Chapter Nine #2
Karachi rises up to meet them. Wide, clean streets host a variety of different modes of transportation.
The bell of a trolley car trills, ringing high over the noise of car engines.
In the middle of the intersection, a policeman directs traffic from a pedestal with his arms. Anna spies a camel pulling a cart.
She has only ever seen one in a zoo. On the sidewalks, the people seem to be just as varied.
Some wear western styled collared shirts and slacks while others wear long tunics with their heads covered with turbans or small hats in what Anna imagines must be the traditional style.
Khiran’s hand hovers over her lower back, guiding her forward and into the crowds. She hadn’t realized her steps had slowed as she took it all in. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Karachi sees a lot of tourism. We’ll have no problem finding accommodations.” He adjusts his bag over his shoulder, frowning up at the rain. “I’m afraid we’ll need to stop by the bank before anything.”
She nods, understanding. They had taken stock of their supplies during a lull in Khiran’s seasickness. While Cassius had been kind enough to include cash along with food, the lira doesn’t do them much good in a country that deals in rupees.
Khiran leads her down the street, his eyes scanning the store-fronts as if filing the knowledge away for later.
Anna suspects she’s not entirely wrong, and she takes in the shops and the advertisements.
There seems to be a mix of the local dialect and a smattering of English decorating the signs and posters. “How long will we stay?”
“Just the night. We’ll take the first train in the morning.”
Anna frowns. “Is that necessary? I thought she couldn’t track us so long as you withhold your magic?”
“I’d prefer to avoid testing her capabilities.
Besides,” he winces, glancing at her. “Pakistan only recently gained independence. Tensions are still high and its future still uncertain. Without my magic, I am as blind to what could be coming as anyone else. I won’t risk the possibility of you getting caught in a conflict. ”
Anna sobers, threading her arm through his. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lived through one,” she says softly, a gentle reminder.
“No,” he agrees, expression dark. “But it would be the first time I couldn’t use my magic to save you if things became too dire.”
A breath, short and strangled, passes her lips, because he’s right.
Over the centuries, she had come to rely on the knowledge that he could rescue her if she ever came into too much trouble.
It hadn’t dawned on her, until this moment, how much she took comfort in his unspoken promise to never leave her to suffer—that safety was always just a blink away.
Now, fleeing by anything but mortal means could cost their lives.
Swallowing, Anna finds the courage to ask the question despite dreading the answer. “How long would it take her to find us? If you had to use it?”
Khiran’s lips thin. “Moments.”
The word lands like a bomb, shrapnel rattling in her lungs.
Moments—not even minutes.
Moments.
Khiran sees the way she pales, must feel the echo of her fear in his chest. He stops, hands settling on her shoulders and bending to meet her gaze. “We will not give her a scent to trace. We will live by mortal means, and we will be fine.”
Anna searches his face. It’s been so long since he’s lived a life without magic.
She’s not entirely sure he understands what it will look like, but there’s a determination honing the green in his irises and sharpening the line of his jaw.
And Anna knows, with everything she is, that it doesn’t matter how ill prepared he is.
He would throw himself to the fire before leading The Huntress to their steps.
The hotel room Khiran secures for them isn’t lavish, but it’s clean and within the city center.
After they drop off their bags, he leads her to a shop to purchase clothing in the local style.
While Karachi seems to host people in all sorts of dress, Khiran insists they’ll want something more traditional to blend in where they’re going.
He speaks in Urdu to the clothier, haggling the price down, as Anna trails her hand over the colorful cottons.
Outside, the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon and the sound of jazz music is filtering from the clubs while the casino slot machines ring with the sound of coin.
Khiran touches her elbow, distracting her from her thoughts. In his other hand is a bag full of clothing—mostly long sleeved kurta and kurtis with some traditional trousers called churidars. “Come, we’ll find something to eat and return to our room.”
Anna’s stomach gives a hollow pang of approval at the thought of food.
Their last meal was on the ship that morning.
Considering how little Khiran was able to keep down the past week, she’s certain he must be starving.
“Did you have somewhere in mind?” There certainly seems that there’s no shortage of choices.
Khiran’s gaze travels the busy street, reading the signs. He must find one appealing, because he takes her hand and leads her across the street. “What’s the phrase? When in Rome?”
Anna is hit by the smell of spices the moment they enter the small, unassuming restaurant. There are only a dozen tables, but most are already taken. If the scent hadn’t already convinced her that Khiran chose well, the amount of people certainly would have.
He leads her to a small table in the corner, barely large enough for them both. “Any requests?”
Shaking her head, Anna’s eyes travel to a plate being served to the table adjacent to them and her stomach gives a hungry lurch. “Surprise me.”
He orders nihari, a hearty stew slow cooked with lamb shank and served with a side of naan.
Anna lets the flavorful spices sit on her tongue, memorizing the taste.
She tries not to think about how much Jiro would have enjoyed it, or how he would have asked Khiran a dozen questions about where and how it’s made.
Chicago, Silas had said. That’s where he took him. Anna wonders if he has a warm meal in his belly while listening to jazz, too.
