Текст книги "Darkest Before Dawn"
Автор книги: Maya Banks
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
CHAPTER 5
HONOR awoke with the first rays of sun that crept over the horizon, bathing the area in its pale light. She emitted a mental groan because all she wanted to do was sleep. For days. Even as uncomfortable as she was among the rock formations and the sand biting into her skin.
The wind had kicked up, showing promise of being as forceful as the night before when she’d fought to control the swirling hem of her robe.
She could have sneaked into the village in the dark of night and gone to the small river that was the life’s blood of this village. It was where the people bathed, did their washing, got their drinking water and did any number of other daily chores. She could have washed her wounds and replenished her water supply, but she needed a small clay or metal pot—even a tin cup—to boil the water in now that she had run through the untainted water she’d gotten from the clinic.
But she wasn’t fool enough to think she wouldn’t have been discovered. Though the village was quiet and peaceful, not one that had yet been overtaken by outsiders, and they hadn’t had to defend themselves from an outside attack, she knew they would have been trained, their men, young and old; even the boys and some of the women as well would have prepared themselves for the eventuality of occupation. And they no doubt had nightly watch patrols, just to ensure that they weren’t victim to a surprise attack in the dead of night.
There wasn’t a village that took for granted that they were impervious to the plights of so many others. And as more refugees from other decimated villages fled to villages just like this, the danger to communities rose. Terrorist cells and fanatics saw them as easy targets and as nothing more than the expansion of their empire. They didn’t see humans, good and decent people who hurt no one, who went about their daily life only wanting to be left in peace. People like those who’d struck at the relief center with such savagery had no humanity whatsoever. They saw themselves as superior to these simpletons, useless as anything but farmers and traders. Their women created beautiful accessories, clothing, decorative beading and fancier headdresses and long flowing gowns. People traveled far on their trade days to buy from the villagers. It was just another way they supported themselves and were able to sustain a livelihood.
As Honor slowly began moving, testing the limits and constraints of her body, pain shuddered through her, but she grimaced and continued on as if she hadn’t felt the protests of a hundred muscles.
She focused mostly on her knee, as it was her most serious injury. She still wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with it, but the fact that she could walk on it without collapsing told her that it was bearable, and it would keep her moving toward her objective. She just had to move around and loosen up her muscles.
If only she’d been able to find other medications housed in the medical area of the relief center. Muscle relaxers would be a miracle. But all she had was antibiotics and what were considered over-the-counter pain relievers in the United States—ibuprofen and acetaminophen. Even if she’d been able to uncover the stronger narcotic pain relievers, she would have left them because she couldn’t afford to take anything that would impair her. She had to be sharp and on her toes at all times, and the pain, as unwelcome as it was, certainly kept that edge for her. She couldn’t relax when every movement hurt, and it reminded her to keep in character at all times, as if she were an actor in a movie—but this was no movie. This was the role of her life.
She slowly swallowed the last sips of water, licking her parched, cracked lips to alleviate the dryness, and allowed the soothing cool to trickle down her throat. She had no desire to eat again, and she had only a few MREs and one protein bar left. While she could replenish water in the village, she wasn’t so sure about food. She had no money to buy it and only one possible item she could barter with. But she could go far longer without food than water, so water was her primary focus. And if she could find things she could fashion into bandages and possible clothing, then she could switch out the only garment she wore. It was dangerous to appear in the same manner of dress every day, especially in a different location every day. Eventually someone would notice. People would talk. The maniacs pursuing her would put two and two together and they’d know they were close to capturing her. Worse, they’d know exactly what she looked like and would identify her on sight.
Her fingers closed around the handle of the sharp dagger concealed in the folds of her clothing and secured to the tie around her waist keeping the material in check. She’d brought it primarily as a means of protection, but the true reason crept into her mind more and more on a daily basis.
