Chapter 7
The Legend of Illi and Udad
Once upon a time, two tribes lived on mountain villages that faced each other, separated by a lake.
A shepherd named Udad would always spy a maiden named Illi from across the water when he'd bring his flock to drink and she'd come to the opposite shoreline to do her family's washing.
Smiles and glances turned to waves and gestures and soon they developed a secret code that allowed them to communicate daily across the distance.
They fell in love. Alas, they were forbidden to marry outside of their tribes.
As they pined for each other, their sadness grew, until one day Illi signed a most heartbreaking message to her beloved.
Her father had promised her hand in a marriage set to be performed after the passing of one moon. The pair began to cry.
So great were their tears, they fell into the lake and the waters rose and rose and overflowed.
The ensuing flood wiped away both their mountains.
As the waters kept rising, Illi and Udad swam toward each other.
They are said to have drowned in each other's arms. To this day, claims persist of their benevolent spirits being sighted, and locals believe that if a new bride and groom swim the waters of Barhira Kabira, their marriage will be blessed.
Hind sighs, a low, hollow sound. Her brown eyes glisten with a faraway cast. “When I was about your age, a Hazmaggi caravan was passing through Nezjar during Jou Boulka. I was at the festival, and well, do you believe in love at first sight, Shuika?”
Shay is taken aback by the use of her given name, by how different it feels coming from her mother.
She considers the question and foolishly thinks of Shadi.
Is it possible to meet the person you're meant to be with, only to find they may belong to the very group that wants you dead? “I don't know, khalti—Hind.”
“Well, I fell in love with a Hazmaggi man.”
Shay studies Hind's tattoos, the delicate symmetry of the designs against the crumbling planes of her face. “So, you're not Hazmaggi, then?”
“Not technically.” Hind shakes her head, her white hair swaying around her shoulders.
“When my family wouldn't accept my lover, I ran away to live with the nomads. I married into their tribe, took their markings onto my skin. Even when my husband was taken by sudden illness and died, the tribe still considered me one of their own.”
“Was your husband … my father?”
“No.” Hind holds up a finger as she drinks from her glass.
“I got depressed after my husband died. The tribe tried convincing me to remarry, but I couldn't bear the idea of replacing my first love.
The next time we passed through the festival, I tried Snow for the first time.
I did it to fill the empty hole that felt like it was consuming me from the inside out.
I just wanted to feel something, and at the same time, I didn't want to feel anything.”
Shay always assumed women tried Snow out of curiosity about their Shawafa. Out of a desire to access magic, despite it being forbidden. It never occurred to her that someone might use the drug as a means of escaping their pain.
“It didn't take long for me to become an addict.
I tried hiding it from the tribe. But when a little boy fell off a camel and was injured, I couldn't stop myself from using Shawafa to heal him. And still, the tribe tried to help me get purged. Then valuables began to go missing, and they rightly suspected me of stealing them to sell for drug money. I was banished.” Hind's voice dips low with either shame or remorse, or a combination of the two.
In Hind's story, the Hazmaggi did all they could for her, showing her the same grace and care as their own people, until she crossed a line.
While in the cover story Shay has so often repeated, the tribe seems unsympathetic, willing to leave behind a woman whose only offense was being sick.
It's a detail that never sat right with her, though she couldn't work out why until now.
“I returned to Nezjar, but my family didn't want me back. A widow and an addict. I used my Shawafa to earn what coin I could, but customers became scarce when the hangings started.”
Shay notices that Hind hasn't mentioned anything about working for Al-Mukhtar, but that isn't her most burning question. “If it's alright, may I ask about my father?”
The touched one sets her empty tea glass on the makeshift floor and picks the grime under her nails. “I had to earn coin somehow, so I sold my body. Back then, I had a body worth selling. That's why I'm sorry to say I don't know who your father is.”
Shay has seen women in similar situations come to Ghita for herbal solutions. She might consider it a brave thing, taking on the task of motherhood alone, except no child should be exposed to Snow.
“Once I knew I was pregnant, I stopped using,” Hind says, as though Shay has been thinking her thoughts too loudly. “I swear I did.”
Shay stares into the fire, afraid Hind's eyes may not lie as well as her tongue.
Or is she afraid the words are true? That she has no real need of the moon pepper Ghita has been so insistent that she faithfully ingest?
It just seems improbable to her that anyone could overcome such an addiction without help.
Her thoughts turn to Sami, whom Ghita took in for his own protection. She can't imagine any reason why the midwife would have taken Shay as a baby, other than the same. Even if she accepts the possibility that Ghita wasn't fully honest, she still believes her to be a good person.
“But after the midwife told me you died …” Hind's voice unravels. “I couldn't overcome another loss like that. I went straight back to Snow, and I've been using ever since.”
Shay struggles to bring her thoughts into focus. She was shocked to learn touched ones can carry to term and sometimes even deliver healthy babies. But how could someone who used Snow for so many cycles survive despite its deadly side effects, the rapid aging it inflicts? “How old are you?”
Although it's a question one doesn't normally ask a woman, the touched one doesn't flinch. “I think what you really want to know is, how am I still alive?”
Shay silently nods.
“An understandable question. Most touched ones who start young as I did don't make it to the age of thirty,” the touched one concedes.
“It's the Shawafa of Shifamin. I'm able to apply my healing magic to myself, which mitigates some of the deterioration Snow causes. I may still die before reaching forty, though.”
Not if I can help it, Shay thinks. Now that she has found her mother alive, she desperately wants her to stay that way. “All this time, all you've been through, you had no one. But you can get purged now, if that's something you want.”
The touched one puckers her lips and shivers as though a cold draft has passed through the room. “I don't know if I'm strong enough.”
“I can help.” Shay grabs Hind's hand and startles at the paper-thin feel of her skin. She adjusts her grip for fear of snapping the woman's bony fingers. “You don't have to do it alone. We can be strong enough together.”
“I …” Hind looks anxiously into Shay's eyes, as if their gaze might burn. The tide of her face turns from fear to hope to something Shay can't read. Guilt or … regret? “I can try.”
“Yes!” Shay exclaims. She's been waiting all her life to feel the connection that only a mother and daughter can share. It hardly matters if she's the one doing the nurturing. But what about her new position in Kiddah? Shay's excitement fizzles.
She awoke this morning thinking a chapter of her life was closing, that she'd successfully completed the training she'd worked so long and hard for. She couldn't have imagined she'd find a new reason to stay in Nezjar.
The touched one gazes toward the fire, scratching a scab on her arm, her idle rhythm like that of the women from the alley.
Shay's not na?ve enough to think purging will be a magic carpet ride …
Surely, Ghita will know which herbs are best suited to curbing cravings and lessening the symptoms of withdrawal.
Shay should talk to her before she makes any decision.
And the midwife must be getting worried. Shay has been gone half the day.
“Hind?”
The touched one turns to face her, and Shay immediately sees it. A cloud of want that gathers at the edges of her expression. Like a snake coiled in wait, it's only a matter of time before the hunger for more Snow unleashes its venomous bite.
“Is it safe for you to stay here alone for a time? I couldn't help but notice that some of your neighbors are affiliated with the Naturalists. Has anyone ever threatened you?”
“We don't bother our neighbors here. On the contrary, we look out for one another.” The touched one wraps her arms around her torso, looking small. “Are you leaving? You just got here.”
“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 cannot be a 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.”