Chapter 14
Midnight had passed when Aicha and Rachid emerged from his stah, having forged a tenuous plan that involved timing their movement with Duarte’s soldiers and hopefully narrowly avoiding them.
When they descended into the quiet streets, empty and cast in shadow from the makeshift canopies above, the once bustling market streets lay empty, ransacked by Duarte’s men.
A chill in the air, brought on by the sea breeze, caressed Aicha’s skin.
The scent of the sea invaded her senses, both refreshing and melancholic.
Naima’s words rang in her head, reminding her of her limited time.
Gone was her anger and resentment towards her longest friend, and in its stead fear and sadness had made a home.
Fear was not an emotion she could afford, it tampered with the ability to make wise decisions.
Instead, it would fuel impulsive reactions.
Too many lives were at risk if Aicha faltered now.
Rachid’s hand skimmed across her forearm, wrapping around it as he stepped closer to her. Aicha focused her gaze on him, taking in the pinch between his brows and concern residing in his dark eyes.
“You disappeared.” His voice was smooth and soft, drawing Aicha closer until she felt cocooned in his warmth.
“I just did not expect it to be this quiet,” she said. “It has never been this quiet.”
He nodded. “Nobody wishes to be caught past curfew now. With Duarte becoming more unstable by the day, it is dangerous to tempt his punishment.”
Old memories came back to Aicha: neighbours sitting out front by their doors.
Goatskin rugs spread out so as not to track dirt onto their clothing.
Sharing sunflower seeds and atay among them as the night breeze cooled their skin and dried the sweat that had accumulated throughout the day.
Despite the invaders’ weak threats, they usually left the residents to their own devices; confiscating snacks became more work than they wanted when on night patrols.
From as young as she could remember, Aicha would run barefoot in the streets at this time, playing games with other children while being forced to stop and take a sip of water by her baba.
Her long hair being wrestled into braids by Samira as they sat on the rug, beside Fouad, recounting their day to him.
Soft chatter and joyous laughs would ring out until slowly people would return to their homes to sleep.
It was the time of evening when everything slowed, when their people were allowed a grace for themselves that did not see them rushing.
It nudged their distress and fear deep into the background, where it was forced to wait until the sun rose and a new day began.
Until that moment, when she stood in the silence and emptiness of her citadel, she saw with pristine clarity how tarnished it had become at Duarte’s hand.
How the greed and entitlement of people like him had polluted their home.
So she kept up her pace behind Rachid, her eyes alert as they darted between homes and around corners. Ensuring they never made a sound when in close proximity to a patrol.
Aicha’s hair and face were covered by a scarf, wrapped around her head and beneath her eyes, obscuring her face. Her clothing was only a size larger than her usual, hiding her form and thus her identity.
This journey would take all night, and Aicha had only agreed on the condition that they transport Ilham and her girls in groups.
Continuing back and forth would be dangerous, she knew, but being caught with twenty girls from the Gardens in tow would ensure punishment at the gallows.
They had been blessed with a night free of storms, and so Rachid had decided he would smuggle each group through the city, while Aicha would guide them through the waters, then deposit them safely on the beach beyond the walls.
There they would wait for her to take them towards the boats.
It was a flimsy plan, one that made space for too many errors.
The girls could drown, or Rachid could be caught mid-route.
Rachid yanked on her wrist, his gaze more accusatory than concerned, and Aicha forced herself to focus on their destination.
Aicha had always been thankful that the Gardens lay close to the citadel’s centre; it made for an easier trek to and from it as a child.
Now, it was an inconvenience—with the centre being most guarded, slipping through would be complicated.
Rachid knocked thrice on the metal door, his back flat against the wall beside it, Aicha flanking him, until it was pulled open.
Darkness welcomed them as they slipped through, unable to make out who stood before them.
Simultaneous breaths became audible in the darkness, and Aicha focused on the slightly laboured ones.