After they finish eating, they start the walk back to their hotel.
The sun has set during their meal, the bright hues of sunset darkening to an inky black swathed in stars.
Anna catches sight of a low hanging crescent moon peeking between the buildings as they walk.
The city was beautiful during the day, but it absolutely thrives at night.
Music spills out onto the street, notes of jazz and rock and roll reaching her with every door they pass.
Despite the late hour, there seems to be just as many people on the street as when they pulled into the dock that afternoon.
It reminds her of New York, the way this city doesn’t seem to have any intention of sleeping.
Khiran tells her it’s known as the City of Lights.
She can’t help but feel that the name is fitting.
Ahead of them, a large group of people spill out onto the sidewalk, chatting animatedly.
It’s only once they get a little closer that she realizes it’s a theatre of some kind.
Anna pauses in front of a poster, the bright colors and the woman’s printed stare snagging her attention.
The words are not in English, but the letters are.
Intezaar.
Khiran follows her gaze. “It’s a film.” He gestures to the printed face of the woman. “That’s Noor Jehan. She’s made quite a name for herself. They’re calling her the Queen of Melody.”
Anna has never heard of her, but she wants to. She is a world away from home and she wants to learn what this new landscape looks like. What it sounds like.
She takes Khiran’s hand, walking backward and leading him toward the theatre with a smile. “Let’s catch the next showing. We’ve never been to the movies together.” Her eyes gleam.
Khiran hesitates. “We have a long journey ahead of us. You should rest.”
“I can rest anytime. Who knows when I’ll be back here?” She tilts her chin, adopting the impish smile he used to wear so well. “Besides, what better way to start our new mortal lives than with a first date?”
He looks more insulted than compelled. “If memory serves, I took you dancing for our first date.”
“In another life,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Don’t you want to romance me in this one, too?”
Khiran’s expression softens, his gaze adoring. “You won’t understand it. It’s in Urdu.”
“Then explain it to me afterwards,” she murmurs, lacing their fingers. “Tell it to me like a story when we lay down in our bed for the night.” Her smile falls, a desperate longing taking its place. “Please. Let’s just forget that we’re running. Even if just for a few hours.”
He reaches for her, fingers brushing her chestnut hair from her face. “How could I possibly deny you?” He sighs, but there’s a fondness in it. “Let’s see when the next showing is.”
Her answering smile is as bright as the street lamps lining the sidewalks.
Language is a fascinating thing.
Throughout the film, Anna doesn’t know what’s being said, but she understands what’s happening well enough.
Some things need no interpretation. The way the music swells and dips, the facial expressions and hand gestures, the way the camera zooms and pans, is a language of its own.
The details may be lost to her, but the story is not.
In the static filled frames of black and white, Anna can tell it’s a love story. Knows that the beautiful woman is blind and waiting for her childhood love in the rural town of their youth. Feels the longing in her dark stares, feels her grief.
Anna understands why Noor Jehan, the woman whose face is printed on the movie poster that snagged her attention, has earned the title Queen of Melody.
Her voice is melodious and haunting; ringing like a bell while the notes fall like bright colored confetti on the breeze.
A combination of lively and soft that Anna finds captivating.
She understands the shadows in Khiran’s eyes when the story ends in flames.
The next morning, the train station proves to be just as busy as the city it caters to.
People board with their luggage at their hips, shuffling down the narrow aisles as they search for a seat.
Anna and Khiran manage to sit together despite how full the car is, but only because he was able to convince an older gentleman to give up his seat.
Judging by the congratulatory smile behind his salt and pepper beard, Anna suspects Khiran told him they were newlyweds.
She finds it fitting, being that they decided to celebrate this new mortal life they’re embarking on.
The train moves through the city, buildings rushing past. Anna knew Karachi was large, but she hadn’t understood the full scope of it until the beautiful architecture failed to give way to open fields.
Instead, she watches as the streets become narrower and the buildings grow closer.
Watches as shops give way to street vendors and food carts. Then, she sees the tents.
Khiran follows her gaze, a regret lining his expression.
“Refugees. The partitioning of India brought a mass migration, both in and out of the country.” There’s a cadence to his voice, an undercurrent.
Anna has been sheltered from more current events, but she understands what kinds of horrors accompany upheaval.
“There’s so many…” Anna murmurs, her breath fogging up the glass. She leans back, her hands fisting in her lap. It’s such a contrast to the part of the city they enjoyed last night, a study in opposites. Of haves and have-nots.
Khiran puts a hand over hers, speaking low. “You must let it go. You cannot help anymore than I can. Not anymore.” He waits until she meets his gaze, his eyes shadowed. “You can’t go back to saving others at the sacrifice of yourself, Anna. Promise me.”
Everything that she is recoils, bitterness coating her tongue in words that are better left unsaid.
She swallows them down instead, looking back out the window.
Khiran has sacrificed his magic—his very nature—to stay by her side and keep her safe.
She owes him the same level of dedication.
Even though the thought makes her stomach go sour.
“I promise.”