In the aftermath of the attack and with her panic at epic levels, after she’d seen what those monsters had done to her friends and knowing that what they’d do to her would be ten times worse and in no way merciful, she’d taken the knife because she’d promised herself that while she would not go down without a fight and that she would fight to live—to survive—at all costs, if there came a time when she knew all was lost and capture was inevitable . . . She closed her eyes, shutting it out. Or trying to. But it was there. The promise she’d rashly made that horrible day. She’d kill herself before allowing them to overtake her and take her prisoner.
It went against every grain. This wasn’t who she was. It never had been. Only in a weak moment of panic had she lamented the fact that she hadn’t died with the others, and it shamed her even now. She was a fighter. She was strong. Taking her own life seemed the ultimate act of cowardice. And yet she wasn’t an idiot. She knew she’d die anyway but only after days, possibly weeks of endless pain, degradation and torture. And she never wanted to get to a point where she begged someone else to kill her. Her pride was too great. She refused to give them that satisfaction. If it came to that, she’d do the deed herself and deprive them of their hollow victory.
Knowing she was wasting time and, if she was honest, spending way too much time avoiding the inevitable pausing to bolster her flagging courage, she pushed herself slowly and painfully to her feet and wrapped the ends of the sack carrying her now-meager supplies, tucking it within the folds of her garment. She secured it to her waist with the tie circling her midsection, leaving her hands free to defend herself if necessary.
She’d rigged the tie so that one firm yank would immediately loosen the robe so that it was easily pulled free of her body and she could better flee. But with the pillows still secured to parts of her body with miles of tape, being free of the robe wouldn’t give her that much more speed.
But the dagger would come in handy. If she could get enough of a start, she could slash at the tape as she ran, eventually freeing herself of all encumbrances, and be able to pick up speed. She just had to pray that her knee held out.
When she peered around the tallest and widest rock she’d sought refuge behind, she was surprised to see that the road leading to the village was quite busy for this early in the morning. There were people walking in groups. Some alone. Some pulling small wooden wagons by hand, others urging a mule forward as the animal pulled a cart behind it.
She swept a glance over the village below and saw various booths set up, people already putting their wares on display and readying themselves for customers. It was obviously a market day in the village, one that drew many from outlying areas.
Allowing a small exhale of relief, she looked for an opportunity to slip from behind her secluded shelter and fall in to the mix of people making their way to the village below. Hiding in plain sight. Her pursuers wouldn’t expect her to openly mingle with others in broad daylight. Not when she’d only traveled by night thus far and had hidden during the day to rest. Or so she told herself. If she dwelled on any other possibility, she’d stay in her current position, too afraid to move, and she’d lose her only opportunity to replenish her supplies before she once more took flight and forged ahead in her quest for freedom.
When there was a break in the parade of people, she hurriedly strode toward the road, taking her place like she was just one of the others on their way to market, but she was careful to assume the stooped-over shuffle of a much older woman. Her hand automatically went to her veil to ensure that it covered all but her eyes, and she kept them downcast so she chanced looking no one directly in the eye.
Then she glanced down at her hands before burying them in the layers of material flowing from her waist. There was still swelling, and dirt covered the cuts and lacerations, only giving the impression of a woman who’d worked a lifetime with her hands. She’d been careful to wash away any dried, crusted blood; her fingernails were broken to the quick and dirt covered them, embedded around the cuticles, coating the area where they’d been ripped away from her skin.
She was near the outskirts of the village and she could hear sounds bursting from the small populace. There was even music in the distance. Already haggling had begun and the booths were alive with people seeking to barter for items or buy them.
“Good day to you, sister.”
Honor stiffened but forced herself not to overreact to the man who’d slipped up beside her undetected. She’d been too focused on the goings-on in the village and hadn’t paid her fellow travelers the attention she should have. The man had spoken in one of the less common dialects. Had it been a test?
Before she could summon a response, he continued in a low voice, as if not wanting to be overheard by anyone. “There are outcasts here. They look for something. The villagers are wary. They surround the village and are searching the village thoroughly. A woman alone cannot be too careful. If you wish, you may travel with me. It would be an honor to aid an elder of our people.”
