Woman

It takes Arthur five minutes to get over his shyness. It takes a week for him to start talking though. Barely ten days before he's drilling John and Usman with his own questions.

"Uncle John, did you ever see a bad guy?" Arthur holds his fists tight and eyes John with a "bad guy" pout.

"Oh yeah and you know what I do with bad guys?" John approaches Arthur with his fingers twitching.

Arthur screeches as John tickles him and they both begin an epic chase around Joseph's living room. Arthur trips and hits his knees hard on the carpet.

"Oh!" I reach my hand to him. My unfinished wooden comb slides to the floor and I slam the carving blade on the table.

John gives him a commanding look. Waiting.

Arthur glances up with a pout and a barely born tear in his eye. He swallows up a breath as if he is holding back an ocean. John's unwavering dark eyes hold Arthur in high esteem. My voice stays in my throat, the soothing words never released. My boy's knees are still aching. In John's gaze Arthur will not be a baby. Arthur stands tall and winces as he massages his own knees.

This is a man, a man who faces adventure. One who destroys bad guys with a single move. One who does not fear the unknown, does not whimper for a candle when it is too dark. This is a hero. One who smites foes and rescues the victims. One who delivers aid to those who are without it. This is my son. One and only, transformed before my eyes; all because my brother gave him a glance.

What type of world can transform a boy to a man in an instant? Is it the kind of world I want my baby to grow up in?

As Michael, would I have mastered that look?

I lean back, my hand almost shaking as I slip the knife between the ridges in the comb.

John throws Arthur into the air and with a squeal he lands safely in his arms. Maybe I am overestimating the force of a man's presence in my son's life. John is, after all, my own brother. He's an honourable man of position with good moral conduct and a loving heart. Raised by my own father.

My mother told me once that a father gives confidence. Maybe uncles give confidence too.

John holds Arthur close and smothers his cheek in kisses. Arthur wiggles away.

"Uncle John! Your beard is scratchy!" Arthur says.

What a strange world.

Perhaps it is the same world that hid a girl in the charade of a man for two years. That almost hurled her son into a lion's mouth from the arms of her betrothed.

The same world that reunited a lost girl with her lonely brother.

But, should I trust any man again? Not every man is Alexander, not every man is Michael.

I go to my room. The sound of Arthur's laughter echoes against the walls. I don't know how I lived a childless life.

How would it have been had I let Alexander raise Arthur? Would he be playful or fearful? Confident or withdrawn? Sharp or dull? Full of life or full of misery? If...no. Ifs and maybes won't help me here.

I wrap sanding paper between the teeth of the comb and brush the hard edges. Vigourously to keep the memories at bay. I pick the second comb from the dresser Joseph made for Arthur. Wrapping up the the combs in the cloth from an old Michael shirt I smile. Joseph let Arthur engrave our names on the side, but he had to know how to spell them first. Mom. Grandpa. Grandma. Arthur.

The front door opens. Downstairs Joseph and Usman and Arthur and Matilda and John's voices combine in a beautiful melody. Usman and Joseph finally returned from the work in the shop. Joseph sees a carpenter in Usman. Despite my insistence that the kingdom probably needs protection over dining tables, Joseph and Usman have been keeping to the shop all week.

Within only two weeks these two have become part of a hustle and bustle that never existed to me, that I was not familiar with. Now I know from the footsteps who is using the stairs. I know from the familiar sounds whose already awake for breakfast.

And I hope this feeling lasts.

I unclench my fist and walk down the steps.

"Hello Mia. Are you ready for tomorrow?" Usman glances up from his cup of tea and speaks to me in that familiar direct way.

I'm not off to battle, but whenever he asks about tomorrow, about going back home, I feel like I may be.

"Yes and thank you for your help." I say and sit on the seat beside Joseph.

Joseph eyes the wrapped cloth in my hand.

"What's that you've got there missy?" Joseph says and waves his hand across the table in arches until his hand smacks against the combs.

I laugh and pull my hands to my shoulders.

"They're gifts. John come here." I say.

John bustles out of the living room towards the kitchen with Arthur hot on his heels.

Joseph eyes me with a suspicious look, his lips disappearing into his beard. I feel an excitement rumble inside me.

"I made you both beard combs." I slide over the wrapped up combs.

John snaps his off the table and unwraps the cloth. Usman smiles at me and pats the side of his face to ensure no unruliness has taken over. Which it has never. He keeps himself presentable at all times. He is royalty afterall, it must be habit. Conditioning.

John on the other hand throws the cloth on the table and begins brushing.

"Do I look gorgeous yet?" John proclaims.

We start to laugh.

"Uncle John! Me too!" Arthur says holding up his arms.

John bends to his knees and brushes the comb over Arthur's hair and then the sides of his face and under his neck. Arthur stifles a giggle and stands as still as he can. His feet twitch from side to side in the attempt.

"Mia," Usman says in his calm yet direct way. "Thank you for the gift. Had I known you had planned this I would have gotten you a gift as well. Your thanks is enough for me."

"Well if thanks is enough then I do have a beard myself that could use a good bit of grooming." Joseph says eyeing Usman.

One eyebrow up and half a sneer across his face. Almost angry? Joseph, angry? At what?

