Adam winced, peeling himself out of the mud.
His hip throbbed where he'd landed. His pride hurt worse.
He didn't say a word. Just turned his back on Vahid's glare and walked. One foot in front of the other, boots squelching a slow rhythm.
He walked until the trees swallowed the hut, until Vahid would be sure the "daeva-spawn" was gone.
Then he stopped.
Rain dripped from his nose. His hand clenched around the vial in his bag.
'Keep your druj to yourself, boy.'
Adam chuckled. Words indeed turned crooked, didn't they, Uncle?
He turned, rubbing at the fresh bruise on his hip. The house sat there like a fortress—big idiot guarding a sick girl to her death.
Stupid. This was stupid.
Adam started walking toward it, chanting, "Humata Hukhta Huvarshta."
The house loomed larger with every step, warning him to turn back…
"…Humata, Hukhta, Huvarshta. Humata. Hukhta. Huvarshta…"
Close enough now to lose himself under its shadow. Yet he knew the place better than his own pockets. Knew the loose board on the porch, the way the back door stuck in summer, the small square window looking into the room Leyla and Fareed shared.
He just had to stay low.
Voices drifted from the house as he crept closer—Vahid cracking with anger, Fareed's muffled, pleading replies. Perfect. Too busy tearing each other apart to watch the yard.
Adam gritted his teeth against the throb in his hip and scrambled over the low fence, mud slick under his palms, crouched-ran along the wall.
There. The window. Shut tight, swollen from the damp.
Adam peeked to see if someone was there. Nothing. He dug his fingernails under the sash and heaved. Balls! Stuck fast—years of paint and rain had glued it shut. Push any harder and the glass would crack.
He looked for a lever, until an old friend bumped his hip.
The clog.
Adam smirked. "Alright, ol' man. Earn it."
He untied the string. Wood hard enough to leave bruises, toe tapered to a nice point.
Adam jammed that point into the narrow gap between sill and sash, using the heel as a lever against the frame.
He leaned his weight on it.
Veins popped in his temples. He gritted his teeth, pushing until his arms shook. Finally, the wood groaned.
The sash gave way, popping up an inch. Then two.
Adam grabbed the frame and slid it up the rest of the way. A thin wisp of gray smoke curled out to greet him.
Esfand. Wild rue. Aziz always said it kept the Evil Eye away.
Adam wrinkled his nose. He peeked over again—room still empty. Well, empty of anyone standing. Leyla was a small lump under a pile of quilts.
He hoisted himself up, grabbed the inner sill, swinging his legs over.
THUD
His boots hit the floorboards louder than he meant to. He crouched low, regretting his existence.
"...don't tell me what I saw!" Vahid's shout from the main room didn't even waver.
Adam let out a breath, patting the clog in his hand. "Good boy."
He shoved the wooden shoe back into his belt and turned to the bed.
Two dark eyes stared back at him.
Leyla.
Drenched in sweat, skin the color of ghosts. Every breath a ragged, whistling battle. But when she saw him, the corners of her cracked lips twitched up. At least she tried too…
Adam flashed her a grin and pressed a finger to his lips. Shhh.
He moved fast.
Clay pitcher and cup on the small table—good, at least they knew to keep her throat wet. Adam uncorked Aziz's vial and tipped the goo into the cup, splashing water over it. The liquid swirled, turning a murky swamp-green.
He knelt by the bed, slipping an arm behind her shoulders to lift her. She felt hot. Anahita's mercy, she felt hot…
"Drink," he whispered. "Aziz made it. Tastes like death, but cheats it too."
Leyla took a sip. Her face scrunched up so hard her eyes disappeared.
"I know, I know. Tastes like feet. Drink it all."
She whined but swallowed it down.
Adam lowered her back to the pillow.
One heartbeat. Two.
Hrrrk.
Leyla's chest heaved. Her eyes bulged.
HACK! HACK-HUGH!
The coughs shook her whole body. Adam flinched. Had he killed her? Was it too strong?
Then she leaned over the side of the bed and heaved.
Splat
A glob of thick green slime hit the floorboards. Then another.
She gasped, sucking in air—real air. The whistle in her chest smoothed to a quieter rhythm.
They hated Aziz for this, didn't they? Her potions outworked their prayers. Made it easier to call it magic…
But the coughing had been loud. Too loud.
The shouting in the other room had stopped dead.
Adam scrambled to shove the cup under the bed. He leaned close to her ear. "Don't let Baba find out, okay? Our secret."
He turned to bolt for the window.
"Adam?"
He froze.
Fareed stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
Adam straightened, hands raised, mind racing for an excuse, a lie, anything—
"Big... Brother..."
The weak, raspy voice from the bed shook them both.
Fareed's head snapped toward Leyla. Pale, yes, but her eyes were clear. Breathing… breathing better.
"She's... she spoke?" Fareed said.
"Swear to the fire," Adam said, stepping back toward the window. "Aziz knows her stuff."
Fareed didn't look at him. He drifted toward the bed, staring at the green slime on the floorboards, then at his sister's face.
He fell to his knees beside the bed.
Fareed leaned close, pressing his ear almost to Leyla's chest. He held his breath. Waiting for the rattle. Waiting for the whistle that had kept him awake for three nights.
Silence.
Just the soft, steady rhythm of air moving through clear lungs.
Fareed let out a shuddering sob. He touched her forehead.
"Cool," he breathed. "She's cool."
