Page 102 of The Lustrous Dark
“There is another option,” Marjan says quietly. “One that offers a more precise direction, but also carries greater risk.”
Shadi, already half out of his chair, sits back down. “I'm not sure I like the sound of that. But do tell us, khti.”
“The night hags.”
Shay murmurs a blessing of protection. She's still not exactly sure what a night hag is, but that may not be the most pressing question. She winces before she asks, preemptively disliking the answer, “And how will they help us, exactly?”
“The night hags have the ability to inhabit the human dreamscape,” Marjan explains, staring at her tea as if talking to someone located at the bottom of her glass. “This allows them to scry the collective subconscious of humans for information.”
“Dreams are where we process memories of experiences that took place while we were awake.” Yara picks up the thread, her eyes flicking once to Shay before settling in front of her. “So, if anyone is thinking about the hjabat while they sleep, the night hags will be able to tune in to that.”
“Which makes them the perfect spies,” Marjan concludes, ending with a smile that looks more like a muscle spasm.
It gives Shay the distinct feeling that there's something Shadi's sisters aren't saying. Something they don't want to say. “Do these night hags usually grant their assistance to humans who request it?”
“She's smarter than she looks.” Marjan smirks.
Yara blanches. “Why are you this way, Marj?”
“It was a compliment,” her sister insists.
“They usually take something in return …” Shadi says, a crease rearranging his brow.
Of course they do.Despite feeling like she might throw up, Shay nods, encouraging any one of them to explain in further detail.
“To enter the dreamscape, the night hags need a conduit,” Marjan says. She slides a hesitant eye first toward Yara, then Shadi.
“One human must volunteer to be their entry point,” Yara adds, “through which they can access the wider dreamscape.”
It doesn't take a scholar to deduce that since Shay is the one who has been tasked with gathering the hjabats, she'll be the one doing the “volunteering.” A chill roots into her bones.
Shay sips her tea—which really isremarkablygood. “What will they do to me?”
“We haven't decided who—” Yara is cut off by Marjan's lethal stare.
“They take a little piece of you while they're in there.” Marjan taps a finger to her temple. “They could choose anything. A talent. A specific memory. A person. The ability to feel a certain emotion. It'll be gone, just like that.” She splays the fingers of her hands like exploding bamboo bangers. “Poof.”
Shay immediately thinks of how awful it felt when Tarik tethered himself to her mind, but this sounds worse. What's worse than losing a piece of yourself? Not even being aware it's gone.
Yara releases a worried breath, seeming attuned to Shay's distress. “We could draw straws or—”
“I'll do it,” Shadi says. “Shay has done enough already. She's lost enough. Already.”
“No,” Marjan says, her voice a whisper that carries the strength of a shout. “It can't be one of us. Not after what happened to Mmi.”
Shay gulps. “The Morchidat has done this before?”
“Yes,” Yara says timidly. “A long time ago, and whatever happened, she's never done it again. We don't know for sure what they took, but Marjan, Shadi, and I … we have a theory that it was her fear.”
Shay can see how that might be true. It also doesn't seem like the worst possible outcome. “Is that so bad?”
Marjan narrows her eyes to withering slits. “Fear is pretty essential to survival, Shay.”
“What Marj is trying to say,” Yara amends, “is that we worry about her constantly now.”
Shay understands. They love their mother and don't want to lose her, and if the configurations of scars the Morchidat wears with pride are any indication, she may have had more than a few close calls with mortality. Shay thinks, one by one, of all the feelings, all the memories, all the people she doesn't want to lose.
She hits a sore spot when she comes to Khawla. She imagines them then, the thoughts she's held back all this time on the thinnest of leashes, thoughtsof Khawla being abused, being forced to use Snow, becoming an unwilling tool in the hands of the enemy. Being made into an addict.
