The Portal 00 - Legacy of the Witch

about the thoughts running
through his mind, no emotion. Just simply-stated facts, like he was writing down
a grocery list.
    He’d played it all down, probably left out a lot. And even from
that cold recounting, I could tell he was a hero.
    Always has been…
    That odd voice inside my head whispered the thought, and even
before I could start to analyze it, my mind was whisking me into the familiar
world of the harem.
    I’d been sent out by Magdalena to fetch
some water from the river. We had a water boy who filled our tall, ornate
jugs and left them just beyond our doors each morning. But Magdalena said he
must have been rushed this morning, because the water was muddy.
    This was another example of the kindness
of these women I had so grown to love. Magdalena could have sent a message
to the palace, asking for clean water, but that would have resulted in the
water boy being beaten, or worse. And she would rather drink mud than cause
the boy pain.
    So I was sent out with a single jug, a
strap running from its slender neck to its base so I could carry it over my
shoulder.
    I wasn’t supposed to leave the harem
quarters, but since my mistress had sent me, I thought it would be all
right. And she’d told me, too, to take my time about it. So I had. I’d
knotted my long skirt up around my waist, so it hung only to my thighs, and
I waded into the sacred river, enjoying the cool rush of its waters over my
legs. I waded far out from the sandy shore and into the pebble strewn depths
where the water was clearer, and I filled the jug there. It was heavier than
I had expected it to be, and as I turned to heft it up onto my shoulder I
slipped on a rock and fell with a huge splash and a soft squeal. And then
the current swept the jug away, and with its strap still around my shoulder
and one arm, it swept me right along with it.
    Faster and faster it seemed to drag me,
and each time I pulled my head up for a gulp of air, the jug yanked me down
again. I was choking, flailing my arms uselessly, trying to save myself but
growing more and more exhausted, until I was certain there was no hope for
me. I was going to drown in the sacred waters.
    And then, from nowhere it seemed, strong
arms grabbed hold of me, lifting my head above the water, dragging me
shoreward as I coughed and gasped. I felt relief as the jug was scooped up
out of the river, disentangled from my body. And then I was scooped up, too,
and he was carrying me, sloshing through the shallows of the river toward
the shore.
    I blinked water from my eyes until I could
see, and was not surprised to see Harmon, the young man I was already sure I
would love forever. His jawline, so sharp and strong, his nose already big
like a man’s nose, very straight and proud. Surely he had the blood of kings
in his veins, I thought. For no king could be more beautiful.
    As we reached the shore he lowered me to
the ground, removed the jug from his strong shoulder and stood it nearby,
and then he was kneeling beside me, pushing the hair from my eyes, speaking
to me in the voice that sent chills right up my spine. “Are you all right,
beautiful Amarrah?”
    I would always remember just the way my
heart felt at that moment. As if it would burst from joy over what I saw in
his eyes as he looked at me. Concern, caring—passion. It was… It was a
moment I vowed I would never forget.
    And then I was in the present again, blinking away the vision. The memory?
    It had gone dark outside, and the only light came from the desk
lamp I’d turned on. I’d been so mesmerized by the man’s story, and then by the
fantasy it had inspired in my brain, that I’d lost track of the time. For some
reason my visions of the boy were very much a younger version of the man whose
story I’d been reading.
    I heard footsteps below and thought he’d come back, so I set
the manuscript aside and got up, walking toward the doorway, unreasonably eager
to see him, and reaching around the corner for the light switch in the hall.
    But my hand went still when I saw the flashlight beam on the
first floor. Frozen in place, I stared over the railing into the living room
below, following the beam to its source, a gloved hand, and then my gaze moved
up the arm to the face. Despite it being barely visible in the darkness, I could
see enough to deduce that it was covered up by a black ski mask.
    And there was another man following close behind him.
    This is a break-in.
    I jerked backward into the office, moving as quietly