The Poet

Chapter One: The Poet

Ink dripped from the end of the nib, falling briefly on the paper below before being swept away by the pen's motion. A small oil lantern illuminated the page as markings became words. As Rania's hand guided the flow of ink, a golden glow lifted from each word she penned. Her eyes replicated the steady gleam, spindles of light dancing between her waterline and irises. As if in a trance, her hands moved without pause, scrawling phrases of poetry and scripture.

The mosque's call broke her trance, the imam's voice travelling through her window and enveloping her. She sighed, placing her hands on the scatterings of ink-stained paper as she used the desk to leverage herself to her feet. Another night spent with words instead of slumber.

*

Sunlight kissed the horizon, bidding the stars goodbye as dawn broke through the darkness of the night. Rania lifted her head to see the first rays of morning seeping into her room through the partition of her curtains. Dimming the lantern at the corner of the table, she made her way to the window. The drapes felt rough beneath her touch as she drew them apart, letting the morning light flood into her room.

'It would be nice to have just an hour more of darkness to work in,' she mused, watching the stars as they faded into the lightening sky.

'Rania, dear?' Her mother's voice travelled through the doorway. 'Are you up?'

'Good morning, mama,' Rania responded, her voice hoarse. Rania cleared her throat, trying to chase away the lack of sleep from her voice.

Her mother's footsteps sounded through the hall. 'Did you not sleep?' she asked as she entered the room.

Rania jumped, reaching out to cover the loose leaves of still-glowing paper on her desk. The footsteps stopped. Too late. Rania lifted her head to meet her mother's gaze.

'What is this?' Her mother's voice was stern. 'Rania, I know you feel most in tune with writing at night – but you need to be careful,' she scolded. 'What if people notice? What if you hand that poem in and the gold still leaks from it? What will you do if the Shah's people arrest you?' She threw her hands up in frustration. 'If people find out you have the gift of zuban, they will not let you live! Not just you, they will be sure to take me, your brother, your father – will you be able to live with that?'

Rania rolled her eyes. 'Mama, they won't find out, I'm very careful!' She sighed.

Her mothers pursed lips and left hand on her hip spoke to her disapproval. Rania shrugged, exasperated.

'I mean, you use your kali zuban to speak into your weaving!' she rebutted. 'What was it – you said that the cotton would "shine like diamonds" with every weft you wove and then sold it to the tailor for two mohur.' Rania threw her hands up. 'And,' she continued, 'the wefts were still glowing with golden light when I gave it to him.'

'Rania,' her mother warned. 'You know very well how different that is. I have better command of what I say, and what my words mean.' She approached her daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder. 'Besides, the world that your writing can reach will always be vaster than what my speech can reach. You can use your words to control people without ever meeting them – that is formidable, and you need to be careful.'

Rania sighed. 'You could do the same,' she whispered. 'If you only wanted to.'

Her mother's features softened, a slight smile spreading on her lips. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on Rania's forehead. 'Get ready, the maktab will be expecting you.'

Rania nodded, the thought of the children gathering to hear her morning lesson brought a smile to her lips. Sifting through the pages on her desk, she separated the lesson plans for the day. As she lifted the pile, hoping to place it into her bag, a sheet fell to the floor. As Rania's eyes landed on the script, the black ink shifted to a blinding glow of gold and red.

                               Oh you, who speaks the words of the free,

                               Beware the foreigner who demands your prophecy.

Rania watched as the light in the ink settled back to black, her heart sinking as the words slowly disappeared from the page.

'Mama!' she called, fear flooding into her voice. 'Mama!'

Her mother ran back into Rania's room, rushing to her daughter's side.

'What is it?'

Rania looked between the now-blank page and her mother, uncertainty filling her. She weakly explained the scene, unsure whether it had been a hallucination, fuelled by her sleeplessness. Or whether it had been another force.

Worry filled her mother's expression. 'You have complained of something like this once before,' she whispered. 'You cried that the words of your schoolwork kept changing and telling you that my brother was in trouble. I didn't believe you – your father and I, both, thought it was just your imagination. Three days later, my brother disappeared. And three weeks after that, we found him. Slaughtered and left to rot in the mountains.'

'I don't – I don't remember...' Rania stuttered.

'Because I asked you to forget it.' Her mother's eyes met hers. A soft, orange glow danced through her irises. 'You will be safe. By the will of God and by you own caution.'

A coolness flooded over Rania, her shoulders relaxed, and a sigh left her as he worries disappeared. 'Mama,' Rania said. 'I have asked you not to use your zuban on me.'

Her mother smiled. 'On your way out, make sure you wear the woollen shawl I made for you. And please, take the muslin to the tailor,' she said, motioning towards the door. 'I wove it to be finer than silk, so make sure he pays well for it. Nothing under one rupiya.'

A laugh cracked Rania's sorrow. 'Okay, mama. I'll make him pay five for it.'

Her mother playfully slapped her arm. 'Now, get ready.'