Usman snaps the comb off the table and brushes a few times through his short beard.

Perhaps I can, if that trust is gained.

"I'm afraid I cannot give up my gift," Usman says. "It is rude to the giver to pass on gifts."

Usman catches my eyes with his and grins openly. Joseph huffs. From the corner of my eye I see Matilda trying not to laugh.

I smile. I am a little uncertain at what's bothering Joseph, but I have a feeling it has to do with me leaving tomorrow.

"Joseph," I say, and he glances at me, dropping his scowl into a peaceful face. "I'll be back before you know it."

He takes my hands across the table and takes a deep breath.

"I know Mia," Joseph gives a sidelong glance at Usman who, seemingly unaffected, continues grooming his beard. "I'm just worried for you, is all."

I laugh. I can't help but laugh so hard it hurts my abdomen.

"But Joseph, I'll be fine. I have the leader of the army with me," I glance at Usman who seems to be ignoring our conversation at the same table.

"And that's what I'm thinking about the most," Joseph says glancing at Usman.

I notice the slightest falter in his strokes.

Perhaps they are not getting along as well as I thought.

The next day Usman and John pack up their things from the guest room. I enter the kitchen with a freshly bathed Arthur and a strong cloth bag with my things.

"Looks like all the boys are bathed and fed except you Arthur. You'll have to hurry to the table. Your tummy is waiting." I say and rush him to the table.

"Your Mama is right Arthur," Usman ruffles Arthur's wet hair. "You'll have to eat up to be big and strong like Uncle John."

Or like Usman.

"Or like your Mama," John says walking over to the sink and washing up the cups.

"John, you don't have to do the dishes. I'll do them. Come sit with Arthur."

"Mia, I'm used to it. Where do you think all that army discipline comes from. We do everything for ourselves."

"Self sufficiency." Usman says.

I place a plate of eggs and toast in front of Arthur. I know he has to feed himself when Usman and John around. I don't impede on his manliness by feeding him, I know how that would feel. I smile. What a strange thing for a mother to know, how being manly feels.

"So you wake at the crack of dawn, clothes washed and pressed. Hair and beard combed, ready for the day?"

"We would be late for fajr then. We wake up before dawn." John says and stacks the remaining dishes on the side.

"Fah-jar? Oh, do you do solider training that early?"

"Fajr is the prayer before sunrise," John says. "Mia, I guess I never told you."

My heart should have jumped to my throat but I just turn to him. Suddenly interested.

"What is it?"

"I'm a Muslim," John says.

"Oh," I say not knowing what a Muslim is. "That's nice."

"That's great! You know what a Muslim is. I didn't before I started living by the Northern Palace. There are a lots of scholars of Islam there, everyone dresses modestly. Everyone prays together. We observe fasts together in the Holy month of Ramadan," John begins telling me more. "And Mia, the yogurt there is delicious!"

Usman glances at me. My face is frozen in thought.

Is Islam some sort of science, and Muslim a person who follows it? Since when does John love yogurt so much?

"You know Muslims," Usman says drawing my attention to his hazel eyes. "Muslims believe in one God and believe the Prophet Mohammad and all the prophets of the Abrahamic faiths are messengers from God.

"The Northern Kingdom is full of people seeking knowledge regarding the Quran, which is the holy book from God that has never been altered. The entire culture at home stems from Islamic dress, literature, art styles."

Literature, clothes, art!

Usman knowing my confusion smiles sweetly.

"I'll take you there soon," Usman says and ruffles Arthur's hair as he chews. "And you too Arthur."

"Oh, so this is a religion," I say and take a breath to piece together what I even believed, what I even believe.

John glances at me and understanding dawns on him. Could the beliefs we learned as children still be on his mind? We learned about prophets from my father. We even tried reading our own holy books of the bible. Our reading race didn't get very far, maybe about three pages, four for John, because he was in a higher grade. But it all seems so distant now. I've never even been to a church since then.

An ache grows inside me. I glance at Arthur as he strides across the floor and throws his plate into the sink. What will I teach him?

My heart starts beating faster. What will he believe if I do not impart something to him?

I haven't taught him about prophets. I loved to hear their stories, to recall them in the back of mind and link the parallels to my own world. Now where am I?

I only give him other culture's heroes such as Hercules, and Zeus, things I only learned of later. I don't even know about them. Hercules is strong, Zeus throws lightening? How can he aspire to that?

Arthur glances at me proud of his tidying up.

Heartache spreads to my shoulders almost choking me.

"Sure, I would love to learn more. Especially if you want me to, John. Usman, are you a Muslim too?"

"Yes I am, my entire family is," Usman grins. "So are the King and Queen, if you're wondering."

I nod. So, even our monarchs are Muslim, they believe in prophets, in the Creator, in the Day of Judgement. So they believe they are accountable for good and bad that they do to us.

My first thoughts of them were when Usman and I first met. The investigation altered any good perception I could have had. I feared they were cruel rulers with nothing familiar in them. But, I was wrong. They are human. They have beliefs and accountability too. They are held answerable for their bad deeds just as much as the rest of us.

"I'll take you to meet them. I think you'll get along with Queen Anna really well."

My heart swells with excitement. I grin as the emotions muddle around inside me.

A meeting with the Queen!