Текст книги "Darkest Before Dawn"
Автор книги: Maya Banks
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
“You don’t have to continue,” Honor whispered, the woman’s sorrow so heavy in the room that Honor’s chest was clenched and tears burned, threatening to fall. “This hurts you far too much. I don’t want to make you relive it all over again.”
The woman tried to smile, but all that came of it was a hint of a grimace.
“I relieve it every single night when I go to bed. I relive it every single rising. I relive it every hour of every day. There is no banishing it from my mind.”
Honor closed her eyes, long-held-back tears leaking down her cheeks. She would have to rub more henna on her face just in case before she left the woman’s dwelling.
“My son was sickened. The truth was revealed to him in a vision from Allah himself. Allah revealed to him the group’s true agenda. That they were instruments of evil and not good. Never good. And that my son should leave at once.”
She sucked in an unsteady breath, her voice cracking, and she had to swallow back a keen of heartbreaking sorrow.
“He should have just left. Waited for the right opportunity. But he didn’t do that. So convinced was he after receiving the word of Allah that what the group stood for was wrong and not in keeping with the teachings of the Qur’an that he confronted the leaders. He told them of his dream and that they must stop or face eternal damnation. They didn’t kill him on the spot. Nor did they detain him. They toyed with him. They told him in absolute seriousness that they thanked him for sharing the word of Allah and that he must be a devout man indeed for Allah to have spoken to him and that they would take everything he’d told them into account and gather the members and discuss changes. And they let him go.”
The woman glanced at Honor as if judging whether the younger woman believed such a fantastic story. But Honor stared back at her in earnest, absorbing every word. Still, the woman must have felt she needed to back up her wild claims.
“If you wonder how I could possibly know of such things in a group that is so secretive, my son kept a journal of every detail of his experience as a member of A New Era. He had it sent to me right after he confronted the leaders. Maybe he knew what was going to happen. Maybe he sensed they were lying and wanted someone to know what they truly are. And as for my knowing what happened after—the last journal entry was of his confrontation with the leaders—one of his friends in the organization, one who like my son, didn’t like the actions of the group, came to me and told me what they did to my son.”
This time, the mournful sound poured from the woman’s mouth, soaring from the very depths of her soul. Tears ran freely down her face and her features were so stricken with grief that Honor couldn’t even look at her without responding in kind, without remembering the horror of that day when every one of her friends and coworkers had been killed. She knew exactly how this woman felt. They were bound by a bond that no two people should ever have to share.
“They came in the middle of the night. My son had packed his belongings and had planned to leave at dawn to come home to me and his father. They pulled him from his bed and dragged him outside where all the others were already gathered. They gagged him so he couldn’t speak, couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t denounce the organization and their agenda and possibly strike a chord with other followers.
“They told the others that he was a traitor to his brethren. That he’d committed an unpardonable sin by giving their location to an opposing military faction. He’d been bought off and had betrayed every single one of his brothers for money. He was an abomination not only to Allah but to their cause—Allah’s cause. By the time they were finished denouncing him, the others were only too happy to participate in his torture. They were angry—furious—that he could do such a thing. They called him evil. Possessed by evil spirits.
“They tortured him endlessly for an entire week,” the woman whispered, tears still spilling in endless trails down her cheeks. “And in this instance, they didn’t behead him at the very end just before he’d die on his own as is their custom. They said that a traitor such as he didn’t deserve the mercy of a quick and painless death. He was left there to slowly succumb to the torture they’d inflicted on him. He had no food or water in all that time. It took three more days!”
The woman put a fist to her mouth, biting down hard, her grief a terrible, tangible thing in the tiny dwelling. Honor couldn’t help it. It was her nature to comfort others. To help them. No matter the cost to her. It was why even now she was fleeing for her life. Because she’d chosen a dangerous place to render aid. But it was also the area that was most in need because so many others didn’t dare come here to help.
Honor wrapped her arms around the other woman and simply held on as they both shed tears for so many horrible, senseless deaths.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Honor whispered next to the woman’s ear. “He sounded like a good man and not at all like the mindless puppets these monsters command who embrace the promise of riches and power. He tried to right the wrongs. He is safe with Allah now. You must know that.”
