Chapter 4 #2
The tree comment stung; in a bout of true hurt and adolescent rage, Marjana was refusing to see me off, retreating instead to a favorite spot in the jungle.
And so my response was sharper than I intended, sparking from my own grief.
“Is what I do not work? My duty to the Marawati keeps a roof over our heads!”
“Then allow your brother to put a roof over our heads!” she retorted, her words cracking like a whip. “He has all but begged to do so!”
He had—an offer I might have contemplated if my duty to the peris didn’t call. But I could scarcely tell my mother that. “It is not that simple, Amma,” I said instead, giving her an aggravated kiss on the brow. “I will return as swiftly as I can, God willing.”
“Until the next ‘business trip’ too promising to turn away comes along,” she replied bitterly, turning the excuse I’d given them against me.
But she sounded more resigned than angry.
“At least tell that friend of yours that if she accompanies you again and takes my kitchenware, I’m going to put her to work.
” My mother shook her head, reaching for a cooking knife.
“What a strange creature. Found her sneaking around in here before the sun came up, packing a saddlebag. As though we don’t feed guests. ”
I frowned. Dalila had been looking for provisions?
It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d done, particularly when it came to procuring her own food and drink, but she had seemed to accept that the Marawati’s cook, Hamid, wasn’t trying to poison her, and my ship—awaiting us offshore—was freshly supplied.
Odd. “I shall be sure to let her know.” I did need to check on Dalila, to see if she required assistance carrying her bags and equipment. And so I left my muttering mother to the fish and headed for the cellar.
The hatch had been left open though no smoke billowed out. Perhaps my friend had finally realized the merit of fresh air. A weak light emanated, though, as if from a single flickering lamp.
“Dalila?” I called as I made my way down the steps.
There was no response. I stepped into the main chamber, surprised to find it empty.
And not just of Dalila—but of nearly everything associated with her.
All that sat on the table now was an oil lamp close to extinguished and a carefully stacked pile of pilfered kitchen supplies.
Her experiments, her apothecary tools, her staff and her saddlebag . . . all gone.
Which perhaps shouldn’t have alarmed me—we were indeed departing tomorrow.
But I had journeyed many years with Dalila and she was never this punctual.
I had to pull her from brewing potions, cart armfuls of her possessions while she lifted nothing but her staff and whatever venomous substance was most precious to her at the time.
Between her hasty packing and gathering food . . .
I ran back up the steps. I searched the house and the grounds, calling her name to no avail as the sun slipped beneath the burning horizon. None of my family had seen Dalila since this morning and I’d been too occupied with last-minute preparations to check in with her.
Perhaps she has gone to the Marawati in advance? But when I spoke to the sailors resting around a bonfire on the beach, none had seen her.
“Apologies, nakhudha,” Varun, one of Tinbu’s old recruits, said. “Trust me, I’d remember if she asked to be rowed out to the ship; we all would.” He blushed. “Everyone’s a bit afraid of her.”
My hopes were low even before I returned to the house to find a still-sullen Marjana sitting in the courtyard, dragging a stick through the dirt.
“Ay, have you returned from the jungle?” I asked, too stressed over my companion’s disappearance to be kind. “Your grandmother needs your help; you cannot be running off to play in the trees when your family requires you.”
Marjana’s response was low. “Would it be more acceptable if I ran away to sea?”
The sarcastic rebuke was so unlike her that I was momentarily speechless. A distraction Marjana took full advantage of—shooting to her feet and shoving a bundle in my hands before I could protest.
“She said she’ll find you.”
I was flabbergasted. “She?” I glanced down at the bundle in my hands as Marjana stomped away. It was my weapon’s belt.
I frowned, still not understanding. The belt should have been in my room; yesterday I’d taken everything apart to clean the sheathes and polish my blades, leaving it disassembled to dry out.
My grandfather’s dagger with its distinctive leopard-headed hilt had been returned to its rightful place.
But in the binding meant for the meteor blade—the meteor blade Dalila had eyed when we fought over our plan of action—there was nothing.
“No,” I whispered in horror, understanding dawning over me. “Dalila, you fool.”
But it was I who was the fool and far too late. Because Dalila was already gone.
She had gone after Raksh.
* * *
The Marawati remained ready to depart at first light.
I debated the merit of delaying a few days, searching the hills and Salalah with my men for the elusive Mistress of Poisons, but I knew it was futile.
Dalila was a trained member of the Banu Sasan.
She vanished and reappeared as though slipping in and out of the al-Ghayb, spoke a dozen tongues, and could change her appearance as though a sorceress herself; there was no way I could trace her.
And so I cursed her while fearing for her.
No doubt Dalila could keep herself safe while discreetly searching the Persian Gulf’s most debauched haunts for my estranged spouse, but their possible confrontation frightened me.
Until I had been transformed, Raksh had always easily overpowered me.
He’d even been close to killing us back in Socotra.
But he was also the consummate coward, more interested in self-preservation than anything else.
