Chapter 19
The Legend of Ard Al-Ghul
Once, two sisters traveled across the wide forest to visit a sacred shrine. They each packed food, but one sister ate all of hers as soon as she felt the first pang of hunger, while the other restricted herself, portioning out her servings to make them last over the course of a long journey.
They rested briefly after visiting the shrine, then headed homeward, but the first sister had saved no food for the return journey.
Seeing that her sister had set aside half of what she packed for this purpose, she asked her to share.
To teach her a lesson, her sister cruelly asked for payment in the form of one eye.
Rather than starve, the first sister gave one eye, but before long, she became hungry again and gave her other eye for more food.
Now blind, she needed to be led along by her sister, slowing her down.
Eventually, the second sister abandoned the first. She cried out so loudly that the spirits in the unseen world were drawn to her rage and despair.
One was a ghoul who fell immediately in love with her.
Because she could not see what he really looked like, she imagined him to be a handsome hero who had saved her and allowed him to take her to the land beyond the forest. There, he married her.
The ghoul would care for his bride by day and cross the forest to visit the medina where her sister lived by night, tormenting her for what she had done. The couple had monstrous children, and their children had children, who took up the task of terrorizing the human realm each night.
And these made up the original inhabitants of Ard Al-Ghul.
Shay shouldn't be able to take a breath in and let it out again when Ghita never will. But she does. She shouldn't be able to move, to command her legs and lift one foot in front of the other, but she does that, too.
It helps that Khawla and Shadi are with her.
It's strange, this feeling that if she falls, one of them will catch her.
If she cries, they won't accuse her of being weak.
She tries to pull herself together for Ghita's sake.
Breaking apart won't help her get to the bottom of what happened, but in her mind, the blood on the wall isn't dry.
It keeps dripping, dripping, dripping, when the stuff that flowed within the veins of someone so formidable should never have been so easy to shed.
Khawla guides them back to the forest's edge, to another tree marked with the yaz. Shay turns to Shadi before they part ways, the hjabat's pull a heavy drag around her neck. Its cold weight is a reminder of the decision she must make.
“I think I shall have to postpone my meeting with your mother,” she finds the wherewithal to say.
“Of course.” Shadi folds his hands over his heart.
“I understand how much you're hurting. And I wish I could go with you, if for no reason than to be present with you in your sorrow. Regrettably, duty obliges me to stay, and so, until we meet again, I leave you in the hands of our Creator. He is the best keeper of our trust.”
“Ameen,” Shay murmurs, touched even now by the kindness of this boy who has turned out to be funnier, cleverer, and more caring than she could have known when their paths first crossed.
Their surroundings make a dull impression as Khawla leads her back through Al-Ghaba Mayita.
In a detached way, she notices the forest is quieter than before.
No insects hum; no crickets chirp. The tree branches are unstirred by the flutter of wings, the undergrowth unburdened by the scamper of feet.
Only a brittle wind rattles the dry leaves like a dying breath, as if the forest is expressing its condolences.
Her mind holds no thoughts beyond this until they reach the border of Ard Al-Ghul and morning light cracks the horizon.
Its vivid glow is that of a slimy yolk seeping from a broken egg shell.
The brothers will be home by now from their nightly activities and are apt to be displeased to learn she ignored their numerous warnings.
The kindling sun seems incompatible with the pall of darkness inside her, as if the sky itself should remain draped in black.
The first thing Shay notices as they near the bloodsucker's imposing house isn't the rattle of wheels or the thud of hooves down the clay street.
It's the way Khawla, who's paying better attention, has already adopted an alert stance.
She tugs Shay so deep into the nearest hedge that wild thorns maul their backs through their attire.
An approaching carriage appears and grinds to a stop in front of Tarik's gate.
Billows of red dust settle around a team of ghastly skeleton horses.
A bone-eater sits in the driver's seat. Though Shay has grown used to the brothers’ appearances, this slobbering, bug-eyed creature seems to belong in a different class.
Behind him, a dome of dark fabric covers a long iron bed, hiding its cargo from view.
