Epilogue
Naima found the ship’s deck cold that afternoon, the winds harsh and the waves furious. Her stomach rolled as she held onto the taffrail, feet unsteady and the wind billowing her skirts. It had been so long since she bathed.
No one had told her that living on a ship would be so filthy.
The sun had begun to set, and soon she would travel below deck into the quarters she shared with all of her sisters, attempting to descend into sleep while the ship swayed violently in the night.
Until then, however, she would hold on to the rail, eyes fixed on the open sea behind them.
They had lost sight of land two days prior, but part of her still longed to see it in the rear-view.
As if it would magically reappear if she stared long enough.
She heard the footsteps of Ilham come up from behind and then stop beside her, with a tranquillity that few people possessed.
Naima sighed, feeling that tranquillity ebb into her own shoulders, softening their rigidity and soothing her.
“You felt it too,” Naima said, melancholy coating her tone.
“Only a few minutes ago,” Ilham confirmed, and Naima felt her eyes boring into the side of her face.
“You could not have stopped it, my darling. Her destiny was written from birth.” The silence between them was filled with shouts from the sailors aboard, their movement fast as their boots echoed across the wooden deck.
Their lives continued as if there was much to be done, as if they had not lost their home.
Naima supposed that to anyone else it was the case, but since she had felt that horrific shift in her chest, like a flame had been doused out by sand, her world had stopped.
Guilt and grief had wrapped her in their arms, unable to let go. A bitterness she did not know she was capable of rooted itself in her stomach.
“They will call her a monster,” she said quietly, fingers gripping the taffrail tightly.
Ilham’s gaze was burning with confidence as Naima turned to look at her, her tone steady and full of conviction. “But we will not.”
“They’ll tell stories of how evil she was, and the pain she caused.”
“And we will tell stories of her bravery, and that she fought for the liberation of our people,” Ilham countered, taking a step closer.
“They will remember her as a demon.” The thought dragged a bout of dread up from Naima’s stomach and into her throat.
“We will remember her as a saviour.” Ilham took Naima’s hands, pulling them towards her chest and warming them between her palms, something she had done countless times before.
She reached up, and tucked a long, silky strand of hair behind Naima’s ear.
Much like when she first came into Ilham’s care, Naima sought out her embrace, burying her head into Ilham’s neck.
And much like when she was a child, Ilham held her tightly, with a hand stroking the back of her head in a soft and slow manner.
The ache inside Naima’s chest gaped open, once filled by Aicha’s laughter, of her bright smile and the roll of her eyes when she heard something stupid.
Ilham pressed her lips on the crown of Naima’s head, her words soft and lost to the wind, but lingering long enough to breathe life into Naima’s heart.
“Whatever horror story they share, we will have ten to counter it. We will share the truth.”
Naima nodded, chest heavy with loss, but now a drop of reassurance pooled at the centre. Ilham released her slowly, squeezing her shoulders before finally letting go.
“Go get some rest, Naima. It will be a long night.” The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, its last glimmers of light slowly disappearing as if drowned by the sea.
Yet somehow, the ocean had calmed, soft in its waves as it rocked them gently, and Naima could have almost been tricked into believing that it too mourned the loss of Aicha.
She made her way below deck, steps audible against the rough wooden boards as she descended into the darkness.
The halls were only illuminated by candlelight, as she moved towards their private room—one room where all twenty of the girls shared bedrolls on the floor.
She heard the loud gasps and giggles of her sisters inside.
Naima paused before opening the door, pressing her ear against it to listen.
“She fought off a soldier by herself and told me to run!” The high, jovial tone of Mira made its way to Naima’s ears.
“I wish I was as brave as her.” Warmth ebbed slowly into Naima’s stomach, despite already having heard the story of how Aicha had drawn a soldier away so that Mira could escape.
Yet her little sister gushed about it now, with her exhaustion and fear left behind on the beach, making tears prick the back of her eyes.
“But did you see the way she dragged the other one into the water?” interrupted another, and a chorus of yeses echoed around her as low squeals of delight soon followed.
“She came back up by herself!” shouted another, and interruptions followed in quick succession, as if all of Naima’s sisters were recounting the story for the first time. “And the way she dived into the water to make sure I didn’t drown!”
“A warrior!”
“The best warrior!!”
Naima felt her cheeks dampen as she leaned against the door, and a rock lodged itself in her throat, accompanying the heavy pressure that grew in her temples and behind her eyes.
The urge to sob became overwhelming, and she clutched at the fabric of her own chest as if that would stave off the pain.
“She saved me.” Khowla’s voice was softer, less concerned with being heard above the rest. Yet Naima could picture how the room settled, and she could barely imagine the pain Khowla was forced to endure following the severing of her hand. “She saved all of us.”
Naima took a step back, wiping away the tears that had escaped. She took a slow breath and opened the door. Each head turned simultaneously towards Naima, and for the first time since arriving on the ship, her smile was not false.
“Let me tell you all about the time she set the invaders’ barracks on fire…”