Chapter Thirty
Aster and the men stared at each other in horror and then other villagers ran out into the street.
‘Amit, the gun. Now.’
Priya ran towards them.
‘Priya, take Nikhil and get everyone out into the trees. Clear the village.’
Amit came running back with the gun and handed it to Aster, who tried to hide her dismay. This had likely been last fired in the Partition. Checking to see if it even had bullets, she was relieved to see a full round and snapped the barrel closed again.
‘This is excellent. Now get the villagers out of here. I’ll greet our welcoming party.’
‘I will stand with you.’
‘No.’
‘Yes,’ said Priya. ‘You are our guest. My husband is right.’
Standing in front of her husband, they gently brought their foreheads together and Aster felt a lump come to her throat. What was love without sacrifice?
As the villagers fled, Aster’s trembling fingers dialled her sisters. The weight of what might happen next settled heavily on her chest. She needed evidence, yes, but more than that, she needed to see their faces one last time.
The screen flickered to life, splitting into quadrants as each sister joined. Paddy’s face appeared first, the familiar Cornish coastline stretching out behind her. Aster’s heart clenched - were the children nearby? She pushed the thought away. There was no time for that now.
‘Aster?’ Paddy’s voice was sharp with concern. ‘Where are you? What’s wrong?’
Before Aster could respond, Ari and Nick’s faces filled the remaining squares, their voices overlapping in a chorus of worry.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Aster, talk to us!’
Aster opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. How could she tell them? How could she possibly explain?
A burst of gunfire in the distance made the decision for her. She flinched and saw the horror dawn on her sisters’ faces.
‘What the hell was that?’ Paddy’s voice cracked, fear bleeding through. ‘Aster, why is there gunfire? Why is Ari crying?’
Ari’s quiet sobs formed a devastating backdrop as Clem’s face suddenly filled the final square.
‘This had better be important,’ Clem began, her customary irritation faltering as she took in the scene. ‘What… what’s going on?’
Aster forced a smile, but it felt brittle on her face. ‘My turn to bring the drama, Clem. Sorry to upstage you.’ The attempt at humour fell flat, twisting into something painful. ‘Ari, Nick - I’m going to livestream what happens next. Please… please record it.’
Another burst of gunfire, closer now. Aster couldn’t stop the involuntary jerk, couldn’t hide the fear that flashed across her face.
‘Oh, God,’ Paddy whispered, her face ashen. ‘Aster, please run…’
‘I’m at the muslin plant in India,’ Aster said, her voice surprisingly steady. ‘The village is about to be under attack. I have a gun, and I’ll do my best, but…’ She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. ‘I needed to see you all. To tell you I love you. I don’t say it enough, and I’m sorry for that.’
The screen erupted into chaos, all four sisters talking at once. Their voices blended into a cacophony of love and desperation:
‘We love you too-’
‘Aster, please be careful-’
‘We’ll get help, just hold on-’
‘Don’t you dare die on us, you stubborn-’
Aster’s vision blurred with unshed tears. Her finger hovered over the mute button, knowing she needed to silence them to stay hidden, but desperately wanting to cling to their voices for just a moment longer.
‘I love you,’ she said again, her voice thick. ‘No matter what happens, please know that.’
With a shaking hand, she hit mute, cutting off their responses. The silence that followed was deafening. Aster allowed herself one shuddering breath, one moment of vulnerability, before squaring her shoulders and turning to Amit.
‘Is there somewhere we can hide but watch as they arrive?’
As she spoke, Aster felt a strange calm settle over her. The adrenaline coursing through her veins sharpened her senses, making every detail of her surroundings stand out in stark relief. The warm breeze carrying the scent of dust and distant gunpowder, the rough texture of the ancient gun in her hands, the rapid beating of her own heart - all of it blended into a surreal tapestry of what might be her final moments. It wasn’t enough - it could never be enough - but it would have to do.
Amit’s voice, tight with tension, cut through her thoughts. ‘It’s too late,’ he said, his finger pointing down the village’s main street. ‘They are here.’