The woman pulled back a wan smile. She wiped at the tears with the back of her hand, and it shook as she lowered it to her lap once more.
“Thank you for saying that. I admit at times I’ve feared for his soul. I’ve prayed that he finds peace in the arms of Allah. But yes, he was a good man.” Her chin notched upward, her gaze more determined. “When he learned of the true goals of A New Era, he fought back. And I admire him for that. But in my heart I wish he’d simply walked away.”
Honor nodded her understanding. Knowing her time was limited and that the man collecting water for her was likely searching for her, she leaned forward to take the woman’s hand again.
“Thank you for your aid. I can never hope to repay such kindness. But I must go now. A man who escorted me into the village and who is getting me water from the river said that the group is here, in the village. At least some of them. They surround it and even mingle at the market. Looking for me. I must find a way to leave undetected and without drawing suspicion. And then I must find a place to rest. I sleep by day and journey by night to lessen my chances of detection, but this morning I had to come into the village to get more supplies. I was nearly out, and was completely out of water.”
The woman’s eyes gleamed a moment and the first true semblance of a smile lit her face.
“You will stay here,” she said triumphantly, as though she’d just solved an enormous dilemma.
Alarm took hold of Honor and she shook her head automatically. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t endanger you and your husband—or the rest of the villagers—that way. It’s best if I leave this place as quickly as possible so I draw attention away from you and the rest. You’ve been so kind and I will not repay such kindness by getting you killed for harboring someone they hunt for.”
The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “They will not find you here. Even if they come inside to search.”
Her expression was smug and more importantly confident. There was no hesitation, no fake confidence to falsely reassure Honor.
Honor looked at her in puzzlement. “How is that so?”
“Years ago when the fighting was so bad in this area, we feared we would be bombed on a daily basis. The attacks would only come at night. They were too cowardly to face their victims during the day. So my husband dug a shelter underneath the flooring of our home. It’s deep and wide enough to fit two people. It’s where we slept every night when we had the threat of bombing looming over us for months. You can go get your water and bring it here. I’ll boil it to cleanse it while you sleep. When night falls I’ll awaken you and you can be on your way once more with Allah’s blessing.”
“And what will your husband think?” Honor asked quietly.
“Any victory over this abomination calling themselves messengers of God and instruments of his will only pleases my husband. And he would never turn his back on a young woman in so much need. They will not find you. My husband made the opening in the floor undetectable. Those animals could be standing right on top of you and they’d never know. You need the rest and you need your wounds tended to. Allow me to do this small thing. I couldn’t help my son, but I can help you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Honor said tearfully, relief falling over her like a cleansing rain.
This time the woman reached for Honor’s hand and gripped it firmly in a clear gesture of solidarity. Determination passed from the woman into Honor. She could feel it. Could feel the woman’s resolve not only to help Honor but for Honor to escape and to live.
“You can thank me by living,” the woman said simply. “Know this, Honor Cambridge. You have many who are praying for your safe passage and many who would aid you in any way, but you cannot afford to trust anyone, because just as there are many praying that you reach safety, there are also many who wouldn’t hesitate to betray you for the riches that have been promised to the person who finds you.”
Honor looked at her in utter shock. The woman knew her name. Her name had been distributed widely.
The woman smiled. “You have become somewhat of a legend in the span of a few days. Word of your escape from the militants has passed from village to village, all in awe not only that one lone American woman was able to escape the vicious attack on your relief center but also that you’ve managed to evade capture for over a week. You have become a beacon of hope to our people. Proof that A New Era isn’t as invincible as they proclaim, as their reputation suggests. It is why you must pay heed to my caution and trust no one. You are a source of great embarrassment to the militants because while they wield much power and are feared widely, they have been unable to find you. Their rage is great and they grow angrier and more impatient by the day.”
“I’m no one special,” Honor managed to croak out around her astonishment. “I’m just an average, normal woman who wants very much to make it back home.”
