Thick, thorny bramble scraped my face as I pushed through it and toward the hidden cave in the escarpment. Gasping for air, I squeezed through the fissure into the darkness, my lips moving in silent prayer to Almaqah.
CHAPTER 8
I moved slowly, but still I stumbled over a wrapped body. This place was an ancient tomb where six family members rested for eternity. Momma had showed me this place many years ago, and told me I should come here if there was trouble.
I clamped my hand over my mouth and tried to calm my breathing. Caves amplified every little sound. My heart pounded with such force, I was sure it sounded like a drumbeat those men could hear for miles.
I listened beyond my hammering heart, heard faraway shouts. Had they passed by? Were all five men searching? Flattening my back against the cool rock wall, I asked the dead to forgive my intrusion.
After a while, my legs gave out and I slumped to the ground. I stayed until dark, my body uncurling when the last sliver of sunlight disappeared. On hands and knees, I crept from the mountain tomb.
I waited a long time in the thicket near our house. No sound emerged. No smoke from the cooking fire wafted out the doorway. I don’t know how long I waited. Fear paralyzed me.
Fear. I didn’t like it. It disabled my mind and limbs.
Momma. Momma. Momma. I couldn’t think further than that.
A gust of wind pushed me forward. The gods making me move. It was the spark I needed.
I went to the doorway and blinked into the darkness. I smelled it first. The putrid odor of blood and death. “Momma?” I whispered.
I treaded across the room toward the lantern, my hands shaking as I fumbled to light it.
“No!”
Momma lay in a drying pool of blood. Her head gone. Each of her strong limbs severed from her body. Flies amassed at each gory amputation. I flung a jug of water over them. Most scattered. I lit the aromatic lavender that keeps away flies, then sat next to her dismembered body and wailed to the heavens. My guts heaved, my limbs shook, my heart was shredded into a thousand pieces.
How did those men kill Momma? A jinni was stronger than a hundred men and faster than a hawk!
I soon found the answer.
A small rock among the broken pottery. A slingshot. They must have caught Momma unawares while she sat weaving baskets inside. One perfectly aimed shot through the doorway would fell a giant. Or a jinni.
“Momma,” I whispered through the tears flowing down my cheeks.
The quick hoo-hoo of a hoopoe bird startled me. I leapt up, senses ignited. I had to do something.
But what? The wind gusted through the doorway and with it revenge, which swirled around my body.
“I’m done with fear, Momma.” I waved away the most bloodthirsty flies, moved her severed limbs close to her body, and rolled her up in the carpet. “I promise to get your head back and give you a proper burial.”
I pulled off my bloodstained dress, exchanging it for a clean one. I tossed a few pieces of bread, figs, dates, a bunch of green leafy fenugreek, an overripe cucumber, and a handful of walnuts into a pack. I slipped a slingshot inside as well.
I tore away an old frayed rug. In the hole beneath, Momma kept her coins. I took them all, pouring the heaping handful into a small leather satchel I wore under my dress. Revenge costs money. I removed my gold bracelet and dropped that in there too. Jewelry would attract the attention of thieves and charlatans.
I stood over my makeshift burial wrappings. “I love you, Momma. I’ll make you proud.”
Outside, the full moon illuminated the valley. Good for traveling by.
I stood at the roadside. Right or left?
“Almaqah,” I whispered to the heavens. “Which way did they go?” I looked up and down the road.
Almaqah focused his moonbeams on a water skin in the middle of the road. Momma’s water skin. One must have dropped off the camel.
“Thank you, Almaqah.” I scooped it up and walked in that direction.
They were hours ahead, and yet it seemed like they had left a lifetime ago.
I continued down the road and said a prayer to Almaqah. “Take pity on me, Almaqah. Momma was murdered and I don’t know why. I beg of you, slow down the murderers so I can take my revenge.”
Almaqah was silent.
“One day I will build you a wondrous temple.”
The moon, Almaqah’s moon, glowed a little brighter.
I walk-ran for an hour until I spotted a village snugged at the grassy base of a craggy peak. In the middle of the road leading to the village was an upended basket. Momma’s basket! It had fallen off the camel.
“Praise be to your power, mighty Almaqah.” New energy flowed through my limbs. I hitched up my dress and sprinted up the road.
The village was peaceful. Supper aromas wafted through palm-frond roofs. A baby cried. A child laughed. A man coughed. The normal sounds of life calmed my flayed and pounding heart.
I found the inn easily. Five camels loaded with Momma’s possessions couched nearby. Keeping in the shadows, I crept toward the camels. I went through each bag and basket looking for Momma’s head. It was gone. The murderers must have taken the valuable trophy—the proof of their success—inside.
I waited. Those men would eat, drink, and fuck, maybe take a quick nap, but then they would leave. Traveling at night was best.
While the torpid moon crawled across the sky, I chewed a few walnuts and ate the overripe cucumber. When the murderers finally emerged, they staggered toward the camels, their words slurred, their drunken laughter perverse to my ears.
I studied each one in the light of the full moon. The leader had big ears that stuck out from his hair. He held a bag. The second had a squashed, deformed nose, like it had been broken many times. The third walked with a lopsided hitch. The fourth reminded me of a bird, with his beaked nose and flitting movements. The fifth, the tall man who had spotted me hiding in the bushes, had a long pointed nose and thin lips. I burned their faces into my memory.
The murderers flopped onto their saddles, and after a harsh swat with a stick, the camels plodded out of the village. They never saw me crouched in the darkness.
I could not follow them. I had no camel.
Three prostitutes came out of the inn and shook their fists at the empty road.
“Bastard.” She spat in the dirt.
“Flea-infested ass.” The other made a vile gesture.
“Die a thousand deaths,” said the third.
Since we shared a common enemy, I stepped from the shadows and hurried across the road. “Kind women, may I ask a question?”
The suspicious-eyed prostitutes looked from one to the other.
“One of those bastards your husband?” one asked, her voice brittle with bitterness.
“No, but I need to ask you about them.”
The second prostitute flapped her hand. “Go away. We’re angry. They cheated us. We have no patience for your stupid questions.”
I plucked three silver coins from my pouch. “One for each.”
The prostitutes pinned their distrustful gaze on my hand.
“Go ahead, ask.” One reached for the coins.
I curled my fingers around the silver. “Tell me what you know about those men.”
“Why? What’s your interest in them?” Her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms.
Tell the truth or lie? My philosophy teacher embraced honesty. To a point. Tell only as much as is necessary for the situation, he had said.