Chapter 9 #3
Sitting there, in that faraway place, surrounded by women who didn’t even know her true name, she felt that joy again.
It was a different kind of emotion, though.
Wrought not from the thrill of rebellion, but from conquest over adversity.
From the simple miracle of doing what she believed was right.
She thought of Sami, alive and in the arms of his mother. Finally, there was something to celebrate.
Someone handed her a brass mirror, and Sita held it up to see her reflection in the dying light.
Despite the brushing, her hair flowed in unruly black torrents.
Her skin was sun-drenched, unadorned, and yet it glowed with vigor and good health.
The woman in the mirror looked nothing like the person who fled Thonis. She was a stranger.
What had she said to Femi in the pleasure garden, right before she left him and her old life behind?
I don’t even know who I am away from this place.
She touched the mirror, feeling the weight of the burden she’d been given, and for the first time, recognized she had the strength to carry it.
Then go and find out, my princess.
Sita smiled at the stranger in the mirror, and the stranger smiled back.
I do not know you yet, but I would like to, she thought.
Suddenly, the women started clapping and laughing.
Sita set down the mirror and turned to see the cause of their mirth.
Karim stood in the doorway, having been dressed in a beetle-green robe that was open-chested and belted with leather.
His wavy, dark brown hair shone in the gloaming, and his eyes sparkled with mischief—that is, until he saw her.
“Your husband is here to take you to the feast!” one of the women said gaily and pushed Sita toward him.
Sita stumbled into his arms, and they stood there together, awkward and unsure.
Sita blushed under Karim’s gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How am I looking at you?” he asked, his voice soft.
It was an expression she’d seen once before from Femi, and it frightened her. “I-I don’t…”
“Come on now!” one of the women crowed, “It’s time to go!”
They herded Sita and Karim out of the house and into the flow of Hudjefa making their way to the city’s central courtyard. Her words unfinished, Sita allowed herself to be swept along by the crowd, Karim close by her side.
The night was filled with the sights and sounds of jubilation.
People carried platters of roast mutton and onions, still-steaming flatbread wrapped in cloth, bowls of tart yogurt and butter, and bulging sacks of plump brown dates.
They carried instruments too: reed flutes, a lute played with a bow, and drums of all sizes, which they played as they walked.
By the time Sita and the others reached the courtyard, a great bonfire was burning. Men fed the fire with gathered brush until it glowed bright and hot and the flames rippled in the easy evening breeze.
Elyas and Miri came and led them to where Sami had been placed on a bed of blankets to enjoy the festivities. His mother embraced them both, heaping blessings upon them until they were pulled away by others offering plates of food and cups of date wine.
Sita declined the wine. For once, she did not want to dull her senses, did not need drink to keep her mind from descending into darkness. I want to remember this, she thought. I want to remember everything.
They were seated next to Elyas, and as Sita began tucking into the delicious meal, she noticed the silent woman standing at the edge of the firelight.
“Who is she?” Sita asked the old man.
Elyas swallowed the bread he was chewing and replied. “Ah, that’s Dumiya. She kept an eye on you last night, did she not?”
Sita nodded. “Does she ever speak?”
“Not once in all her life,” Elyas replied.
“She makes herself understood in her own way. She is a force to be reckoned with, that one. At a young age, Dumiya decided it was her job to protect our people, and no one—not her grandfather, nor her father, nor myself when I became leader of the Hudjefa—could tell her otherwise. She has been watching over this city ever since.” He paused, thoughtful, and took a drink of his wine. “She is the best of us, I think.”
Many came to greet them as they finished their meal, seemingly eager now to know the new faces among them. Even Zev raised his cup to Sita across the firelight. The children capered about with Behkai, who managed to glut himself with so much roast meat that he had to lie down.
Once everyone had finished eating, the dancing began.
The people clapped in time with the drums, and the lute player started up an energetic melody that got everyone on their feet. As Sita and Karim watched, the community made a circle around the bonfire and began to sing.
“As the sun rises, we rise,” they sang, “As the flowers grow, we grow!”
Aya dashed out of the crowd and grabbed Karim’s hand. “Come on, sen!” the little girl cried. “Dance with me!”
Elyas laughed and urged him on, so Karim allowed himself to be dragged into the fray. Sita clapped and watched him move, clumsy at first, until he picked up the basics of the dance. Aya shrieked with delight as he swung her around and around as they circled the fire under the moonlight.
“Tomorrow is not promised,” they sang as the music played on. “Tomorrow is not certain!”
Then Karim was in front of her again, his face aglow, his skin glistening with sweat. “Dance with me,” he said, panting.
Sita’s breath caught in her throat as again, she saw passion in his eyes.
It’s this place, she thought. This moment.
No more than that. Being among those people in that long-forgotten city was almost like living another person’s life.
It was easy to forget what existed outside that valley, to forget the tragedies that had brought them there, seeking answers.
You drowned yourself in oblivion before, she told herself, and you vowed never to do it again.
You cannot delay much longer, no matter how good it feels.
You must finish what you came here to do.
“There is only tonight!” the people sang.
She looked at Karim’s open hand, reaching out to her.
Perhaps just for one night…
She lay her hand in his.
Karim grinned and pulled her to her feet, into the music, into the crush of joyous movement, into the heat. They moved together in a blur, her fingers laced into his, singing and dancing as sparks flew up from the fire to meet the stars.
“There is only tonight!”
She fell against him, her head light and dizzy despite not having had a drop of wine.
He caught her in his arms, and her hand fell upon the scarab-shaped scar on his chest. She felt his heart beating wildly beneath her fingers, the heart she’d impossibly turned from stone to flesh.
Close now, so close, her breath mingling with his, mingling with the smoke and the wind, she met Karim’s gaze.
His eyes glinted with that otherworldly light, and she was lost. Everything faded away—the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future—as he threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her toward him.
Their lips met as the song reached its climax, and the fire crackled and burned.
“Only tonight!”