Desert Wind

Chapter 4

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I've seen death before. In a city like Aram, it's a common sight. Poverty breeds disease and pandemics, and there are frequent droughts and fires. But I had never seen death on such a scale before—so drastic. Only now did I understand that such an experience leaves a scar on a person, an invisible scar that you can never part with. You have to slowly, day by day, learn to live with it, though it is undoubtedly extremely difficult. Even though I wasn't aware of it yet, the scenes from the fairies' house would haunt me for many, many years.

Despite escaping the smoke, my friend and I were not safe. Smoke and dust had settled on everything, sticking to our sweat-soaked skin. People were running, families searching for their loved ones. The fight for survival raged around us. A squad of soldiers headed our way, and we moved aside.

"The Sultan announces the closure of the city. Everyone is to go home immediately," a man at the front of the unit shouted, his voice cutting through the screams of terrified residents.

My friend and I exchanged a glance. We knew it was best to find shelter immediately. The streets were becoming more dangerous by the minute. We nervously started towards our house. We had been living together since my dad died. Agira had no parents. We rented a room above a herb shop, a small space with two windows overlooking a side street. As part of the rent, I often helped the herbalist with his work. I liked it; it allowed me to forget about daily life. It gave me purpose. Together with the crowd, we moved towards home, leaving behind the sight of destruction and death.

We didn't talk during the journey. Each of us was lost in thought about what had just happened. I had the impression that this was not the end, but only the beginning of a series of strange events. I replayed the explosion and its aftermath in my head, feeling as if it were a bad dream—a nightmare. That it hadn't happened at all. We were just turning another corner when a person appeared right in front of us. Agira and I stopped abruptly.

"You don't know how long I've been looking for you." A little boy stood before us. He was maybe eleven, dressed in tattered trousers and a dirty tunic. His short black hair and sad eyes caught my attention. His breathing was shallow, as if he had been running for a long time. "You have to go to the store." There was nervousness in his voice. I knew what it meant; the boss had given Agira a new task. She pursed her lips into a thin line and looked at me.

"I have to go. Wait for me at home. I'll come back as soon as I can." I knew from experience that when they called Agira, no one could know when she would return or in what condition. So I just said:

"They're closing the city. Take care of yourself." I hugged her briefly and moved on. Now I was squeezing through the sea of bodies alone. The crowd was getting thicker and more anxious. Every now and then, someone swore. People were bumping into each other, pushing each other.

"Attention, make room. Attention!" The scream came from a coachman. He was trying to navigate a gold-plated carriage, likely occupied by wealthy merchants or aristocrats. I saw two white horses and behind them the black, satin fabric of the carriage interwoven with gold threads. I lost sight of them and kept walking, staying close to the wall. The crowd was getting tighter and it was stuffy. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the end of the street ahead: Yorgos Square. From the square, it was only two more streets to home.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pull and pain in my left arm. I lost my balance. If not for the strange arm that held me, I would have fallen. Before I could catch my breath, I felt something cold against my throat. A knife. I froze, paralyzed.

"Move," a quiet whisper came into my ear, reeking of alcohol. My heart sank. The figure, still holding a knife to my throat, pushed me into a side street.