Did he know who she was? How could he? Had she not been as careful as she’d thought? Was he warning her because he knew she was the one whom the militant faction searched for? And was he merely offering her reassurance that he wouldn’t betray her by playing along with her disguise and calling her an elder of their people? Or was there something more sinister at play? Was he one of the very men she had to evade at all costs?
There was little she could do. If she suddenly fled, she’d certainly draw attention to herself. And again, she doubted the assholes hunting her thought she would have the balls to go into that village with them there, so close she could smell them. And if she traveled with this man who looked to be older, it would only add credibility to her disguise.
He was younger than she pretended to be, but he was not a young man and likely had a wife or wives and children. Perhaps in his forties, but it was hard to tell because hard work aged the people here far before their time.
“I thank you, my brother, and good day to you as well.” Then injecting a note of fear in her voice, as would be expected, she turned but was careful not to meet his eyes, and she kept her head bowed in a gesture of subservience. “Why are they here? Is this not a peaceful village? What is it that they seek this day? And are we safe?”
She’d thought through every single word and purposely made her voice sound as aged as she appeared. She wanted no hint of an accent and she was very good at the languages of the Middle East, even the obscure ones that verged on extinction. She breathed a sigh of relief when she could detect no error in her effort. She only hoped a native hadn’t picked up on something she herself couldn’t hear in her voice.
“There is talk that the group that calls themselves A New Era seek an American woman who escaped a relief center bombing while all other workers perished. They won’t stop until they capture her, so they are spreading themselves far and wide and splitting up so they can cover more ground. The villagers are uneasy. They fear this abomination will destroy the village and expand the area they have absolute control of. If this woman is found, she would be given up in hopes that the fanatics would spare them in exchange.”
Honor was more sure than ever that this man knew she was the woman being hunted. Why he had offered to help her, she didn’t know. But then perhaps he only wanted to lure her in, give her a false sense of security so he could be the one to hand her over to A New Era and reap the reward.
She didn’t have time to ponder the choice or mull it over in her mind. It would be a dead giveaway, and no elderly woman would turn down the protection of another when apprised of the situation, so she did the only thing she could do. The only option available to her.
“I am grateful for your protection and gladly accept. I have need of only a few things. I have no desire to be caught in the slaughter of innocent lives.”
“May Allah be with us both, my sister,” he said formally. “Come, walk with me and we will acquire the things you need so you can be on your way. And may Allah walk with you wherever you go.”
He knew. He had to know. And yet he acted as though he wanted to help her. She was both relieved and grateful but also terrified all at the same time. She hated feeling so exposed. She hated someone knowing that she was the one the intruders were here for. Guilt swamped her. She didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of innocent people. She didn’t want to be responsible for an entire village being decimated. And she didn’t want to cause the death of a man who knew who she was and was helping her regardless.
She fell into step beside him and he slowed his pace to match hers so he didn’t leave her behind.
“Are you injured?”
He asked in a mild, concerned voice that put Honor on edge even more. She couldn’t afford to trust anyone. What if he was leading her directly to the men hunting her?
She emitted a soft laugh, roughening her voice to sound hardened by work and age. “When you get to be my age, your bones hurt and you don’t move as quickly as you did in your youth. But I am well. I still manage to get around just fine.”
He nodded, seeming to accept her explanation. They continued on in silence until they reached the small dwellings of the village. From underneath lowered lashes, she surveyed the area with a keen eye. At the river, her prime objective, several women were doing their morning laundry. The mood seemed light, but perhaps they didn’t know of the danger that had infiltrated their village.
She would make her way to the river first because it would give her an opportunity to view the booths and see if any had items she needed. She would be okay for food for a few more days, but it only seemed logical to restock if possible because she had no way of knowing when she’d get another opportunity.
The only thing she had of value that wouldn’t draw immediate suspicion was an intricate, decorative bracelet that had been a gift from a grateful family whose son she’d tended to, and she had been warm and reassuring when the child was scared. She knew it was of value and that it was something the family couldn’t afford to simply give away, but it would have been an insult to refuse the offering, and now she was glad she hadn’t. It should be enough to buy food and another garment so she could change her appearance and alternate her manner of dress.
