The Blinding

Chapter 20 - Tissa

An entire day had passed since my meeting with Idil, and although she had promised to keep my secrets, a persistent anxiety lingered at the back of my mind. Yet, I had no other option but to ignore it. Thanks to Idil's payments, I could cover my stay, though they wouldn't stretch far for other expenses. I had worked out an arrangement with Hani to exchange my chores around the Banadir for three meals a day. Housekeeping felt like second nature to me, and the routine of it provided an oddly comforting familiarity in this foreign place.
What felt entirely unfamiliar, however, was the job Idil had entrusted me with—babysitting her two grandchildren. While the small family struggled financially, Idil insisted she had the savings to pay me. I was set to start in a week, with Idil acting as a supervisor for the first few days. Her age made it increasingly challenging to chase after two young children, especially with another on the way. Beydan, I discovered, possessed her own magical abilities, particularly the gift of sensing moods. She managed a hut in the market, while Idil used her magic to create images at events like the Legacy Day festival. With the imminent arrival of the baby, Idil would need to take on more work, and every helping hand was crucial, especially with Beydan's husband away working as a seaman.
Learning about Beydan's abilities left me pondering my own. Since leaving the palace, I had seen no evidence of my supposed powers. However, the memories of the sensations coursing through my veins during those rare instances were still fresh in my mind. My magic appeared to respond to my emotions. Could it be that my emotions were the key to unlocking my power? I contemplated the idea of confiding in Idil and Beydan about my powers. Perhaps they could become my mentors, guiding me to discover and eventually harness my latent abilities. After all, they were the only people I had encountered with magic.
Around midday, I managed to make my way downstairs for some tea. As my role at the Banadir was relatively informal, I had allowed myself to sleep in until noon. As I expected, tasks like washing dishes and folding bedclothes brought me a sense of home. By the time dinner rolled around, I shared my satisfaction with Hani. She inquired about my day, and without revealing too many details, I mentioned my new position as a babysitter for Idil's grandchildren. It was clear that she held little fondness for children, as she gave me a rather disapproving look upon hearing the news.
Samkaab stumbled into the room while we were eating, and Hani kindly invited him to join us. He wore the same stern expression as the previous day, with a worrisome furrow on his brow. Instead of engaging in our lively discussion about what we would do if we were wealthy, he took out a small notebook and began to scribble frantically. Occasionally, during moments of conversation lulls, I discreetly observed him, not entirely sure why I was doing so. I tried to maintain a subtle gaze, peering through my curls, so as not to appear as though I were staring directly at him.
He occasionally glanced up, lost in thought, before shaking his head and returning to his writing. I couldn't help but wonder what he was jotting down and what had brought him to this town in the first place. My curiosity remained unsatisfied for only a short while, as Hani had also noticed his intense note-taking and asked if he was alright.
"Fine," he mumbled, his wild eyes rising as though he had momentarily forgotten our presence.
Hani shot me an inquisitive look, raising her eyebrows as if seeking my input. I responded with a casual shrug. Hani seemed unusually talkative tonight, and she persisted in bombarding him with questions.
"What exactly are you writing?" she probed.
He paused, sighed, and appeared clearly annoyed by her persistent inquiries. "Nothing that I care to discuss," he grumbled, returning to his notebook.
"So, where are you from?" she continued, sizing him up.
This time, he snapped the notebook shut, realizing that he wouldn't make much progress with Hani around. "Miandi," he reluctantly replied, his full attention now on her.
Hani turned to me, wiggling her eyebrows as if to say, "Now we've got him."
I chuckled softly into my third cup of shaah that day. "What brings you to Sarapion?"
"Business," he replied, glaring at her.
"You're not much of a talker, are you?" Hani remarked with a grunt.
He shrugged, and I decided to join in on the playful banter. "What kind of business?"
"The kind that doesn't concern either of you."
"Someone's angry," Hani laughed.
"I'm not angry," Samakaab retorted through clenched teeth.
"I'm sure," I replied, somewhat surprising myself with my own comment.
"What's your story, then, since you want to know so much about me?"
I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I hadn't even shared my past with Hani, and I certainly didn't want to divulge it to both of them.
Oddly enough, his words seemed to fuel Hani's sudden curiosity. "Actually, he's right. What is your story?"
With both sets of eyes on me, I felt cornered. I had known that the mystery of my past would come up at some point. However, what was the point in hiding it? Sharing my life with Idil and Beydan had left me feeling liberated. In the slums, I had experienced a sense of security that I had lost in the palaces, especially after Legacy Day. But my life story belonged to me, and I wasn't prepared to give it up so easily.

I gazed boldly into Samakaab's eyes. "I'll reveal mine if you share yours."
He leaned back, a look of surprise crossing his face. After a moment's contemplation, he nodded, indicating for me to proceed. Hani observed us, her curiosity piqued.
The only thing I chose to withhold from them was my magic. It felt too personal, and despite being among Magician tribesmen, sharing it still seemed perilous.
Hani's eyes widened when I mentioned the palace. Samakaab's reaction, however, remained composed. His subtle nods between my words indicated he was indeed listening.
By the time I finished speaking, even Samakaab's expression had transformed. They both appeared dumbfounded, and I leaned back, satisfied and emboldened by my disclosure. I doubted Samakaab could surpass my story. Once Hani had recovered from her shock, she turned her attention to him, prompting him to share.
Samakaab ran a hand over his face, his beard growing. A fleeting smirk crossed his face so swiftly that we might have missed it had we not been eagerly anticipating his words.
While I didn't know much about this man, one thing was certain: whether or not he realized it, Samakaab was a storyteller. He began recounting a journey involving three children and two sets of parents seeking hope in a new city. He seemed to distance himself from the tale, adopting the role of a narrator rather than the main character. His words were saturated with tragedy as he described parents who, I presumed, were his own, striving to create a better world for their children. They fought against the oppressive shifter regime while endeavoring to build a safe and loving home before succumbing to famine. Samakaab mentioned a Council he was left to lead in the aftermath of his parents' deaths, with only his best friend and brother for support. The narrative culminated in another journey, this time to Sarapion, the capital city, in search of a Seer to aid their cause and quell the city's riots.
Samakaab's candidness surprised both Hani and me. I had expected a vague explanation of his travels to Sarapion, but his story exceeded my expectations. Following the initial shock, a flood of emotions washed over me as I absorbed his narrative. I felt sympathy for the young child he once was, empathized with his loss at such a tender age, and respected the man who had taken on the mantle of Council leadership. The Council itself intrigued me, leaving me eager to learn more. Samakaab, despite appearing relieved, bore a look in his eyes that suggested he had relived every moment of the story he'd shared.
"Damn," Hani uttered simply, disappearing into the kitchens. She returned with freshly brewed tea, lamenting the absence of stronger beverages.
"My story isn't nearly as captivating as yours," she confessed after a brief pause. "My family is very much alive, though they are not a part of my life."
Despite her reluctance to divulge further, a silence enveloped us, each of us mourning the lives we never had