Page 13 of The Lustrous Dark
Ghita nods. “Quite amazing when you think about it.”
The overgrown farmhouse surfaces in Shay's mind, the remembered smell of overripe vegetation. She hears the frantic buzz of ghost bees, the bubbling flesh of a stranger's corpse—impressions sure to darken her dreams tonight and for many nights to come.
“Should we …?” Shay shifts nervously in her seat. She swallows hard. Unlike harmless echoes, Shawafa is the illegal form of magic. If they report the incident, the mother could be arrested. Whereas, if they don't tell, perhaps the baby could be returned when it's safer. Maybe they could help the mother purge from Snow. “Should we do something?”
“Us?” Ghita shakes her head and chuckles dryly. “Every passing day sees more touched ones on the street. It's become an epidemic. Meanwhile, our esteemed leaders are preoccupied with taxes and rebels. Unfortunately, if they keep ignoring the problem, I see it only getting worse.”
Which problem? The spread of addiction? Or the children being born to addicts? Before tonight, Shay didn't think the latter was possible, not without the resulting death of either the mother or the child. “Then whatwillwe do with the baby?”
“I suppose I'll care for him.”
The same way she cared for Shay? But … the child's mother is still alive. That makes it more complicated. The things the messenger told her the touched one had said about her baby being stolen suddenly seem less far-fetched.
“Someone told me my mother could be alive.” Shay realizes she's spoken out loud only when Ghita's eyes widen. Does Shay imagine the sharp intake of her breath?
“You stuck to our story, I hope,” the midwife admonishes. “That your mother was a nomad who was left behind by her tribe because she was too sick to travel.”
“And she died during my delivery,” Shay recites to appease her. If the first part of the story is a lie, could the second part also be? Doubting Ghita, even in the confines of her thoughts, feels like a betrayal, but the parallels between this child and herself are too striking to ignore.
“Congratulations are in order.” The midwife abruptly changes the subject, her face and posture shifting to a businesslike formality with her tone. “A midwife in Kiddah has unexpectedly passed away without an apprentice to appoint as her successor. I recommended you as a replacement and received word you've been accepted.”
Shay's head spins. How long ago did Ghita recommend her? “You … want me to move to Kiddah?”
“The next caravan leaves in three days.” Ghita swallows the last of her tea and rises. She opens a nearby drawer, and the next thing Shay knows, the midwife is handing her a crisp caravan ticket that smells of fresh ink and unceremonious dismissal.
“I …” Shay stares at the parchment for a moment, the sharply penned details of her departure blurring as her vision quakes. She looks up at Ghita, unmoored. “My training …”
“Is complete.” The midwife doesn't meet Shay's eyes, seeming to address some invisible entity perched upon her shoulder. “You are competent and caring. I'm confident you will be successful in your new post.”
They are words Shay has longed to hear, has striven for with all her being, but they feel hollow. Only earlier today, the midwife informed her she had two moon quarters to prove herself. Things seemed more imminent once the birthing call came, but … the child was delivered without Shay's assistance. Why, she wasn't even there.
“You saved him,” Ghita says, as though Shay's thoughts were wholly transparent. “Very brave, if you ask me.”
A sound rises from Shay's throat, one that could signify agreement or dispute, and she's completely unsure which expression she intends. Even if she were convinced she deserved this, she finds herself aching formore. For something she can't quite translate into words.
“I must get some sleep before Sami wakes again. He'll likely be extra fussy until he acclimates to no longer receiving Snow from his mother's bloodstream.” Ghita turns, effectively buttoning up the conversation.
Shay cups her cheek like someone on the receiving end of a strike.The baby already has a name.Her heart pangs for the child, sure to grow up as she did, without a mother. When he's older, will Ghita tell him the truth about how his mother tried to kill him? Or will she lie to save his feelings?
“Wait,” Shay calls out. This is all too sudden. It feels so final. And it is impossible for her to imagine her future when so much of her past remains shrouded in mystery. She will always be looking over her shoulder for it, like a shadow without a shape. “What was her name?”
Shay doesn't specify whom. She's asked the question a million times and never gotten a straight response.
Ghita stops, keeping her back to the apprentice. This time, she answers, “Hind.”
With that, the midwife shuffles off to bed.
5
The Creation Myth of Mekchaouen
It is maintained that God created the world, an endless sprawling valley of the lushest greenery and most vibrant gardens. That He created humans to live off the land and rule over the animals. The first people had no language and communicated using a primitive system of pointing and grunting that lacked any nuance or depth. It is said that one of the angels took pity on humankind and taught people to speak in the language of paradise itself.
This had undesired consequences. For the language was so beautiful, it distracted people from engaging in the activities necessary for their survival, like hunting, gathering, and mating. All humans wanted to do was talk and listen to others talk. To sing, and listen to others sing.
Spellbound women were so touched, their tears fell in an unceasing flow that accumulated and grew into the Cerabbi Sea, covering one third of the world in water. Men were moved to levels of faith so zealous, their hearts would burst into flames, their bodies combusting. Thus, the ashes of their bones became the sands of the Mourian Desert and covered another third of the world.
With the livable land reduced to one third its original size and the population dwindling, God spoke to the people. He ordered humans to create a new language and reserve the Old Tongue for prayers and celebratory songs alone. The Marabouts were ordained as keepers of the Old Tongue and tasked with building the sacred prayer house in the center of Kiddah.