“Where do you seek to go, sister?” the man asked.
“The river,” she said simply. “I have need of washing and to get enough water to travel back from where I came.”
He studied her a brief moment, clearly weighing the truth of her words.
“I’ll go retrieve the water for you. I have containers I can offer.” He said so as if he knew that her containers were not those used here, that they were plastic bottles that looked decidedly out of place. “You go find what it is you seek in the village and I will return to you when I’ve gotten the water.”
She nodded and inclined her head in a gesture of respect and of gratitude. Then she turned and shuffled slowly down the street lined with booths and all manner of things for sale. She needed to find someone who offered not only preserved food but also clothing or at least material she could fashion into a garment as she’d done with the large bolt of material she’d uncovered in the relief center, because she had only one thing to use as payment, which meant if she couldn’t find a vendor who offered both, she would have to make a choice.
She stopped at several, pretending interest and even exchanging pleasantries in their language fluently, always mindful not to allow the natural youthfulness of her voice to slip in and to maintain the cracked, rough voice of a much older woman.
All the while she scanned the area, meticulously studying the crowd for anyone who looked out of place. The residents of the village didn’t seem uneasy, which told Honor that her pursuers were being very discreet, just waiting for their prey to be seen.
Finally she found a vendor that offered not only a variety of flavorful, preserved food that would last her many weeks if she consumed only what was necessary to keep her going, but also bolts of material. Hijabs and long flowing robes in a variety of styles and colors were on display. It was all she needed apart from the water her anonymous protector was collecting for her. She needed to wrap this up and leave this place before she brought disaster on the innocent people who made their home here. She wouldn’t trade their lives for hers. How could she ever live with herself afterward, knowing she’d sacrificed an entire community of good people just so she survived?
No, she would leave immediately and find a place to hunker down until nightfall so she could begin her journey again. Each day brought her closer and closer to safety, so much so that she could taste the sweetness of victory. But she wasn’t arrogant enough to relax her guard no matter how close she was to safety, because such a grave error would get her killed.
An older woman tended the booth, and she was reserved but had an air of welcome and friendliness that put Honor at ease. Careful to not make a mistake in language, she concentrated hard on the words forming in her mind and was extremely conscious not only to ensure that she had the sound of an older woman with a harsher voice but also to hold the accent and render it as flawlessly as she was able.
To her advantage, the entire country had many spoken languages, despite its small size, and many of its people spoke multiple dialects, so as long as she got close to the correct accent and didn’t betray her American roots, if the woman detected any subtle differences she would just attribute it to originating from a separate region.
With deference and respect, she told the woman what she required and then pulled out the intricately fashioned decorative piece of jewelry and asked if this would suffice as payment for the food and clothing she asked for.
The woman took the piece from Honor and inspected it closely, turning it over and over to catch all angles in the light. Then she looked back at Honor, honesty reflected in her gaze.
“It is too much for what you ask. Please, choose something else to your liking. This is a most valuable piece.”
Honor’s gaze flickered to the other offerings the woman had, weighing what she could logically carry with her. The load of an extra outfit would be heavy enough. The food would be inconsequential. But then she remembered she needed a bowl to boil the water from the river and a source of flame to start a fire in case the fluid ran out in the lighter she’d picked up from the clinic. Thank God for the addiction of one of the workers to cigarettes and the fact that he routinely sneaked them during slow periods.
“A bowl,” Honor added. “And a flint for making fire. Do you have those things?”
The woman’s shrewd gaze swept over Honor, her eyes probing deep as if uncovering every secret hidden within. Her scrutiny made Honor feel uncomfortable and vulnerable, neither a pleasant emotion to endure.
“You look as though you have pain,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “With age comes pains and aches we have no control over. Come with me to my home and I’ll collect the items you requested, and I will also give you a medicinal paste to apply over the muscles or joints that pain you the most. It will give you relief yet won’t impair you in any way. My husband will watch over my display while we are gone.”