Adam took another step back. "Look, she didn't deserve to suffer just 'cause your baba's a—"
Fareed stood up. He moved so fast Adam flinched, bracing for a punch.
Instead, Fareed wrapped his arms around Adam, squeezing tight enough to bruise.
Adam stiffened, arms pinned to his sides.
"Thank you," Fareed choked out into Adam's wet shoulder.
The tension in Adam's chest, the anger, the hurt—it didn't vanish, but it cracked. The world felt... right again.
Fareed pulled back, swiping at his eyes, hiding the tears.
Adam cleared his throat, handing him the half-empty vial he'd palmed. "Hide this from your Baba. Give her more if the wheezing comes back."
Fareed nodded, clutching the glass like it was the last fish in the sea. "She'll be alright."
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
The floorboards shuddered. Heavy boots, not pacing anymore. Coming.
"Fareed?" Vahid's voice boomed. "Who are you talking to?"
Fareed's eyes went wide, terror flooding back. He shoved the vial under his shirt and spun toward the door.
Clack
The iron latch lifted.
Adam didn't wait for a goodbye.
He scrambled backward, boots sliding on the floorboards, vaulting onto the sill just as the bedroom door groaned open.
"I heard voices, boy, don't lie to—"
Adam threw himself into the wet dark, hitting the mud and not looking back.
…
Adam strutted like he owned the trees.
He did it. Actually did it. Hands still shook from the close call, but he grinned anyway.
Gurgle
"Shut up," he muttered to his belly.
The clog made noise next. Wooden bastard was laughing at him. Hungry, boy? Hungry?
"You shut up too," he told the wood, grinning. "We're getting food. Baker's bread. Maybe even with honey if he's feeling stupid."
Sky bled purple and orange where the sun sank behind the mountains. Night crept in fast in autumn. Clouds hung low and heavy, but the rain had stopped. Still, Tir would piss again soon enough.
Adam fished the pashiz from his pocket. Coin felt warm against his thumb. He grinned at Shahanshah's bearded face with only thing on his mind: 'Thank you, Uncle.'
Village of Tabarso sprawled ahead—cluster of brick houses hugging the wet road, leaning against the forest mountain. Should've heard dogs barking at nothing by now. Mothers screaming for their kids. Smelled dung fires and roasting onions stinging his eyes.
Adam stopped.
Wind passed his ears.
No screaming dogs. No screaming mothers. No screaming kids?
He frowned, where was everyone?
Voices answered. Lots of them, coming from the square.
Adam's curiosity warred with his gut. His gut said turn around. His curiosity said one peek.
He moved, keeping his steps light, hugging the walls of lit houses.
Closer, the silence broke. A low hum. Dozens of them, maybe a hundred, murmuring together like a hive of angry bees.
He rounded the corner of the Tanner's shop and froze.
Torches. Too many of them. Slashing angry scars against the twilight, held by hands that usually held plows or fishing nets. Tonight those hands held clubs, scythes, and pitchforks.
And in the center, on the stone plinth where merchants sold rugs, stood a man in white—all proud to be in it. Which ruled Mansour out…
Bald head shining under the torchlight. Thick beard practically laughing at Adam's hairless chin. Recognition hit like a slap. Did the Mobed finish his investigation?
Nariman raised a hand, and the murmuring stopped.
"The sickness is not of the body!" The Mobed's voice boomed, smooth and practiced. "It is of the spirit! The water rots because earth is defiled! The children cough because the Shadow has taken root!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Adam shrank back behind a rain barrel.
"Mithra sees all!" Nariman pointed a finger—not at the sky, but toward the woods. Toward the cliff. "The Holy Fire has revealed the rot. A servant of the Lie. A sorceress who brews poisons and calls them mercy!"
Adam's heart stopped.
"She is the Hag!" someone screamed from the front.
"She poisons the children!" yelled another.
"Purify her!" The Mobed's voice cut through the noise. "Fire cleanses all sins! Fire burns away the rot! We do not suffer the Drugvant to live!"
"BURN THE HAG!"
The chant started low, then exploded.
"BURN THE HAG! BURN THE HAG! BURN THE HAG!!!"
The roar shook the ground under Adam's boots, and he knew who they ment.
Adam's body screamed at him before his brain caught.
So he ran!
His boots slammed the dirt path, heart hammering so hard he thought his ribs would crack. Trees swallowed him, branches whipping his face, roots trying to trip him.
No idea what to do. He couldn't fight a whole village. Couldn't hide her. Couldn't—
Snap
Adam's head whipped around. Nothing. Just black trees and shadow.
Crunch. Crunch.
Footsteps were keeping pace.
He ran harder, lungs burning, legs screaming. Not wanting to look back.
Was it the mob? Were they already hunting? Or was it the other thing? The path blurred. Trees became monsters reaching for him.
He tore through brush, the clog banging against his thigh—Thump! Thump! Thump!
Please be there. Please be safe—
The hut in the misty gloom. With no fire in sight.
Adam didn't slow down. He threw himself at the door and it crashed open.
"AZIZ!"
Aziz stood by the hearth, holding a ladle like a weapon. She spun around, good eye narrowing.
"Stupid, boy! You trying to break the hinges? And where is my—" She pointed the ladle at his belt. "You little thief! Knew you took it! I ought to—"
Adam grabbed her arm. His chest heaved. He couldn't get air in fast enough.
"RUN!"