19. Silas
Chapter 19
Silas
“ O kay, let’s get you settled.” Bianca guides Laring over to a medical bed on the far side of the converted storage container. The pregnant woman is glowing, her skin clear of sweat and grime, and she’s been dressed in a clean dress the color of olives.
She smiles and thanks Bianca in her native language, as she covers her with a light blanket.
“You’re welcome,” Bianca replies, and Abana translates. She turns to the woman’s husband, a man named Idra. “Can you please drain the tub? Then get some fresh water, and you can bathe as well.”
Abana translates, and Idra grins widely and thanks her before rushing back toward the tub behind the partition that keeps it separate from everything else.
“You do good things for them,” Abana says, eying Bianca curiously. “You are not like I thought you would be.”
“How did you think I would be?” she asks.
“Like him,” Abana replies. “Cold. Unfeeling. Evil.”
Bianca flinches, but it’s so slight I wonder if Abana even catches it. “I’ve dedicated my life to being nothing like him. I just wish I could help everyone.”
“Perhaps you will,” Abana replies after a moment.
The door opens, and Yarrow steps in. The mere sight of him sends my blood boiling. Especially when I see the way he looks at Bianca. To him, she’s a prize to be won. A toy to be broken. But I’ll die before I let him put his hands on her.
“What do you want?” she demands.
“We have a medical condition that needs to be seen to. In the pit.”
“Bring them here,” I tell him.
He looks at me. “Can’t move him.”
“Can’t or won’t?” she asks.
“Does it matter?”
Frustrated, Bianca grabs a bag she packed earlier and heads toward the door. “After you.” She gestures for Yarrow to go out first.
I glance behind me at Abana’s serious gaze. She hates Yarrow, that much is clear to see based on her expression. But she doesn’t rush out the door. Are emergencies like this typical? What are we going to find?
Yarrow doesn’t speak as he leads us toward the pit and down the crudely constructed wooden stairs. I keep glancing to my left and right, monitoring anyone who watches us. I don’t believe this is a trap. If it is, it’s a stupid one and completely unnecessary given we’re already prisoners, but I’m unwilling to rule anything out.
Not when Bianca’s life depends on me being aware of our surroundings.
A crowd’s gathered at the bottom of the pit. Bianca shoves through them fearlessly, while I do my best to remain close enough that I can pull her out of harm’s way. We finally reach the center and find a man lying on his back, his eyes frozen open.
A woman kneels beside him, tears in her eyes as she grips his lifeless hand. She’s devastated, broken as she whispers into his ear.
You don’t have to be a doctor to know the man is dead, and as Bianca kneels, her delicate fingers checking for a pulse, I already know she won’t find one.
And based on the glare she gives Yarrow? She knew it too. Bianca starts chest compressions, doing what she can to bring the man back. She continues to work on him as sweat beads on her brow, and yet he doesn’t wake.
Finally, after what must have been nearly five minutes of trying, Bianca stops. “How long has he been down?”
The woman begins speaking so fast that even if we spoke her native tongue, we likely wouldn’t have been able to understand. She is screaming, crying, and furiously pointing at Yarrow.
Yarrow rears back like he’s going to strike her, so I step in front of her, not speaking, though the challenge is evident in my furious gaze. If he strikes her, I’ll put him on the ground.
“About fifteen minutes,” he replies, glaring from me to Bianca.
“Fifteen minutes?” Bianca chokes out. “Was he still like this the entire time?”
Yarrow doesn’t respond, and the woman kneeling continues screaming.
“He was moving until right before they went to get you,” a man says, stepping from the crowd. His hair is gray, as is his beard, and both are coated in dirt. Kind, brown eyes stare back at us.
Yarrow glares at him, murder in his gaze.
“You mean to tell me that you left this man writhing on the ground for ten minutes before you came and got me?”
“Sometimes people get cramps,” Yarrow replies. “Could have been a cramp.”
“He’s dead!” Bianca screams as she jumps to her feet. She starts for Yarrow, but I grip her good arm, keeping her from doing what we both want to do—slamming her fist into his jaw. “I might have been able to save him!”
Yarrow doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he looks amused at her anger, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he let this innocent man die just to spite Bianca for pulling Idra and Laring from their work. “Like you could have saved your father?” he asks.
Her hands tighten into fists at her sides, and she stiffens.
I release her.
“Toss the body,” Yarrow orders.
Bianca steps in front of the deceased man. “You will not take him! He’ll get a proper burial!”