Paranoia filled Honor. It was as if these people knew exactly who she was and for whatever reason sought to aid her. Okay, so two people didn’t constitute everyone, but it was not a coincidence that the only two people she’d come into direct contact with seemed to know her plight—and had offered safe passage.
Though she appreciated the gesture and it brought tears to her eyes to know there was so much good in a world that seemed to be ruled by evil, the very last thing she wanted was for these people to suffer because they not only had not turned her in, but had offered her help and were in effect hiding her.
But to reject the woman’s kindness would be an insult of the highest order, so Honor nodded and softly thanked her. The other woman smiled and then motioned to a man who was several yards away speaking to another villager.
They spoke in low tones and at some point her husband looked up at Honor, his eyebrows going up in surprise, and oddly, admiration—respect—flickered through his eyes before it was quickly swept away.
Did everyone know who she was? Her panic level was beginning to overwhelm her. She could barely breathe. Only the knowledge that they were out there. Close. Watching and waiting. Hunting. And that innocents could very well be killed were Honor to be discovered, because nothing mattered to these people except their objective. Only knowing that she could be responsible for senseless bloodshed caused her mounting hysteria to be pushed back, and she walked calmly with the woman to one of the small dwellings a short distance from where her booth had been set up.
Once inside, Honor allowed herself to relax just a little. She didn’t feel as exposed in here, even though she knew she wasn’t safe and that the walls of the small abode only gave the illusion of protection. It would take no strength at all to burst through the closed door in front, so if someone wanted in here, there was nothing to stop them.
The woman quickly and efficiently gathered the items Honor had requested and then took a goodly amount of a thick paste from a bowl she kept on a shelf and carefully rolled it in layers of breathable cloth, forming a small, compact packet that Honor could easily secrete on her body or simply carry in her bag.
She had carried the items from the booth Honor had requested and helped Honor pack everything in the makeshift bag. After seeing that it was merely a blanket with the ends gathered into a haphazard knot to keep items from escaping, she made a tsking sound and left Honor alone for a moment, returning mere seconds later with a sack that was of sturdier material and had not only a drawstring to close the opening but a strap that could be worn over her shoulder, cross body, so her hands would be free at all times.
Honor looked directly into the woman’s eyes, her gaze open and unflinching as her new protector secured the bag over Honor’s clothing. She dropped any pretense because it was obvious the woman knew exactly who Honor was. And she had to know why.
“Why are you helping me?” Honor asked softly in the woman’s native language. “You risk much to go against an army such as the one hunting me.”
Anger blazed in the other woman’s eyes and for a moment she was silent before she once more composed herself and the anger subsided after a few moments.
“They are an abomination,” she hissed, betraying her outward look of calm. “They do not do Allah’s work. They are not Allah’s sons. They betray every true believer, those who know the truth. They kill their own kind. They kill those who oppose them. They kill the foreigners who only seek to give aid to our people. They do not do God’s work. They do the devil’s. They want power and glory and they want to be both revered and feared. And if they aren’t stopped, not one single person, Muslim or those who follow any other religion or belief, who doesn’t embrace their sinful ways will be spared. They will not stop at the countries and regions they currently occupy and terrorize. Even now, they expand, like a plague, bringing death and destruction to all they touch. They will send loyal servants into the world and we will see a time such as no one has ever seen before. Where no place is safe. No country is safe. The entire world will know what it is like to be here, to be one of us, and live every single day in fear of dying or losing a loved one to senseless, godless violence. And then what will we do? Where will we go? And who will stop them?”
The woman took a breath, her impassioned statement so honest and earnest that the words had spilled forth, that she barely took the time to breathe as she confided her fears—the unvarnished truth—to Honor.
“They have fooled many,” the woman admitted. “They act godly. They are well versed in the Qur’an and they are masters at twisting the holy words, making them appear to mean what they do not. Many who follow them truly believe they are doing as Allah wills, that they are serving him and will be richly rewarded for their service.
