Chapter 9
Sleep, little baby,
Until dinner is cooked,
And if it isn't, the neighbor's will be.
Sleep, little baby,
Until the house is cleaned,
And if it isn't, the maid will come.
Sleep, little baby,
Until the laundry is washed,
And if it isn't, we will bathe in our clothes and lie side by side in the sun.
Sleep, little baby,
But don't sleep too long.
The food will be eaten, the house will be dirtied, the clothes will be worn,
But my baby, oh, my baby, won't always be a baby, you see.
—a mother's lullaby
After fumbling through the dawn prayers and neglecting to eat a proper breakfast, Shay gathers together a couple of rounds of khobz, a half dozen eggs, and some assorted vegetables from the garden.
She swipes her foraging knife, remembering how Ghita allowed her to buy it when she was old enough to understand it wasn't a toy.
Not a gift, really. Not like the gloves.
Swallowing a pang of guilt, she arranges it all in a knapsack she fits into the wide hood of her djellaba.
She doesn't take the moon pepper Shadi gave her, not yet.
She hasn't felt any stirring of magic inside herself, not that she knows what it would feel like.
For now, she brings the sachet of leaves along, keeping it handy in case, and heads back through the winding streets of Nezjar toward the Bib.
Time will tell if she needs it. Whether Hind lied.
Shay failed to obtain solid answers from the midwife, but she must keep her word and check on Hind. Besides, the loss of the gloves is bad enough; Shay cannot lose her ticket, which is currently in the touched one's possession.
If she lets the midwife down, she'll be out of a career, and if she lets Hind down, well, the unthinkable could happen. But what if Shadi is right? What if she doesn't have to choose? Hind could come with her to Kiddah. Shay could help her mother there.
Two days is not much time to raise money for a second ticket, but if Shay is willing to delve farther into Al-Ghaba Mayita than normal, who knows what rare flowers or precious herbs she may locate?
If it's a long shot, so was finding her mother alive.
That their paths have crossed is all the proof she needs that there must be a way for them to make a life together.
And if Hind has made mistakes, done terrible things, at least she's willing to turn over a new leaf.
In a way, Shay will be saving not just Hind but any girls she would have gone on to influence.
The cycle can end. With every step, her confidence grows, and her conviction soars.
Helping Hind is not just the right thing to do, Shay feels, with sudden certainty—it is the only thing that matters.
Shay raises her hand in signal as she enters the Bib a second time, though if any rebels are looking out, she doesn't catch so much as a glimmer of them.
There's an aura to everything now, light reflecting off the structures around her in that kind of sharp intensity that early morning brings, with all its promises of newness and possibilities.
She's close to Hind's shelter when voices rise from a nearby alley like angry flares.
Logic dictates, or at least strongly recommends, that it's best to avoid trouble and continue on. But one of the voices sounds masculine and the other feminine, which alone might override her logic, even if the latter voice weren't Hind's.
Shay has hardly been reacquainted with her mother long enough to recognize her voice, and yet, by some soul-deep recognition, she does. A charge vibrates over her skin like a glass rod rubbed with silk. It's a feeling that's difficult to ignore.
“You know what you must do,” the male voice barks out as Shay draws closer. “That is, if you hope to be spared a ride on the blood-wagons.”
The woman whimpers, a low and desperate sound, and Shay rushes forward, colliding with the man as he exits the alley.
She stumbles back and looks up, immobilized.
Half his face bears deep burn scars, while the other half appears younger than she expects.
Young, and what any girl her age—herself not excluded—would consider comely.
Shay averts her eyes, not wishing to stare, but not before she notices that the man's eyes hold a strange quality that makes them the oldest-looking part on his body.
“Watch where you're going,” the man growls, proceeding to call Shay a name that makes her flinch.
As his gaze lands squarely on her face, he stops, squints, and lurches forward.
Just then, a group of women carrying kindling on their backs comes by.
Seeing them, the man pushes roughly past Shay and slinks away, melting into the shadows.
Shay races forward to where the touched one hunches against a wall, her body curling inward in as close to a ball as one can manage and still be standing. She scans Hind up and down, and finding no gross injury, she gently cups her shoulders. “Hind, are you well?”
The touched one allows herself to be unfolded. Seems disoriented as Shay's eyes roam her face.
