Chapter 15
Dawn broke as Aicha’s concern evolved into worry.
Her brief annoyance over Rachid’s absence at the docks had subsided, dimmed while she spent her last scraps of energy safely guiding the final group of ten—which included Ilham and Naima, waiting patiently.
Exactly where they needed to be, and exactly where Rachid had left them.
He hadn’t waited for either group to be met by Aicha safely, unusual behaviour from someone who consistently leaned on the side of caution and meticulousness.
Instead, according to Ilham, an erratic Rachid had rushed them through the citadel, trying and failing to conceal his panic.
“The shadows around him are usually beaming with light, like a fire,” she said, as soon as they arrived at the beach and she had counted all the girls safe. “But it was dark this time, dark indeed. It is a sign of fear.”
Rachid had never had trouble admitting when fear plagued him, and had adopted Fouad’s teachings on it with an almost religious resolve.
But this—the way Ilham had described his state—unsettled Aicha deeply.
Rachid was never careless, nor was he ever visibly nervous.
Despite their plan being tenuous and dependent on luck, he had still seemed confident it would work.
Something had occurred in the time since she had last seen him, something alarming enough to have him rush through the mission and disappear as soon as possible. Rachid was no coward; he would not have abandoned the plan lightly.
Standing on the shoreline, with the waves kissing her soaked boots, Aicha watched the sun rise on the horizon.
The soft chatter of all the girls lay behind her as she kept a keen eye out for the ship Ilham had arranged safe passage with.
She had spoken of lands far away, with trees said to be greener than any that surrounded the citadel.
Shorelines of sand supposedly whiter than the ones she had spent her youth training in.
It sounded beautiful, peaceful even, but Aicha felt no tug of desire for it.
No sadness when she thought of what could be waiting there, should it be a path she chose.
This had always been her home, a soft bed of comfort.
Her protectiveness of her land went beyond just feeling comfortable.
It had shaped her, had shaped Samira and Fouad.
Despite the horrors that occurred daily, it had a beating heart.
It was alive, cultivated and nurtured by people she had spent her childhood surrounded by, and their ancestors before her.
She would grip onto that until her fingers bled.
This was her home, and she would fight until her last breath was stolen by death.
She turned to look back at the group, and her eyes landed on Naima’s.
The act was muscle memory, one that Naima was also guilty of.
The two stared at one another for a beat, and Aicha found her anger towards her oldest friend had gone entirely.
There only lay a deep sadness, the same that had settled between them when Aicha first realised that they would soon part for what could possibly be for ever.
Looking away and turning her back on Naima, she fought to blink back the tears that had brimmed.
Embarrassment flooded her veins upon remembering her outburst, because despite it feeling like a betrayal, Aicha knew—had always known—that Naima had done what she had done out of love.
Aicha could not fault her friend for that, but that same embarrassment kept her from reaching out to her.
The soft crunch of sand alerted her to Ilham’s presence, and she turned briefly to acknowledge the older woman before returning to watch the horizon.
Ilham was visibly weakened, the journey through the waves and rocks having taken a toll on her.
She was—surprisingly—a terrible swimmer.
Aicha had somehow expected her to be skilled at it, because a woman like Ilham—always collected, put together—seemed effortlessly talented in all things.
Exhaustion had settled into the creases of her eyes, the kohl that coated her under eyelids had been washed away long ago.
Her now dry scarf was wrapped around her head for warmth.
Despite lacking all her jewellery, and the accessories that made Ilham appear ethereal and glamorous, Aicha found she had never looked as beautiful or as young as she did in that moment.
Perhaps, Aicha wondered, this was the real Ilham. Exhausted but unconcerned by the watchful eyes of the citadel. Free.
“Did you know that I have had dreams of your room?”
“No.”
Ilham appeared unsurprised by Aicha’s question. Her gaze remained focused on the ocean before them, as if she were afraid to look away. Aicha reframed her question. “Do you know what is wrong with me?”
This caught Ilham’s attention. She stared at Aicha, her dark eyes scanning her face at a glacial pace, as if committing each feature to memory, and wondering—with deep thought—what Aicha was trying to convey.
Aicha had always hated this, keenly aware that Ilham had a gift—dark or not—that allowed her to sense people’s emotions.
Ilham inhaled deeply, one hand reaching to tuck a curl behind Aicha’s ear.
“Does it matter?” she spoke softly, with a maternal tone that Aicha could not ever recall being the receiver of. But her words were jarring, contradictory to her soothing tone.
Aicha’s brows creased in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Right now, if I looked you in the eye and told you that I knew exactly what haunted you in your dreams, and your waking moments, would it matter?” Ilham paused.
Questions were balancing on Aicha’s tongue.
Ilham looked back out to the horizon, and Aicha did so too. Soft pinks and delicate shades of oranges lined the sky, colours that were simultaneously overwhelming and muted. It was beautiful, delicate and vibrant.
“You will only continue to walk the path that you have chosen; you have gone too far for anything I say to alter it. Your soul is already bound.”
“Bound to what?”
