Ashallah believed she knew all the dark corners and crevasses of Yasem. Knowledge of hidden areas and concealed spaces was an integral part of her training. From day one, midnight warriors learned to live in the shadows. Darkness - whether in the shade of a building, the cover of the catacombs, or the wide canvas of night – was always her ally.
Nevertheless, the woman in silk showed her paths through the underworld of Yasem she had never known. Fissures in the catacombs she had not explored. Pools of spring water, with caverns under the surface that led to other subterranean passages. More than a few times, Ashallah tripped and bumped into a stalagmite, while the one she followed seemed to avoid them altogether. Even the masked one in her wake struck a few, to Ashallah’s amusement.
Only when they had emerged from the depths, from a cavern in the hills that overlook Yasem, did either of the two stop.
“Finally,” Ashallah exclaimed.
The masked figure and the woman looked over their shoulders at Ashallah. Neither replied. Both settled their sights on Yasem in the distance. The city, for all its grandeur during the day, appeared as a small gathering of lights at night, while thousands more shined above. From their vantage point, Yasem seemed minuscule, so insignificant. Ashallah wondered why she had never noticed the night sky for what she saw at that moment.
Ashallah jolted forward. She almost resisted, until she found her chains in the hands of the hazel-eyed one. They locked eyes. Ashallah knew that she bore her lust on her sleeves. The woman knew it too, though she went on silently as she loosened Ashallah’s chains. Ashallah went along willingly, her typical apprehension set aside for the time.
They strode behind a boulder, where the masked one hunched over a flat rock. Ashallah noted that it had shed its blood-splattered tunic and changed masks, to a less intimidating hermit’s mask. Made of thick layers of papyrus, the mask had two eye slits, a sharp nose, and slightly curved lips. As they drew closer, Ashallah saw that the figure had a flathead hammer and chisel in its hands. She looked down to the iron shackles around her wrists.
I know this will hurt, Ashallah thought.
“The pain will be slight,” the hazel-eyed woman said as if to calm her nerves.
Ashallah straightened. Did I say it aloud? she asked herself. Or do I seem afraid?
“Pain is my companion,” Ashallah muttered, drawing upon one of her training mantras.
She held out her shackles. The masked one aligned the tip of the chisel to where a small but heavy padlock bound her cuffs together. Ashallah did not hesitate as the figure raised the hammer over its head. Nor did she flinch when she brought the hammer down on the head of the chisel. The curved bar of the padlock snapped like a twig. The figure repeated the move on her other shackle, freeing her from the restraints.
Ashallah rubbed her wrists, which were red and scratched. “That was a stupid thing, what you did back there.”
The hazel-eyed one cocked her head. “It’s customary to say ‘thank you,’ when one does a favor, especially a favor that saves your life.”
“I didn’t need your help,” Ashallah lied.
“Another few moments and you would have been dead.”
“I could have taken care of myself. And if I would have died, then I would’ve waited in Hell for that dog of a vizier to join me, that I might torment him there.”
The hazel-eyed one laughed. “I mean it,” Ashallah added.
“I don’t doubt that. Come.”
“Where?”
“Where there is fire. And food.” The hazel-eyed one reached in the side pocket of her kameez. “Wear this.”
Ashallah frowned at the thought of concealing herself once more. “Remember, you are still wanted,” said the hazel-eyed. “Best use tradition to your advantage.”
Ashallah relented. She secured the veil across her nose. The only benefit was that it smelled like the one who had given it to her. A slight fragrance, of honeysuckle and jasmine.
The hazel-eyed one led the masked figure and Ashallah up a rise until they reached a plateau. There sat a village of shepherds, many of which were taking advantage of the cool spring night by gathering around campfires as they watched their flocks. Ashallah smelled the roast lamb and flatbreads before they saw the faces of the villagers, her mouth watering. As they neared, she recognized the tribal villagers as Vedo-In, judging from their flat noses, wide eyes and dark features. After the hazel-eyed bowed to them and offered them the traditional greetings, the Vedo-In invited them to share in their supper.
Ashallah and the hazel-eyed were shown the fire where the women sat. Most were older, in their thirties and beyond, who spoke mostly about the latest child to join their tribe and the new mother. Ashallah resented being seated amongst such domestic ones, while the masked figure was shown the fire where the village elders sat. If they only knew my power, my speed, my finesse on the battlefield, Ashallah told herself. Then they would respect me. Fear me.
Her sense of insult settled when two of the village women brought a platter of lamb, stewed vegetables, and pita bread. Ashallah heaped two handfuls of each item onto her plate. She had gulped down five morsels of meat before realizing that the other women had paused to give thanks to Jaha for their bounty. Out of respect, and partly out of embarrassment, she waited until the others joined her before continuing her consumption. The village women did not seem to mind her lack of manners, but more than once, Ashallah caught the hazel-eyed staring at her with a mix a bemusement and embarrassment.
After the meal, several families offered the three of them space in their tents for the night. The hazel-eyed accepted, while the masked one and Ashallah declined. While grateful for the acts of hospitality, Ashallah had her guard up, even around the hazel-eyed. The fact that the masked figure - who had not spoken once in her presence – had gone off into the darkness further raised Ashallah’s suspicions.
She chose to sleep next to the dying embers of the fire ring, beneath the starry night. While cool enough that others required sheepskin and wool blankets, to Ashallah the air was comforting and refreshing so that she could lie without a cover. After the shepherds and their families had turned in, Ashallah found herself alone, contemplating the events of the past few days, along with her next move.
I am a child of a sunless sky. A soldier of darkness. I am midnight.
The words rang in her mind. In the silence of the night, surrounded by the village and all its quiet, she could not control the noise of her thoughts. Nor her pain.
All those women. Gone. My sister is dead. My mother is no more.
I am a child of a sunless sky.
I was attacked. Nearly raped. I was hunted in the catacombs. Imprisoned. Chained. Caged. Brought out into the light, before men, to be executed. All for their viewing pleasure.
A soldier of darkness.
I hunger for justice. For my family. For myself. But in the world of men, I know I will find none.
I am midnight.
I will need to summon all my strength. Shed my apprehension, my sense of pain. Discard any weaknesses. All of me. That I may become better, a warrior without want. Inferior to no one.
I will go out into the world of men. To conquer all. To vanquish any male who stands in my way.
I will find Hyder. I will subdue that vizier. And slit his throat.
All those who stand in my way – janissaries, the Court, the Grand Sultan himself – are foes to my cause. I will take on all of my enemies, whether men of the law or the sword, to fulfill my brand of justice. For I choose the path to retribution. I will have my vengeance.
“I am midnight,” Ashallah said softly as she stretched out her hand to the stars in the sky. She reached for a cluster, one that thinned into a narrow line. She imagined it to be a neck, the neck of a man. She extended her hands toward it. Then finger by finger, she made a fist. A strong fist. A woman’s fist. 183Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwTqCaEVsjH
