Page 99 of The Lustrous Dark
“Shay?” Shadi lays a warm, worried hand on her arm. “Don't you need to rest?”
Her body answers for her with an irrepressible yawn. In the quarters since her arrival, the baby has brought Shay much joy and little sleep. She's drained,both from the frequent breastfeeding and from expending her Shawafa. Magic turns out to be a lot like physical training—one must build up their endurance.
Shay feels it, deep in her bones and in the very fibers of her brain: She's pushing herself too hard. But what choice does she have? Besides, when she does manage to fall asleep, she sees her mother as she last did, face masked in death, like the image has been engraved inside the lids of her eyes.
“We can't wait.” Shay picks up the necklace. She cradles the crystal, as if it could impart the strength she needs, and it does, to an extent. The heavy weight in her palm is evidence that she's already accomplished more than she thought she could. Its smooth contours and sharp-edged facets remind her that Khawla, Najla, and all women who hope for a future of dignity and self-actualization are bound to the same pulsing red heart of a common destiny. “I saw a ship. There were CNM members diving near the caves. I think they may be looking for the hjabats, just like we are.”
Shadi receives this news with an anxious intake of breath, his shoulders rising and falling like a crashing wave. If anyone besides Al-Mukhtar would want to prevent the return of women's magic, it's the Naturalists. “That means there's a good chance they also know where the other two are located.”
“Exactly.” Shay moves toward Najla, who has begun to suck on her balled fist, an early indicator that she needs to be fed. “We aren't just racing against the clock anymore. We're racing against opponents whose skills and resources I can only imagine must be superior.”
“Don't underestimate yourself.” Shadi's lips hook in a half grin, a breeze tugging errant curls across his forehead. “We have to take this one step at a time. We can't control what the Naturalists know or what they're doing. But we can make sure you're as strong as possible, which means eating, drinking fluids, and sleeping. I can't do what you do with animals, but I can lighten your load by helping care for Najla, by caring for you, so just show me what you need me to do.”
A sense of wonder washes over Shay as she settles back on the grass, Najla now cradled in her arms. She stares into Shadi's warm brown eyes. She thought she was beginning to understand what love is, but the way he seemsto understand her needs without her saying a word leads her to believe she has only scratched the outermost surface.
Another iris “carries” Shay over the towering peaks and deep gorges of Umm Chanala to the lush oasis of the holy institute. The complex is built abreast of a cliff face with a waterfall cascading next to it. The air in the mountains smells like damp moss, dry bark, and wild roses. The sun seems to shine not down, but suffusing in a golden aura that radiates from every direction. Here, her avian friend has arranged for another helper to take over: a monkey with ginger-colored fur and shy, contemplative eyes.
The institute's entry lies at the end of a cobblestoned bridge that crosses the polished-mirror waters of Tafi Tafi Springs. The group of pilgrims departing with several Marabouts pays no mind to the monkey as they pass it along the bridge. The long sticks they carry and the broad hats they wear suggest they're heading out for a hike.
The entry is unguarded. The benevolent Marabouts fear no intruder, placing their safety in the remoteness of their location, their trust in the Creator, and their lack of any known enemy. The monkey creeps into the complex as if it's used to doing so, moving quickly between objects, sticking close to corners, finding cover when a human happens to be near, and avoiding what few busy areas there are.
The afternoon is quiet. The trill of warblers drifts in from the bushes outside. Though it's bigger than the kasbah, the institute is designed and decorated with an eye toward simplicity. Many of the rooms hold no furniture, sometimes no more than a prayer rug, a framed scripture tacked to the wall, and windows that draw the eye outward to the breathtaking views. The hazy glow of sunlight reaches every nook, illuminates each dust mote. A mellow infusion of rose petal and musk perfumes the air.