“You will,” the woman said fiercely. “If anyone can accomplish this feat, it is you. You’ve made it this far, and you won’t fail now.”
CHAPTER 6
AN urgent voice intruded into the vast nothingness of Honor’s mind, disturbing her deep, dreamless, restoring sleep. Despite desperately wanting to remain in the safe cocoon she’d rested in for the last hours, fear and readiness were too ingrained in her not to respond.
Her eyes flew open, seeking the source of the call, and she saw her protector standing anxiously on the bottom step leading down into the shelter her husband had constructed.
“I am sorry to wake you so early, but there is need of you to get ready and depart while the sun is still high in the sky.”
The worry in her voice roused Honor, and she scrambled up, gathering her bag and straightening the new garment she’d purchased earlier. She’d put the headdress on once she was above ground level so she could touch up any areas needing more dye.
“What has happened?” Honor demanded even as she followed the woman up the stairs.
Waiting at the top was the woman’s husband, who wore a grim expression.
“Sit,” the woman urged. “I’ll work more dye onto your face and in your hair. You can listen as I work. And I have an idea you may be opposed to, but I think given the circumstances it would be the perfect form of disguise to get you safely past the assassins.”
Honor immediately complied, dread pitting deep in her stomach, causing a knot to form, but also intrigued by the idea the woman spoke of. So she settled down into one of the hand-carved chairs, curling her fingers together in her lap so as not to betray how badly she was shaking.
It was the husband who spoke first.
“The outcasts are here, and it was heard that they plan to stay in the area past sunset as it is known you travel exclusively by night. There is a group of people here for the market who came from the north, the direction in which you travel. You need to leave with them while it’s still light. You’ll blend in and the militants won’t be looking for a woman traveling with others when she’s strictly been solitary until now. It’s your best—and only—chance. If you leave at night, they’ll capture you for certain. And if you don’t appear this night, they’ll search the village and those harboring you will be killed instantly.”
Honor looked to the couple in horror over the danger she’d put them in. She’d acknowledged that they risked much in helping her, and realistically she knew from the beginning just how much they risked, but hearing it said so matter-of-factly rattled her to the core. She didn’t want these people to die because of their kindness to a complete stranger.
“And this is where my idea comes in,” the woman interjected, as if sensing Honor’s rising panic. “They won’t be expecting to see you traveling during the day, accompanied by others, but they could possibly be tipped off to your disguise as an older lady hunched with age and a shuffling walk.”
Nerves attacked Honor, instantly increasing the dread already present in the pit of her stomach. The taste of hopelessness and impending failure was bitter in her mouth. To have come so far, to have come so close, just a few days from the border into a safer zone with a U.S. presence, a place A New Era hadn’t yet dared to encroach on, and be captured with freedom in sight. It was more than she could bear. She lifted a knotted fist to her mouth, determined not to show the depth of her despair to these courageous people. She felt it dishonored them when they’d shown so much of what she now lacked.
“Just listen to me,” the woman said soothingly. “I think you’ll agree this is a good idea. We will redarken your face and hair but smooth the lines in your face, making you appear younger. We will remove the padding that makes you appear larger, and though it may be painful given the injury to your knee, you must walk normally, as if you are unhurt. I’ll apply the salve to your knee and other areas that pain you so you’ll receive temporary relief.
“And there are men in the group, one who will act as your husband and walk just ahead of you as is customary. All of these factors—these changes—combined will throw those who wait for the old lady traveling under the veil of night off course. I believe you won’t even draw their notice because they won’t be looking for what you are. A young woman, in a more vibrant, younger woman’s manner of dress, traveling with a group of people—family—in the daylight hours.”
“I believe it is your only chance,” the husband said in a resolute voice.