A reddish welt, the beginning of a bruise, blooms over her left cheekbone.
Guided by Shay's stare, the touched one cradles her own cheek, her fingertips sparking green.
She removes her hand, and the mark has vanished.
That's when Shay sees—really sees—her eyes.
Gone are the smoke-brown irises she gazed into only yesterday as they made plans for a new start, erased in a vacuum of white.
“Who was that man? Is he your supplier?” If Al-Mukhtar provides Snow to the touched ones who reside at the kasbah, someone else must supply it to those cast out. Shay peers down the narrow street, her heart still pounding, half expecting him to return.
“Did he see you?” the touched one asks with alarm.
“Only in passing.” Shay's attention snaps back to Hind. “Why?”
Hind releases a shaky breath. “Let's just talk about this when we get home, shall we?”
Home. She would say that's the place she just left, but it's not anymore, is it? Not in two days’ time, anyway. Seeing her mother like this, Shay feels all her hopes for a new life swing on an emotional pendulum toward despair.
“I can't believe this,” she says, stepping back. “I cannot believe you're blitzed right now. I told you to stay in bed. Not to leave. I said I'd be back. You promised you'd stay lucid.”
Hind waves a bony hand in a shooing motion. “I said I'd try.”
The man—whoever he was—is gone. Shay's adrenaline ebbs, and fatigue rushes in like scavengers descending on a kill. It's been a long, confusing couple of days. Did she misunderstand the touched one's intention? Does it matter? “Is this what you call trying?”
Hind looks away. Absently, she reaches between the folds of the desert-style robe that swathes her hair and body and produces an apple. She bites it and pulls a face. “Skin's thick,” she says around the morsel, juice dribbling from the corner of her lips. “A sign this resting season will be harsh.”
Shay exhales. Hope drains from her body with her breath. The slant of sky above the alley has grown heavy with rain clouds. They dip low, the gray of giant swollen ticks. “Coming here was a mistake.”
The touched one straightens to attention, looking almost comical, like a child playing soldier. “No, no, no. Don't say that. I can explain everything.”
“Why?” Shay asks so loudly, the touched one winces. “I wanted to help you. Why would you go right back out and use again? You couldn't even go one day. You couldn't”—Shay chokes on the words—”do it for me.”
“I meant to go to the market,” the touched one whines, and nibbles the fruit. “But all I managed to get was an apple before they closed off the square.”
Shay shakes her head, not sure how that's relevant until a gallows-shaped shadow falls over her mind. She shakes her head harder to dismiss the memory. “Another hanging?”
“Two days in a row.” Hind nods, swallowing. “Since I couldn't buy food …”
Shay finishes for her: “You bought Snow instead?”
“When you say it like that …”
“And to think I wanted to take you with me.” Shay feels like someone waking from a warm, cozy dream into the harsh cold of morning in the peak of resting season.
“I needed this, though, to know more about my past, the things Ghita kept from me, so I could put it to rest before starting out on a new venture.
But I think it's best we part ways now. So, if you can give me the ticket …”
“What ticket?” the touched one asks in the most innocent tone, the white blots of her eyes unable to hide the guilt flicking over them.
“The one I gave you when I promised to come back.” Shay's thoughts tumble around her head, a cruel realization forming.
Nothing about the state of the touched one's provisions suggested someone with a reliable source of coin.
And while Shay isn't sure exactly how hard Snow is to come by, she knows it isn't free. “What did you do?”
Hind strangles out a dry sob and starts blabbering: “I just wanted one last blitz before quitting for good. That's all. I wasn't ready. I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. Please, don't be mad. Don't leave. This will be the last time. Try to understand. Snow ain't cheap.”
“You sold the ticket?” Shay's voice comes out a wisp. She shakes her head, still hoping it isn't true. “And you used the coin to buy more Snow?”
Hind's whited eyes go milky with tears. She nods.
“How could you?” The knapsack Shay packed hangs heavy between her shoulders. How foolish she was to worry about someone who gave so little thought to her in return.
At first, she thinks the wail she hears is coming from inside her head, her brain creating a reenactment of her frustrations, but it draws out and raises in volume. An animal of some sort, she thinks. Perhaps warning other animals of danger.
A little late, my friend.
“I'll escort you home,” she tells Hind, beginning to walk back toward her shelter. “And leave you the provisions I gathered before I go.”