Would he flee? Or would he fight? I had never seen Raksh take a human life, but not out of sentiment.
Rather like how someone might prefer not to squash a bug, but only to avoid the mess.
As for Dalila, I knew if she had the chance, her hand would not falter.
But if she hoped to learn what she could from Lab’s escapee, I doubt killing Raksh, his supposed savior, would loosen any tongues.
Needless to say, my temper was close to fraying as Mustafa helped me carry my final traveling trunks to the beach that morning. My little brother didn’t appear to notice my spirits, in a cheerful mood despite my abrupt departure as he chatted about work and family.
“And you will be happy to learn the roof has recently been repaired,” he was saying. “I know how you despise battling the leaks here.”
The comment finally drew me from my racing thoughts. “The roof?” I asked. “What roof?”
“The roof of the new house in Salalah,” Mustafa explained. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
Ah, yes, the new house in Salalah. “About that . . .” I hesitated, knowing my next words were not going to be well received. “I think it best to delay such a decision until I return.”
Mustafa spun on me so fast that he nearly dropped his half of the trunk. “What? Since when? When we discussed this, you seemed amenable . . . The owner and I have already settled on a price!”
“Ay, and who told you to do such a thing when we were still in negotiations ourselves?” I stepped closer to take the trunk’s full weight on my shoulder: In truth, I did not need my brother’s help.
I doubted I could load the trunks with anything that would make them too heavy for me to carry. “The situation has changed, Mustafa.”
“Changed?” he repeated, stunned. “What could have changed in just a few weeks?”
I was visited by a giant supernatural bird who sensed my daughter’s presence. Khayzur seemed to believe my deflection that the magic he detected here belonged to Raksh’s past presence. How long would that last, though? What if he tracked my family down in a new home and noticed it there as well?
I could not take that risk. “I am not certain Salalah is safe.”
Mustafa gave me an exasperated look. “Amina, I have worked in Salalah for ten years. My wife’s family has lived there for generations.
Marjana and Amma have visited regularly despite your protests.
There is nothing for you to worry over! No one suspects us!
No one cares! And if you are truly so concerned about people hunting down the family of the infamous nakhudha Amina al-Sirafi, why don’t you stop being her?
” He gestured to the Marawati, floating on the sparkling dawn water like a tethered cloud.
“There are plenty of retired nawakhidha who don’t sail their own ships.
Who let other captains take legitimate—”
“That is not a choice I have!” I snapped.
My brother didn’t back down; if anything, my outburst seemed to make him more determined. “And why is that, sister? What are you chasing out there that draws you away again and again?”
I seized the saddlebag from his hand. “I do not have time for this.”
Mustafa pressed his lips in an unhappy line, his gaze passing over the baggage I was carrying.
The baggage that no normal person should have been able to shoulder alone.
I was usually careful about concealing my improved strength and abilities from my family.
But I could tell from the utter lack of surprise in my brother’s face that I had not been cautious enough.
He spoke again. “We all dance around it, you know. The way you mutter to creatures no one else sees, the way you no longer seem to tire . . . By the Almighty, Amina, I once witnessed you lift your entire fishing boat off the beach to scrape barnacles when you thought you were alone. And these trips you’re so mysterious about—” His brown eyes pinned me.
“Something happened when you took that rich lady’s job in Aden.
You came back different.” He paused and his expression grew gentler.
“Sister, you are so tightly wrapped in secrets, it’s a wonder you can breathe.
But if you insist on dictating the terms of our lives while you have your adventures, you cannot hoard the reasons why. ”
I stared at my little brother, at the man he had grown into.
A respected craftsman, with a normal, loving family.
A modest, safe life; one I had been hellbent on ensuring he would enjoy and yet one that made us foreign to each other.
What could Mustafa understand of my world?
Forget the criminal aspects, the rush of a deadly fight and the stain of the worst sins .
. . How could I explain Raksh? The magic that had changed me and my bargain with the peris, things out of a fable?
What if, overwhelmed, he understandably told Hala?
And she, in turn, told her family? The thought of people discovering Marjana’s true heritage when I was not home to protect her . . .
Yet neither could I stay to look after her, and therein lay the dilemma in all my other dilemmas.
My fragile and brief hope that I might be able to balance my adventures with motherhood suddenly seemed so na?ve.
There were no good options here, and yet I confess I suddenly did want to be on my ship, away from this morass.
So, like a coward—like the pirate I still was—I seized the opportunity to make a quick exit. “Mustafa, there is no time for this right now. When I return, we shall talk. I swear.”
He was already shaking his head. “One of the times you return here, Amina, we won’t be waiting. And not because we’ve been snatched away by whatever demons live in your head. But because of you.”
He turned away without another word, sand kicking up from his bare feet. I watched him trudge home, apologies and explanations lying unspoken in my mouth. It was a terrible note on which to part and yet I held my tongue.
And then returned to the sea, fleeing just as they had all accused.