“You will take my youngest girls first,” Ilham breathed out. “Once they are safe, return to us.”
Aicha nodded, despite the fact no one could see her do so. When she looked at the shortest figures in front of her, she counted eight.
“You must all be covered, with only your eyes visible. You stay behind Rachid, and in front of me. Do not run, and do not step out of formation. Understand?”
The soft, simultaneous mutterings of “yes” caused Aicha’s chest to burn.
Ilham had girls as young as five within the Gardens, all orphaned at a young age and under her care.
Their fear was palpable, and produced a wave of guilt in her.
Children should not have to fear for their lives, not in the place that is their home.
“Do as we say, and you will be safe.” Rachid’s voice was gentler, though not too soft.
It was the voice of a person who was certain you would be safe with them.
Someone who had repeated these actions countless times, and could almost promise that you would live.
He provided reassurance where she could not, and she was suddenly especially thankful that he had invited himself on this trip.
“When I open the door, you will follow me, Aicha will remain behind you all. Keep close to walls, be silent, and fast.”
Rachid spoke slowly, without inflection, reviving the confidence that had slowly wilted in Aicha’s chest. When the night sky touched their shoulders, she took notice of how little the young girls were.
Reaching her waist, and covered in cloaks, a new fear threatened to wrap around her throat.
A fear of putting these children in harm’s way.
She reached for the dagger sheathed at her hip, gripping the hilt tightly as they slipped out, one by one, into the night.
The docks had always been uncomfortably quiet for Aicha at night, the sounds of waves and ships clashing against each other in the ports providing an almost haunting atmosphere.
She imagined the spirits of lost sailors still lingered, forming new calluses as they secured rigging and awaited the end of their day to return home.
To feel the warmth of khobz as the crust split between their fingers and dipped its soft, warm centre into the dish of dwaes.
She felt a chill ascend her spine at the thought, assisted by the soft breeze that usually brought her such comfort.
Rachid led them through the maze of crates, his steps measured and only just breaching a light jog.
Fast enough to be alert should they need to run, but slow enough to be able to halt and hide.
Aicha’s hand ached as she gripped her dagger, but she did not relent.
Her other hand rested on the shoulder of the child before her—though she was unsure of which one it was.
As instructed, they had kept their faces hidden, their gait light and fast. Their way out was located on the south side of the docks, the reef below making it difficult to port any ships or boats, and instead left empty.
It was simple enough to dip into the water, the rock bed beneath providing a jagged foundation, before wading through it towards the outer walls.
Then, it unceremoniously dropped, the water deepening and forcing them to swim with one hand, while the other attempted to grip onto the cracks within the wall.
Allowing them to not be swept away in the water.
She was thankful for the good weather, as the waves would be far more forgiving, especially with children in the ocean’s hands.
The empty port was in view, but the crates stood far away enough that it left them open for several yards.
Rachid motioned for the group to pause with one hand, before sprinting ahead, his posture low and shoulders hunched.
When he reached the edge of the docks, he motioned for the children to follow, but Aicha held them at bay, allowing them only to cross one by one.
The children’s soft gasps of shock were stifled as Rachid deposited each one into the water off the edge, the act both hurried yet gentle.
Aicha was not even sure if their feet would touch the rocks below.
When only one child remained with her, she gripped onto her dagger tightly, bracing her knees to prepare to sprint across the opening.
“Who goes there?” The deep voice had a distinct accent, one that made it clear they were not friendly.
Ice ran through Aicha’s veins at the jarring interruption, and she pulled the young girl closer to her as she crouched back down in her spot.
From her position, she could see Rachid’s cloaked form still, before slowly bending over, hunching over in the dim lighting as if to camouflage himself.
Aicha could see no more children, and with the sound of heavy steps moving towards Rachid, she felt that familiar curl of rage wrap around her heart.
Pulling the young girl to her chest, she whispered into her ear softly.
“Stay here, and the moment the soldier has turned his back on Rachid, you run to him. Understood?”