“And this group operates on fear and hatred,” she said in disgust. “Once initiated into the ranks of the group, disobedience or anything that could be construed as disloyalty is considered a crime against Allah and is punishable by death. And it is not quick or merciful.”
She shuddered, sorrow touching her eyes as though she had firsthand knowledge of the things she related to Honor.
“They are used as examples in order to keep the others in line. They are praised and their egos stroked for not falling out of line and for proving their absolute dedication to their ‘cause.’ Those who don’t are tortured horribly, and others, the faithful followers, are forced to inflict the torture as a way of hardening them. It’s portrayed as an honor to be able to aid in taking the life and soul of one who has betrayed them. In the end, when the victim has reached the end of his endurance and death is imminent, he is beheaded at a group gathering and is cursed to hell, his every alleged sin related before everyone. Then and only then is his head cut off and then they celebrate . . .”
She broke off again and glanced one more at Honor, this time more than sorrow reflected in her eyes. They were awash with tears and grief. Honor understood such grief. The kind that choked you, threatened to shut you down. The kind that made you numb and almost unfeeling except for that keen sense of loss. And you embraced it because you didn’t want to feel anymore. You didn’t want to remember.
Unable to hold back, Honor reached across the short distance and laid her hand over the old woman’s and squeezed in a gesture of comfort but also solidarity. To let her know she believed as this woman did. That Honor found the things she’d related as abhorrent as the woman had.
“You lost someone to this faction,” Honor said quietly.
More tears glittered brightly in the woman’s eyes, and for a moment she dropped her gaze as though collecting herself. She placed her other hand atop Honor’s so that Honor’s hand was now sandwiched between both of hers.
“Yes. A son. He wasn’t evil. He was misguided. He thought what the group stood for, what they pretend to stand for, was right, and he had a strong sense of honor and he wanted to protect his homeland, his family. He wanted to provide for us so that his father and I would not have to work so hard any longer. By Allah, he did it for us,” she said in a stricken, pained voice full of guilt that wasn’t hers to bear, but she felt it nonetheless. And again, Honor understood that feeling. She still grappled with survivor’s guilt, of being the only one to have lived through the murderous attack on the place where she’d volunteered.
The older woman paused, going quiet, and the silence stretched between the two women. The mother was lost in thought as if in a distant place, lamenting decisions of long ago and likely blaming herself for not being able to stop her son. Her heart went out to this woman. A mother grieving for her son, a woman who despite her strong religious beliefs and her devout spirit felt hatred that at times she felt ashamed of. Honor was sure of it.
“What happened to him?” Honor softly prompted.
The woman took a difficult swallow and then reached for a small cup containing water and sipped to ease the dryness of her mouth and enable her to speak further.
“At first he was devout. The perfect soldier. He climbed the ranks quickly, impressing his superiors with his intellect and the fact that he was an excellent strategist. But the longer he was there, the more he saw, the more he began to understand. He began to question. First himself, because he was still reasoning out in his mind what was wrong when it had felt so right in the beginning.
“But then they grew bolder, more aggressive. Targeting the innocent for no other reason than they could. They began to expand their grip on their territory, always greedy and wanting more. Complete domination. They felt invincible, that no nation could stop them. Not even the best military forces in the world. Their plans shifted and they began to think on a much larger scale, bolstered by their many successes. They were remorseless, godless monsters who thought nothing of killing women and children. Unarmed men. Of destroying peaceful villages that had never taken up arms against another and for that matter didn’t even possess the weapons to do so. They were conquered effortlessly and every single man, woman and child was executed, the children being killed first, in front of their parents so that they felt the agony of their loss. They went down the line, killing all of the children first while their parents waited an eternity, grieving, hopeless, blaming themselves for not protecting their children. Only when the last child had been slaughtered did they start on the adults, and as with the children, they shot the women first so their husbands had to watch them die. Even worse, many were raped, right in front of their husbands, and there was nothing their husbands could do, no way for them to help. It drove them mad and when it finally came to them, they welcomed death, prayed for it and embraced it because they could no longer live with the horror of having their entire family violated and murdered right in front of their eyes.”