The absolute certainty in the husband’s tone overrode any fear Honor had of venturing into the daylight. She pondered the woman’s wisdom, and her idea had merit. She would, in fact, be the reverse of all intel A New Era had on her. They might not fall for it ever again, but if she didn’t get past them this time, there wouldn’t be a next time to worry over anyway. She had to take it one step at a time. Avoid one trap at a time. And as the husband had said, it was her only chance. Her only choice. She had to do this, because if she was discovered leaving under the shield of dark, the militants would know that someone in the village had given her sanctuary, and they would retaliate by murdering every single man, woman and child. The thought sickened her. These people had been kind to her, risking their lives to help her, and she’d be damned if they were repaid with violence.
She simply nodded her agreement as the woman first thoroughly cleaned Honor’s face, removing the embedded dirt and debris disguised by the dye to make her look older, with age-weathered skin. Then, with great care, she rubbed the dye into Honor’s skin and then began reapplying it to her hair so that the natural blond was nearly black. She redarkened Honor’s eyebrows, which were already brown, but a light brown color, in contrast to the honey blond of her hair. Honor, not wanting to take any chances, had dyed them the first time she’d used henna to cement her disguise.
Next she gently applied a thick layer of the odorless paste to Honor’s swollen knee, whispering a prayer as she worked. Tears burned the edges of Honor’s eyes because the woman prayed in the language of religion. Arabic. And she was asking for Allah’s blessing and for his hand to guide her path to freedom.
When she’d meticulously applied the medicinal concoction to the many other scrapes and bruises, she instructed Honor to hold out her hands and then carefully went over each finger and rubbed the dye into the lines and cracks in her skin. Then she did the same to Honor’s feet, but then she produced a pair of shoes, the kind the natives wore, soft and comfortable, but the woman assured her they were sturdy and would withstand the amount of walking Honor had to do.
“The shoes you wore are a giveaway,” the woman patiently explained. “Not shoes a woman here would wear. Fortunately no one has seen them or they would have been noticed. But with you now wearing a different garment and shoes of a native, and the fact that you’re departing well before the sun sets, you should have no difficulty in getting way beyond the village. There are no reports of anyone departing the market in any direction being stopped and searched or questioned. By all accounts, the snakes are just lying in the grass and waiting for you to magically appear in front of them. One would think they would have learned by now not to underestimate you, but their arrogance is too much for that. They think they have the advantage now because they know your habits and your patterns, and so they’ve set a trap and are waiting for you to fall neatly into it.”
“I have you—both of you,” she added to include the husband, “to thank for my not falling into their trap because that is precisely what I would have done had you not warned—and aided—me.”
“Come, come now,” the woman said, producing the garments for Honor to wear out of the village. “They wait at one of the booths, pretending interest until you arrive. You must hurry, though. We don’t want to do anything that will arouse suspicion.”
Honor put it into high gear and within minutes she was dressed appropriately, the strap of her bag secured cross body and a new hijab and robe folded carefully over her arm. She walked briskly to the door, testing the strength of her knee now that she was to walk normally. It protested the quicker movements and more weight being borne on the leg, but it was much more bearable than before, probably due to the woman’s doctoring. But most importantly, she could maintain a normal pace without giving away her injury. It pained her, yes. But it had subsided to a dull ache and sheer determination would make it impossible for her to falter. At the door, she paused and turned back, needing to at least try to put into words her overwhelming gratitude.
“Thank you,” she said. “You risked much for a stranger. I’ll never be able to repay my debt to you.”
“May Allah be with you on your journey,” the husband said in a solemn voice. “We will pray daily for you.”
“And I you,” Honor vowed in return. “Allah be with your family always. I will never forget you. You will forever remain in my prayers.”
“Good journey,” the woman said as Honor opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.
The woman had directed her to which group to blend in with and she walked toward them, carrying her market purchases, but before she reached them, her way was suddenly blocked by a large, looming man. Her pulse leapt and her fight-or-flight reflexes screamed at her to be set free. It took every ounce of discipline she possessed to lower her head in subservience and murmur an apology in the local dialect.
“Very impressive, Honor. Doing the unexpected. Now I understand why you’ve been able to evade capture for so long. And your accent is flawless. I wonder. How many of the languages in this region do you speak?”
