Chapter 15 #2
how long ago they had been killed, the wind and dry air having slowed the process of rot.
“Amina, look at this,” Tinbu whispered, gesturing to three even puncture marks on the priest’s throat, as though the old man
had been stabbed by a needle. “I saw a similar wound on one of the women, but thought it might have been an unrelated injury.”
I frowned and searched the neck of the woman I had brought down, but her skin was too bruised to see if she had a comparable
wound. Even so, there was something about the appearance of the bodies that was unsettling beyond their gruesome manner of
death. An odd blue gray cast spread across their skin, their eyes clouded like pale moonstones. There was no sign any of them
had been touched by insects or animals.
I shuddered. “Let’s dig quickly.”
There was no digging quickly, however, not in Socotra’s rocky soil, and it was late afternoon by the time we had turned out three shallow graves.
Dalila said prayers as Tinbu gently shoveled dirt and stones upon the corpses, and I stalked the perimeter with a weapon in each hand, con vinced I could feel eyes upon us.
I was drenched in sweat, shivering despite the day’s heat and my own exertions.
Another damn stick snapped behind me.
I whirled and threw my knife. It sailed into a thick patch of bushes, and I waited, anticipating an animal’s cry, a human’s
angry bellow. But there was no response.
“Amina?” I jumped at Tinbu’s voice and glanced back again to see my friend giving me a wary look of concern. “Everything all
right?”
“Thought I heard something.” I stalked closer to where I had hurled the knife, gripping my sword. “Are we ready to leave?”
“Aye. Dalila says she has finished.”
“Good.” I kicked around the bushes, searching for the blade I’d thrown, but the pebbly ground was bare. I pushed deeper into
the weeds, swatting away vines and cursing when a thorn snagged my hand.
“Amina, come on!” Dalila called out. “I thought you were in a rush to leave.”
“I need to find my knife!” I knelt to search the ground, sweeping my hands through the undergrowth. My fingers brushed something
wet and slimy, and I recoiled when I realized it was the remains of a small bird’s nest. The eggs were broken and seeping
fluid, vines growing out of the skeletal remains of the mother bird.
My heart stuttered at the sight. Maybe I was overreacting; birds died of disease all the time. Plenty of animals hunted eggs.
But after what we had witnessed in this village, the particularly maternal death scene sent dread rolling over me in waves.
I scrambled back. To hell with my knife. We were getting out of here.
The thorns gave one last tug at my turban, nearly tearing it off.
I scrubbed my hands with sand and gave the fresh graves a final look, adding my own prayers for the poor elders.
I did not know if their deaths were the Frank’s handiwork (I had never seen lances like that, but then again, I had never seen a Frank), but the possibility chilled me to the core.
Tinbu and Dalila were already beyond the gate that led out of the village, and I had to hurry to catch up.
But if I’d hoped the sensation of being watched would dissipate when we left the village, I was sorely mistaken. I heard the
skittering of hidden beasts in every rustling shrub and felt the weight of watchful eyes in every shadow. I was completely
on edge, the hair on the back of my neck sticking straight up.
My companions were not as affected.
“Amina, nothing is following us,” Dalila said in exasperation when I decapitated a small palm tree after swearing it had sighed
in my ear. “I would hear it.”
There was a laugh on the breeze, as if in response.
“Tell me you heard that !” I spun around, wildly searching the grove of scraggly trees we had entered. After being in Socotra’s relentless sun for
so long, I found the darkness of the grove disconcerting. Branches entwined and tangled together above our heads, the little
sunshine that pierced through the canopy falling in spiky fingers.
“ Amina .” True concern colored Tinbu’s voice. He stepped closer to lay his hands on my shoulders. At his side, Dalila remained stone-faced—whatever
had passed between us in the village was lingering. “Calm yourself, my friend,” he continued. “It has been an awful day. What
we saw back there would drive anyone—”
Out of the corner of my eye, a blur of movement.
Seizing Tinbu, I yanked him out of the way just as the knife that would have gone through his throat flew past to thud into
a tree. My knife, the one I had lost back at the village. It struck the tree so hard that the blade stuck in the trunk, the hilt vibrating
madly. I whirled to face the direction from which it had flown.
A smoky figure dropped from the trees with the elegance of a leopard. It was as though the shadows themselves had taken form,
a familiar form; shards of premature night twisting together to shape themselves into the worst monster I knew. The creature who offered cruel, cold excuses during the darkest moments of my life and purred my name during the best.
The beast I had left for dead ten years ago. The demon who did worse than murder Asif.
“ Wife ,” Raksh drawled. “It has been a long time.”