Page 43 of The Lustrous Dark
Nodding more, the bone-eater turns and makes his way downstairs. He looks back over his shoulder several times until Shay closes the door. In truth, she would like nothing better than to return to bed and stay there indefinitely.
She has no fever or other symptoms of illness.
Physically, she's never been healthier. In the absence of the moon pepper, her skin is softer and brighter. Her hair, once thin and brittle, has become thick and luxuriously soft. She's even rounded out, muscles and fat blossoming in places where before she was all hollows and bone.
Yet it's more than being a little tired.
In truest truth, sometimes it hurts to breathe.
Her power, if it can be called such—thus far she's only used it for redirecting simple kitchen flies away from the food she's preparing—emits a soft light that glows around the edges of a drawer inside her mind. And still, she suffers from debilitating waves of an invisible pain she is neither able to explain nor understand.
She dresses, straightens her bedding, and kneels upon her small carpet. In these moments of supplication, she seeks divine guidance, searching for the meaning in it all.
She used to think she knew her purpose, had an identity, but she's no longer sure what she was created for. If her life could be undone so profoundly in a single stroke, she has to wonder which parts of it, if any, ever mattered to start with.
At least the brothers need her to take care of them.
Raised voices carry up the stairs. The brothers are always boisterous, but there's a tense undercurrent to their present exchange. They're arguing, or at least engaged in a loud and passionate discussion.
“We can't keep her locked up here like some slave,” Kabeer contends.
“Slave?” Aidi echoes. “We're protecting her. She knows she's free to leave anytime she wants.”
“I don't want her to go,” Beni whines. “I love how good my clothes smell when they're clean. How goodshesmells. And she has a lovely smile.”
“It's just that she hasn't been smiling lately,” Hammu grumbles. “Surely, you've all noticed?”
“We all like having her here,” Dasri chimes in. “But, it's true, she's unhappy. I thought she merely needed time, but resting season has passed, and her state is only declining.”
“What more could we possibly do to make her happy?” Bono asks. “We already bring home everything she requests. I even started wiping my feet when I come in the door, for graves's sake.”
“Maybe what she needs is something she hasn't asked for. Something she doesn't know she needs.” Deebi drops his voice low. “I have an idea …”
The conversation fizzles to a bare hush, and Shay is unable to catch any more of it. Her curiosity unsated, she tries to slip downstairs unnoticed. The brothers fall silent at her approach, each one suspiciously engrossed in their activity of choice.
Aidi and Dasri busy themselves with cleaning and polishing a pile of bones. Kabeer and Hammu play a game of marbles, except … the marbles they're using appear to be glass eyeballs. Bono and Beni weave string figures between their fingers with what Shay strongly suspects are ligaments, and Deebi is teaching his pet scarab beetle, Aicha, to do tricks.
Shay announces herself with a greeting the brothers exuberantly return. She then sets about tidying the kitchen, unsure what to make of the partially overheard conversation. They all seemed so worried. She presses the tines of a fork she's washing into the center of her palm. Tiny pricks of pain flash like guiding stars, leading her out of her inner fog.
She must forget Hind. Forget her old life. She's no longer the midwife's apprentice. Neither is she the touched one's daughter. She's a girl in exile. A girl who should be thankful she has a place to hide.
Despite her self-admonishment, every bite of the big breakfast she prepares goes down by force and tastes like nothing. Before lunch, she finishes stringing the chain of remembrance beads she's been working on, fashioned from the shells of nuts and seeds. With seven bone-eaters producing dishes and laundry, there is no shortage of things to do. A sock always needs mending or a button needs fixing, but when afternoon rolls around and the brothers settle down for their daily naps, Shay finds herself unable to resist the siren call of her pillow and blankets.
Sleeping now will only make doing so at night more difficult, but the numbing void of sleep is her sole relief.
On her way to the kitchen the next morning, Shay is startled by the unlikely sound of humming. She stops cold. The melody itself is soothing, but bone-eaters don'thum.And the cadence is too high and lilting to be made by any of the brothers, anyway.
Instead of being concerned about a stranger's presence in the cottage, Shay finds her curiosity sparked. She reaches the kitchen entrance and lingers there in the doorframe, staring at the inscrutable sight of a girl around her age. The girl stands in front of the sink, scrubbing dishes. Even from behind, Shay can tell she's pretty: tall, like Shay, and a fair bit curvier. Thick, perfectly round curls spiral down to the center of her back.
She stops humming. Her shoulders rise as though she senses Shay's nearness. Then she turns around, and Shay sees she was wrong. The girl is not pretty; she's exquisite.
Her skin glows, the golden brown of Mourian sands. With wide cheekbones, simmering brown eyes, and lips that pucker as though she just ate a lemon, the entirety of her face is a well-crafted poem. Whereas Shay has been endowedwith a delicate appearance that seems to put those around her at ease, this girl possesses a wilder beauty, the sort that verges on intimidating.
“Well, aren't you a quiet one? Snuck right up on me.” She dries her hands while walking over to Shay. Reaching her, she lightly presses her cool cheek to first one side of Shay's face and then the other. “I'm Khawla.”
Shay's initial surprise is wearing off, and confusion kicks over her like dust clouds. “What are you doing here?”
“You must be Shay,” she says, one hand lingering lightly on Shay's upper arm. “Is that short for something?”
