’ It was grassy and familiar, like a dew-covered field, bringing back memories of the men who had smoked in the royal courts. ‘Oh damn, I forgot the fields burned down! You know, back then. Well, Amakh has started to plant some more, so expect some more coming into the Naseri.’

After one long inhale, Kut blew out a circle of sweet-smelling smoke into Zubaidah’s face. Coughing a little, and thinking that it smelled more foul than flower, Zubaidah snatched the joint from her hands. Her thoughts were soon retracted, however, when she took in a few puffs of lemon and sandalwood. Amakh must have been growing some new species of herb for the joint to have such a pleasant smell. It was nothing like the woody sort that she remembered on the breath of the nobles.

‘This reminds me of when we were children.' Be it the joint or the evening heat, Zubaidah could feel her body grown warm and fuzzy, ‘Oh, yeah?' Kut cosied up towards Zubaidah, throwing her hands around her shoulders, ‘You mean, watching the nobles high as shit, making fools of themselves in front of your father? Yeah, those were good times.' She rested her head on Kut’s own, sharing the joint between themselves.

‘Do you remember the first time we heard about the Hashashin? We swore that we would take part in whatever initiation they had in store, as long as we could defend Parthevia as Hashashins. I wanted that wish for us so badly, and I cannot say that it has faded either. Of course, we had no idea that it required hash and poison back then, or the ingestion of both substances at the same time.'

‘But wait…’ Even as the words rushed from her mouth, like a river pouring into the ocean, ‘I must be hallucinating.’ She arrived towards the end of the proverbial waters, fishing out a thought squirming around her mind. ‘Not at all, you haven’t taken enough for that.’ And she realised that she was swimming in an ocean much bigger than had first thought.

Amakh, hash, poisons, the Hashashin..

‘You can’t be serious… As her mouth fell wide open in realisation, a wisp of smoke escaped into the evening air. ‘Guess it’s true that you’re a good detective, eh?

‘I am indeed a Hashashin. And now…' Kut plucked the joint from Zubiadah’s fingers and blew a large cloud of smoke into her face. ‘You are a Hashashin as well.'