The monkey, to Shay's chagrin, makes an impromptu excursion to the kitchens. It pilfers a handful of berries and a half round of khobz before making its way to the wing that houses the Marabouts’ sleeping quarters. Here, ratherthan pallets arranged low to the floor, the beds are raised on wooden frames. But even these are plainly made, chosen not for luxury or aesthetics. Their function is practical, making it harder for insects to reach the mattresses, and necessary, given the multitude of open doors and windows and the proximity of the surrounding nature.
The sleeping quarters consist of long areas, containing beds arranged six to a room, an identical box sitting under each bed. While the boxes, carved of beautiful and fragrant thuja wood, are no more locked than the doors, there is no way to tell which holds the hjabat.
Though Shay is reticent to comb through the Marabouts’ personal belongings, the monkey holds no such compunction. It empties each box, one by one, spilling its contents onto the bed above it. Among these are functional items like brushes, soap, and tooth sticks, along with spiritual artifacts like remembrance beads, wooden incense chips, and small, pocket-sized books of scripture.
They are three beds into their search, halfway through the first room, when a Marabout clears his throat.
Shay never heard him enter the room.
He sits cross-legged in the middle of the floor, wearing the traditional garments of his vocation: a long robe sewn of mismatched patches from used and discarded clothing, turmeric-yellow slippers, and a white knitted cap. Seeing him, the monkey drops the stack of letters it is holding and hastens toward the door.
“Wait,” the Marabout calls, firm but commanding. “Come here, monkey. Come, come.”
Shay isn't sure whether it's she or the monkey who decides to obey, but they trot up to the Marabout all the same. He has leathery skin, bright eyes, and a paltry mustache. His face lends itself to the illusion of being both young and old at the same time. Shay assumes he's older. It seems more logical for an old man to appear young than for a young man to appear old. He stares into the monkey's eyes for a long time, his expression inscrutable.
“Greetings of peace to you,” he says finally. The monkey smacks its lips loudly, which the Marabout seems to accept as an appropriate response. Heleans forward, and the monkey leans back to a matching degree. “Please, sit still.”
He leans forward again. This time the monkey tolerates his closeness. As he peers deep into its eyes, fragrant oil wafts from his skin. “Is there someone …Lalla?”
A jolt of shock reverberates through Shay's body, or her mind, orsomething. He can't know she's there—well, not therethere, but observing what's happening there from where she is. And yet, the man is nodding profusely as if agreeing with himself.
“Oh good,” he declares cheerily, covering his mouth with his hand in surprise. “I've been expecting you. Well, I wasn't sure, but I certainly hoped.” He rubs his hands together. “Hold on.”
The Marabout rises and dashes over to the last bed at the end of the room. He kneels to open the box underneath, shuffles through it momentarily, and returns with the earrings. They're made of green crystals, two halves of a teardrop-shaped whole, dangling from silver filagree hooks. He places them into one of the monkey's rather grubby-looking hands, folding its other hand over them.
Still looking into the monkey's eyes, which feels very much like he's looking into Shay's eyes, the Marabout recites in a reverent hush, “Our Lallat are waiting to be restored. The keepers of treasures, the fairest four.”
Shay tries to thank him, but the monkey only chatters its teeth, which ends up sounding vaguely threatening. At that moment, another Marabout enters the room. Beholding the mess on the beds, the newcomer gently scolds and shoos the monkey away.
If the Cerrabi Sea and Umm Chanala Mountains were wonders to behold, the colossal extravagance of the Grand Palace is astounding.
Shay's helper for the third and final day of her mission is a common rat, a creature of higher intelligence than most people perceive. Its strong memoryand ability to navigate complex environments make it perfectly suited for the task at hand.
In the stillness of night, they infiltrate the shimmering palace, so tall that its gleaming dome is visible from almost every point in Kiddah. They enter from the south side, near the stables, and traverse a series of gardens and courtyards en route to Mukhtar Asim's private chambers. Moonlight adds a layer of opulence to the stucco walls carved with swirling arabesques, the cedarwood ceilings painted in languid florals, and the floors paved with marble and zellij tiles.