“That’s not how we do things here,” Yarrow replies.
Bianca remains where she is, blocking the other guards from retrieving the body. I ready for a fight, preparing to protect Bianca at all costs.
“Get out of the way, Selena,” he orders.
“No.”
The woman who’d been kneeling beside the body remains where she is, too, even leaning in closer to Bianca.
Yarrow glares, clearly weighing his options.
If he forces Bianca away from the body, then she may cause trouble for him.
If he allows the direct violation of an order, that in itself could lead to problems.
Finally, he waves his hand in dismissal. “Fine. Do what you want with the body, but it better not be until after nightfall. You all have work to do. And don’t forget about curfew. If you’re caught out after hours, we’ll dock your food.” He turns and leaves, taking the two guards with him.
The man who’d translated steps forward. “We have a place,” he says softly.
“Tell us where it is and we’ll get him ready for burial,” Bianca promises.
The man studies her, likely trying to discern whether or not he can trust her. The woman kneeling in the dirt sniffles and runs her hand over the side of the dead man’s face. My heart aches for her, a tightness spreading through my chest and into my gut.
To love means to eventually lose.
I know that better than most.
My gaze falls on Bianca.
But is that a reason to not love at all?
Bianca stands beside me, silent as the body is lowered into the ground by two men. Cloaked in linen, the body was washed and prepared for burial by Bianca and Abana, both women working hard to ensure he regained the dignity stolen from him by River and Yarrow.
A man speaks in their foreign language, but Abana translates for us in a low whisper.
“Shaene was a good man. Honest. Kind. A friend to all. May he rest in peace now, knowing that his life will forever be remembered,” she whispers. “His wife will rest peacefully knowing she will one day see him, as will his children.”
As she speaks, my gaze drifts to the woman who’d knelt beside him. She stands with her children, a boy and a girl, both no older than thirteen. The girl and her mother are in tears, while the boy is trying his hardest to remain strong.
That bottled-up strength is something I understand quite well.
Bianca sniffles, and I look over as she wipes a tear from her cheeks.
Without giving it the thought I probably should, I reach out and take her hand with mine, interweaving our fingers. The touch does more for me than I can even put into words, the warmth of the contact shooting straight up through my arm, and I know—without a doubt—that I can do anything as long as she’s with me.
“May I?” Bianca asks as soon as the man is done speaking.
Abana translates and the man nods, gesturing for her to speak. She pulls her hand from mine and opens her Bible. “I’m new here, but I see the pain you are all suffering. I see the agony that weighs you down, and I’m praying harder than I’ve ever prayed for you to all regain the freedom that was stolen from you.” She pauses so Abana can continue translating. “I wish to read you part of a Psalm that brings me comfort when I’m weighed down by pain.”
Abana finishes, and a woman calls something out. Abana turns to us. “She asks what is a Psalm.”
Bianca’s eyes widen, and I can see that she’s struggling to find the words to explain. I start to respond with what little I know, but she begins speaking before I can. “We are all created by a loving God. And while we face many trials in this life, His Son, Jesus Christ, came and died for our sins so that we may one day join Him in His kingdom.” She holds up her Bible. “This is the Holy Bible. It is God’s Word. His law and His promises. The Psalms were mainly written by a man named David. He was a shepherd, but God made him a king.”
The group around us is focused on her intently. They hang on every single word she speaks. “This is from Psalm 34.” She clears her throat. “‘The eyes of theLordare on the righteous, and his ears are attentiveto their cry; but the face of theLordis againstthose who do evil, to blot out their namefrom the earth. The righteous cry out, and theLordhearsthem; he delivers them from all their troubles. TheLordis closeto the brokenheartedand saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but theLorddelivers him from them all; protects all his bones, not one of them will be broken. Evil will slay the wicked;the foes of the righteous will be condemned. TheLordwill rescuehis servants; no one who takes refugein him will be condemned.’”
There is not a single word uttered amongst those listening, and even as difficult a concept as faith has been for me, I can see a bit of hers taking root in each of the people standing before me.
Their expressions are a mixture of fear and hope.
Of love and understanding. Like they’ve been waiting for these words their entire lives.
A woman speaks, and Abana turns to Bianca. “She asks if you truly believe there is such a God who will deliver us from this pain.”
“Yes,” Bianca replies without hesitation. “I do.”
Abana continues staring at her. “You believe, yet you are prisoner here, too.”
“Not for long,” Bianca replies, then reaches out to gently touch Abana’s arm. “And when I leave, you’ll all be free too.”