Page 21 of The Lustrous Dark
“I have to take care of some things.” Shay scans the shelter, assessing the touched one's provisions. A frying pan hangs by a nail on the wall, but the shelves consisting of wooden planks stacked on bricks are empty with the exception of a handful of tea leaves and a quarter jug of olive oil. “You need food. Is there anything you'd like me to bring back?”
“You're going home to her,” the touched one whines. “Aren't you?”
“I have to hear her side,” Shay says calmly, as though explaining to a child the unfortunate necessity of some unpleasant task. “I owe her that.”
“She'll poison you against me.” Hind shakes her head slowly, then fast. “How do I know you'll return?”
Shay pauses, or more accurately, gets stuck. If the touched one doesn't believe she'll come back, she might be more inclined to give in to her urges, going out and using again. Shay remembers her body twisted on the floor, feels the same panic that coursed through her in that moment. So strong it makes her vision dim at the edges and the air feel like bricks bearing down on her. The touched one hadn't overdosed then, but what about next time?
There cannotbea next time. Shay must make sure of it.
“Why don't you lie down while I'm gone?” She fluffs the pillows and draws the bedding of the pallet. The touched one obliges, and Shay tucks the musty, moth-worn blankets around her thin shoulders.
The touched one hums a few notes of a common lullaby before she grabs Shay's hand, her grip unexpectedly tight. “You promise to help me, right?”
A familiar fear snaps between Shay's ribs. The fear of not being enough. While failing to meet Ghita's expectations always felt like something dire, it wasn't generally a matter of life and death. Not like this. “Of course I will.”
The touched one grunts, but she doesn't release Shay's hand. The apprentice—or is she now the touched one's daughter?—exhales. “Let go. I … I have something to give you.”
The touched one loosens her hold, and Shay reaches around to access the deep hood of her djellaba. She stares at the fateful ticket for a long moment in which she weighs the accumulation of her hard work against the gravity of her deepest longings. She finally holds it out to Hind.
“What is this?” The touched one snatches the ticket and holds it close to her face. She read the words inscribed upon it, her wrinkles scrunched into a labyrinth. “Is this yours?”
“Before you get the wrong impression, allow me to explain,” Shay says gently. “The midwife wants me to start a new position in Kiddah. I'm meant to depart in three days’ time. But see? I'm leaving the ticket with you as an assurance that I'll come back first.”
Hind glares at the ticket like she wants to rip it in two. Then she grunts from somewhere deep in her chest, and relief flutters over her face. She meets Shay's eyes with a nod. “I believe you, then.”
“But I need you to make me a promise in kind,” Shay says carefully. “Promise me you'll stay lucid until I return.”
Hind waits long enough for Shay's unease to grow, rising up her rib cage to the rapid beat of a hummingbird's wings, before the woman reluctantly answers, “Wakha.”
8
If Al-Mukhtar work miracles, why do they need an army of Moulays?
Do God's anointed require protection from mere men?
A COMMON GOAL FOR A COMMON PEOPLE!
—seen painted on an administrative building in Nezjar's town square after vandalization by rebels
Shay stretches on her tiptoes and rotates in a circle, scanning the tops of the shelters for the tall needle of the prayer house's minaret. Once she locates that, she'll use it as a landmark to orient herself and map her way out the Bib and back home. There, she can sort through all this with Ghita and then seek her advice about the gutted moon pepper patch. The midwife may even know of an herbalist who grows their own or a temporary substitute Shay can use.
Unless … Hind was telling the truth about quitting during her pregnancy. The only way for Shay to test that claim would be to do nothing and see whether her magic surfaces. The thought scares Shay to her core, but she can't deny that the idea of feeling better has its appeal. She can scarcely imagine what it would be like.
“Muezza! Muuueeezza!”
Looking back toward Hind's shelter, Shay spots her next-door neighbor standing outside, a broom held in one hand while the other shields her eyes from the afternoon sun. A flour-splotched apron spreads around her generous midsection. And a scarf stitched with the same pattern of the Naturalists’ flag is tied across her wide shoulders.
Shay gulps. She considers going back inside until the woman does the same, but the khala sees her and waves.
“Msaa el kher,” the woman greets, resting the broom against her shelter and straightening her apron. “Labas?”
“Labas, thanks to God,” Shay replies. “Were you … looking for someone?”
“My cat, Muezza.” Worry flashes across her milky-brown face. “She didn't come home last night.”
Shay nods sympathetically. “God willing, she'll come back soon. Probably off having a little adventure.”