Ilham shook her head, a soft smile adorning her full lips.
Aicha hadn’t noticed until then, but her smile was endearing.
Almost innocent, and now bleeding with a sympathy that was directed towards Aicha.
It spread across her face widely, giving her the look of an adolescent. Not a woman who was her father’s equal.
“Bound to the creature inside you.”
Her soft tone had taken on an edge of melancholy, because Aicha’s fate was already sealed.
“You are bound in realms beyond this lifetime. You are hers, and she is yours.”
Instinctively, Aicha leaned away from Ilham, the realisation that she had known Aicha’s fate all along—whatever it might be—freezing her veins.
Ilham had known long before Naima had even grown worried.
Aicha thought of all the moments she had shared with Ilham, moments of stilted conversation, of discomfort she couldn’t describe because Ilham had always looked at her a certain way.
In a way that indicated she had foreseen the inevitable end long ago.
Fear engulfed Aicha. She had been so slow to realise that Ilham’s words were not ones of advice, nor shared wisdom.
They were her own farewell. A goodbye that she hoped would provide peace in Aicha’s death.
Ilham reached out her hand, placing her palm on Aicha’s cheek. Too stunned to push it away, Aicha let it rest there, the soft caress grounding her into the moment.
“She is your curse, but also a gift. When the time comes, use it.” Her words were fleeting, taken by the wind and dispersing into the air, for Ilham soon turned away from her, eyes cast back to the horizon. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. “I see the ship.”
Rowing boats were sent out to retrieve them, and Aicha hovered in waist-deep water as she helped lift the youngest girls into the boats first. A thrum of excitement buzzed among the group, each girl as eager as the last now that freedom was within touching distance.
Aicha did not know if their new life would be as comfortable as it had been there, but she understood that the uncertainty of their fate was greater in their home. The shores they would be taken to held possibilities; a hope that had been snatched away from them.
“Do not sway so much, Amina, you will send us over.”
“Lalla Ilham, I want to sit next to Zahra!”
Voices clashed together, though Ilham did not seem concerned to make them settle.
It was a welcome distraction and amusing despite the difficulty of the night they had just survived.
Khowla, the young woman who had lost her hand, sat huddled beside Ilham in one boat, curled in on herself as Ilham’s arm wrapped around her.
Guilt coursed through Aicha at the memory of having been too late, and then having to make her sisters hold the girl down forcefully as she cauterised the wound with a singeing hot sword.
It was the only way to ensure she did not suffer from blood loss, and the prospect of blood poisoning was still high.
Aicha could only pray that she would survive the journey.
“Aicha?” Naima’s tone was soft, yet nervousness crept into her eyes as she drifted towards her friend.
“I— Aicha… please forgive me—”
“It doesn’t matter any more,” Aicha said, placing a hand over Naima’s. Their fingers were wrinkled by the water as they held hands beneath the surface. “I am sorry I wasted our last day like this.”
Had it only been the morning prior that they had fought? So much had transpired since then. Her anger now felt a frivolous waste.
“I just needed to know that you would be all right after I leave.”
Aicha’s heart softened further, and she pulled Naima into her arms, wrapping them around her shoulders so tightly.
She could not erase what Naima had told her, and she could not help but ruminate in the thoughts that this would be the last time they hugged.
Aicha finally surrendered to the tears that had been held at bay.
The lump that had formed in her throat choked her soft gasp as she buried her head into the crook of her best friend’s shoulder.
Naima’s hold was gentle, her hand stroking Aicha’s wet hair, nurturing and comforting in a way that Aicha had never been capable of.
It was why she had always felt safe with Naima, why she had always felt certain of Naima’s love for her.
Because it was not a love that was tied in blood bonds, no obligation was present.
Her love was not unconditional because of family ties, it was unconditional because she chose it to be.
In truth, Aicha did not fear dying as much as she feared existing in a world without Naima.
“I want to return something to you,” Naima said, pulling back to face Aicha.
She pulled Aicha’s left arm away from her shoulders, and Aicha was silent as she watched Naima wrap the bracelet—that she had gifted her merely a week ago—back onto her wrist.
“This was a gift, Naima,” she chastised, tears mingling with the droplets of seawater that littered her face. “You’re not supposed to return it.”
“Well, I’m gifting it to you.”
Silence lingered between them as they both stared at the bracelet. Unwilling to disturb their quiet, because they would part as soon as they did.
“Naima, we must go.” Ilham’s hurried order forced the two apart, and Aicha supported Naima’s legs as she climbed into the boat, somewhat ungraciously. As Aicha began to push against the last boat, forcing it into deeper waters, she called out one last time to her closest friend.
“Do not forget me!”
“Never!” was Naima’s response, and despite the melancholy of the moment, despite what lay ahead for Aicha, she felt joy burst inside her chest at her friend’s escape.
Absently rubbing at the bracelet around her wrist, she slowly turned away from Naima and the boats.
Aicha was unable to witness the tears that rolled down her friend’s face, as well as the apology she said aloud, swept away by the breeze and lost.