The American accent, a hint of the south, a drawl so subtle it nearly wasn’t audible. But she had an affinity for languages and accents, and her ears were sensitive to subtle nuances others would likely be unaware of. But he too obviously had a talent for languages or at least the one she’d spoken to him since he’d been aware that he could detect no accent, and he’d been looking for one.
Her pulse leapt again, this time thundering like a tornado through her veins but for a different reason altogether. He was American. He knew her name. Was he here to rescue her? Had news of her survival and of the militant group turning the earth over in search of her reached the public? Had he been sent to extract her? And if so, why hadn’t he simply identified himself and stated his objective? Had he been concerned that her relief would give them away? That she’d become a hysterical, shrill twit and attract the focus of everyone in the entire village? Something about this—him—just didn’t feel right.
Trust no one.
The woman’s words filtered through her mind, dimming her excitement, and she forced herself to act indifferent, puzzled even, as though she didn’t understand the language he spoke. Daringly, she turned her head up, meeting his gaze, forcing hers into one of confusion.
She cocked her head and shook it slightly, frowning even as she said in the local dialect, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I don’t speak your language.”
A glint of amusement briefly flickered in his eyes before his gaze hardened and his expression became equally hard—and gravely serious.
He wore the clothing of a native and yet there was no attempt on his part to hide what he was. Caucasian. Perhaps the reason he didn’t show fear was that he was protected by his membership in a terrorist organization.
“I don’t have time to play games. You don’t have the time to waste. You were probably told that the men hunting you are waiting until dark, when you are normally on the move and that they will be looking for an older woman with a slow, shuffling gait and that they aren’t checking those leaving the village. But that’s untrue. They’ve set a perimeter well beyond the outskirts of the village so it doesn’t appear that anyone is being investigated, but in fact, they’ve stopped every single person departing since the market opened and they are not simply waiting around for dark for you to fall into their hands. And despite the clever change in disguise and doing the unexpected, it will do you no good. They will stop your entire group and search each of you thoroughly and when it’s discovered you are with this group preparing to depart, they’ll slaughter every single one of them and they’ll take you—alive—and into your worst nightmare.”
The iron will that had kept Honor alive and moving since the day of the attack crumbled and lay in ruins around her, and she knew stark fear shone brightly in her eyes, giving herself completely away to a man whose agenda she was ignorant of. She didn’t know if he was friend or foe. And it was obvious he knew a damn lot about her, which put her at a distinct disadvantage because she didn’t have the first clue who he was. Only that he was American, which should have relieved her, but there was something in that rock-hard face, the ruthlessness she could see lurking in the shadows of his eyes. At this moment she didn’t know whom she feared more, the American or the militants lying in wait for her.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked bluntly in English as she stared directly into his gaze, trying to pick up on any tell, any indication of his intentions.
But he remained devoid of emotion, his expression utterly inscrutable. He gave nothing of himself away, which frustrated Honor. Everyone gave up something. It was always there for a trained eye to see. But this man was impossible to read, as though he’d had years to perfect a facade that no one could penetrate.
He could be military. She hoped with all she had that he was U.S. military and that his hard shell was a result of his training and experience in a region of the world where bloodshed was more common than running water.
“Because I’m going to take you with me so you aren’t captured by the men who won’t stop until they’ve captured their prey.”
She studied him for another long moment. “So you’ve come to rescue me? Who are you? Who sent you?”
He arched one eyebrow, clearly surprised by her resistance. Perhaps he’d expected her to fall into his arms, sobbing hysterically, thinking him her savior. But she hadn’t stayed alive as long as she had by blindly believing anything. Or taking anything at face value. And she couldn’t afford to start now. Not when she was so close to her ultimate goal of finding her way home.
“Does it matter?” he asked mildly. “All you need to know is that my men and I will get you out of the country and out of A New Era’s reach. Or would you prefer to take your chances with your group of protectors and lead them blindly to certain death?”
Honor bit into her lip, deeply conflicted. Why wasn’t she happier to see him? Why wasn’t she falling into his arms, relieved and grateful? Was that not why she was so desperate to cross the border into a country where there was an American presence? And that presence had just planted itself in her path, offering her safe passage. Perhaps it was because it had been too easy, too convenient, the timing either impeccable or coincidental. And she wasn’t a believer in coincidences. Especially when it came to her life.
