You Can Run

Ceasefire

Pierre could tell the amount of peace they'd been seeing was a first in Khaizari history.

In each class Esmaael taught, he would catch Esmaael looking away with a sort of dread in his eyes, and with every sudden noise, his students would jump in unison. It was clear that the tension was palpable. The entire village was waiting for the next strike by the djinn.

Abru had colonised a corner of the little library on the second floor of the mosque, reading up on Khaizari history and coming up with battle plans for the next time the djinn attacked. She would hastily try to explain each plan to Pierre right after it was made, but all it did was go in through one of Pierre's ears and out the other. He knew it was important, and he wished it made sense to him, but unfortunately, it was all Greek and Latin to him. He struggled to understand the complex strategies, and Abru's insistence that he'd understand in due time didn't help.

The only group of people who seemed to relish this newfound peace were the healer's apprentices, which included Dema. They took this time to hone their skills, learn new techniques, and stock up the apothecary with more bandages, ointments, and tinctures. At any given moment, the healer's hut was filled with students, and the strange smell of medicine being brewed would seep outside for passersby to smell as they rushed hitherto.

Pierre couldn't blame them for enjoying a moment of rest, for not having to wash bloodied bandages, or for not having to tend to the wounded and suffering. It was a rare respite for a people plagued by constant battles and injuries. However, Pierre couldn't help but feel a sense of unease amidst the calm. He knew that peace was fleeting, and soon enough, they would be called upon again to heal the wounds of war.

Each night after the 'Isha prayers, the village head gathered all the men (and Abru, who fought to be there, supported by Esmaael) in the village and discussed strategies to fortify the village from the djinns. Any and all attempts Abru made at helping were immediately shut down, much to the dismay of Esmaael and Abru. He insisted that they were not needed and that their presence would only hinder their efforts.

One night, after another discouraged idea, Abru threw down her parchments. She stared the village elder straight in the eye with such fury that Pierre readied himself to stop her for when she attacked the elder. The pot-bellied village elder gave her a smug look. Then, Abru took a shaky, deep breath. She pushed past Pierre, and she stormed out of the mosque.

"Now, men, where were we?" The village elder resumed, completely unbothered. "Go after her," Esmaael whispered to Pierre from behind him. "I'll take care of the elder here."

Pierre nodded, stepping out of the mosque. He quickly followed after Abru, calling after her to stop.

"What?" Abru screamed, finally turning around and making Pierre back away. They were in an empty clearing, far away from the rest of the village. "What is it?"

As she panted, tears fell from her eyes like cheap pearls from a necklace. Her eyes were red, and her voice croaked, and suddenly, all Pierre could do was stare and listen, but Abru didn't speak. She stared at him, and in that stare, Pierre didn't see Abru. He saw someone else, someone who wasn't the awkward little girl he'd grown accustomed to. Abru seemed tired and more grown-up. Frustration pooled in her eyes, darkening her dark brown eyes, and Pierre could swear he saw eyebags under her eyes, which he'd never noticed before. Her headveil revealed thick strands of dark brown hair, and she trembled.

"Come back," Pierre urged, with empty words that he didn't even believe in himself. He couldn't convince Abru to come back, seeing the way the elder treated her. He couldn't convince her to not run away, and if she had decided to, he probably would've helped her himself. Abru shook her head, sniffling.