Shay shivers. She watches through a weave of thin branches as her neighbor's front door swings wide.
Tarik ambles down the path to the gate, mist trailing after him in a vaporous cape.
He nods in greeting to the bone-eater, the gesture wordlessly returned by the creature.
Khawla tips two fingers to the side of Shay's chin, nudging her head gently away from whatever is about to occur, but Shay resists.
She no longer wishes to hide from the truth of the world, no matter how ugly.
The bloodsucker whisks aside the canvas flap, allowing Shay a glimpse of the touched ones huddled inside.
A dozen or so women, all bound and shackled.
Their heads hang over bent knees, most beyond bothering to look up at the sudden influx of light.
A brave few peek at Tarik through strips of dirty hair. And their eyes quiver.
Fear sours the air. It leaves Shay choking.
Tarik sighs loudly. A woeful, put-upon sigh.
He climbs wearily into the carriage and draws the flap closed behind him.
Whatever Shay expects to happen next does not prepare her for the ensuing litany of muffled moans or their rapid crescendo to screams of pain.
Cuffing her hands to Khawla's shoulder, she hiss-whispers, “What is going on?”
“Al-Mukhtar has a truce with the bloodsuckers,” Khawla explains, disgust curdling her voice. “They don't come to Mekchaouen to prey on humans, and in return, our leaders provide them with an alternate source of sustenance.”
“Touched ones?” Shay feels faint.
Khawla nods gravely. “The ones who are already near to death and no longer able to tap into their Shawafa. If the touched ones either refuse or are unable to recruit new addicts to live in the kasbah, this is how Al-Mukhtar disposes of them.”
Nausea is a bonfire in Shay's stomach. How often does the carriage come? How did she live next door so long and never notice? No wonder Hind did the things Bushra accused her of. She had a choice, but not much of one. How much longer before this becomes her fate, too?
“We should go while he's occupied.” Khawla tugs Shay's sleeve.
“No. We have to do something.” Despite her brave words, Shay can only reel from the absolute horror.
These women are being delivered like lambs to the slaughter, both aware of their fate and too weak from prolonged drug use to resist it.
It wasn't enough for Al-Mukhtar to steal women's magic—the men have weaponized addiction. They use it to strip away the touched ones’ freedom and dignity, and then, as a final insult, they rob them down to their last drops of blood.
She keeps thinking that surely the bloodsucker's thirst must be quenched, but the noises go on and on.
The slurping magnifies until it sounds like he's right next to her ear.
Her chest tightens like she's stuffed in a dress several sizes too small, and she wants to peel off her own skin just to breathe.
Just when Shay thinks Khawla is right and they should run to the bone-eaters for help, she meets the glowing eyes of a horse.
She doesn't try to communicate with the creature, at least not consciously, but it seems to sense her distress and rears back, whinnying.
In a ripple effect, the other horses start snorting.
Steam furls from their nostrils, and their hooves stomp in agitation.
The bed of the carriage rocks precariously, and Shay doesn't know whether she should attempt to calm the horses or spur them on.
“Whoa.” The bone-eater heaves on the reins to no avail. “Easy now.”
Tarik stumbles from the carriage just before the horses take off. He looks around drunkenly as they gallop down the clay road, the front of his white tunic bearded with blood. He catches sight of Shay, who—surprising no one more than herself—has stepped out from her hiding spot to glare at him.
He barrels toward her, but Khawla steps in front, shoving Shay behind her.
“What are you doing, loitering in front of my property? Looking for more berries?” the bloodsucker seethes.
Over Khawla's shoulder, his lightless eyes find Shay's, probing them as though seeking an entry point to penetrate her mind.
She makes hers hard like glass, reflecting whatever venom he throws.
“Don't think because I've already eaten, I don't have room for dessert.”
Khawla raises her chin. “We're merely walking home, Sidi. You're the one taking up the whole road with your revolting buffet on wheels.”
The bloodsucker snarls, baring his fangs. Then, unexpectedly, he dials back his aggressive posture and tilts his head. “Since when is the little dove allowed out of her cage, anyway? Where have you two been this early? Or, should I say, late?”