“If they’re searching everyone leaving the village and if they have, as you say, a perimeter set up encompassing all routes leading out of the village, then how do you and your men possibly think you will be able to get past their roadblocks, impervious to the very thing you’ve sworn will happen if I leave the village with a group of people? Aren’t you a group of people just the same?”
White teeth flashed and she was reminded of a predator’s teeth set in a snarl as they closed in on their prey. A shiver of apprehension skated down her spine and she absently rubbed at one arm through the heavy material of her garment.
“I plan to drive right past them.”
Honor went rigid with fear. The people who’d awaited her were clearly uneasy and were inching away, clearly wanting to be out of this place. And to be rid of her. They well knew what they risked by allowing her to travel with them, and now, with the arrival of this ominous-looking stranger, they were even more nervous. She couldn’t blame them. And neither could she consign them to certain death. She couldn’t take the chance that this man wasn’t telling her the absolute truth. She would not be responsible for these people’s deaths.
She waved them off, making that sudden decision when it became clear that they knew she was a death trap. The American was right. She wouldn’t simply lead her supposed saviors meekly to the slaughter when it gave her absolutely no chance of escape. He, on the other hand, was offering one, and his arrogance suggested he actually thought—knew—he would be successful.
It came down to the lesser of two evils. One known and one unknown. She knew what fate awaited her at the hands of the savages who hunted her. She didn’t know what the American’s intentions were, but given that her only other option was certain torture, endless agony and death, it made the decision to go with the unknown the only logical choice.
“You’ve made your decision. Now move it,” he said, no gentleness to his voice.
Somehow she’d imagined her rescue a little different. Perhaps at the hands of American soldiers who would at least acknowledge her as a sister, inquire as to her health. Not taunt her into making a decision. For that matter, shouldn’t he have identified himself as a member of the U.S. military? Shouldn’t he have identified himself, period?
She frowned. The military didn’t just order people around for their own good, did they? But then she supposed that was exactly what they did on a daily basis when rescuing captives or hostages. Time was critical, and following orders was essential to their survival.
“What branch of the military do you serve and where are your dog tags?” she blurted, even as she stumbled along beside him, attempting to match his much longer stride.
She bit into her lip to quell the sound of pain as her knee protested the vigorous motion it was unused to. It was silly, but she didn’t want to show weakness in front of this warrior. And he clearly was a warrior. She wanted to show only strength, give him no reason to fault her, and she’d be damned if she’d slow him down.
Again his teeth flashed, but in no way was it in a smile. Quite frankly, he scared her every time he did it. He reminded her too much of the big bad wolf about to devour Little Red Riding Hood, only in Honor’s case, she’d been wandering through the desert, not the forest, and there were no wolves here. But there were plenty of demons. Spawns of Satan himself. Evil ran strong here, stained with the blood of the innocents.
“It’s a little late to be asking me for ID now,” he said mildly.
He arrived at a military-looking vehicle and for the first time her blood pulsed wildly with excitement. It looked American, and while that might sound like a stupid thought from a clueless civilian, she’d worked throughout this region for a good while and she’d come into contact with all manner of military equipment and vehicles. She’d quickly learned to recognize friend or foe by subtle things maybe others wouldn’t notice. But when your life depended on knowing, and assuming would get you killed faster than a stray bullet in a fight zone, you tended to fast become an expert on learning the differences between those who would kill you and those who would save you.
He all but shoved her into the back and slid in beside her, slamming his door closed while she struggled to right herself from where her head had plunged toward the floorboard and the heavy material covered her and twisted around her, preventing her from gracefully extricating herself. Then the vehicle lurched into motion, flattening her once more. Frustrated and angry with the lack of care her “rescuer” had offered thus far, she planted her hands on the floorboard and attempted to push herself upward and out of the tangle of material effectively trapping her legs and obscuring her vision.
