Nobody in Alburkhan turned their head towards the little blue-eyed girl darting through the streets with a scorpion wiggling in her bag. Too busy squabbling with the merchants about the rising prices of fish or shouting at one of the punching monkeys in the hopes their favourite knocked the other out cold. She could drown in the sea of people in this very instant, and it would take until after the moon had chased the sun behind the horizon for a soul to notice her body lying motionless in the dirt.
It was a relief to disappear in the sweaty tumult of the market, a stark contrast to the quiet emptiness of the dunes. She didn't need to be seen, didn't want to be seen. Let them hustle and bustle, calling each other robbers and thieves as silver coins moved from the chain hanging on people's hips to the counters.
As though the warm Suhrian wind itself was chasing her, she was flying home, looking down every other step to assure her feet were still touching the sand. Not that she knew what to do if they suddenly didn't.
She dived into the opening between two stalls. As a welcome, the copper tails of the beaded curtains slapped her back. Ummi stopped pouring Indra a cup of afternoon brew, spilling a little on the deep-burgundy pillows they were sitting on. Without saying anything to her mother and brother, she sprinted up the clay stairs, straight to the roof. To Nana.
"Hey, Sci, a good golden hour to you too," Indra scoffed.
"Golden hour," she mumbled back.
"Sci..." Ummi sighed, her voice too soft to hear the rest of her complaints.
As if Sci cared for the trail of sand and dust she was leaving behind. Not when... when... She couldn't finish the thought. What she had seen had not been real—scorpions couldn't fly, and definitely not on their backs. The desert had fooled her as it had fooled many before her. If anything, it had been the sand spirits who had made the creature soar into the air. Not her own fingers.
Her scarf still wrapped around her face, she dumped the bag into one of the round iron cages and turned to Nana sitting cross-legged in the evening sun. "I caught a Deathstalker for you."
"A Deathstalker," Nana said, sounding impressed by Sci's work. She put the black Fat-tail she had been milking back into its cage and placed the tweezers next to the two half-full vials of blue liquid. For a moment, she watched the amber-coloured scorpion crawl out of its hemp prison, then her deep, dark eyes settled on Sci. "Why are you not jumping with joy, honouring the God of Pride?"
"Because He's a God of Sin."
Nana smiled, her lips as red as the tunic she was wearing. "There must always be a balance between virtue and sin, little Sci. Seven brothers and seven sisters, one big family ruling over the Heavenly Halls and the Seven Hells."
"That's what you believe." Sci pouted.
"And I'm proud of it."
"I'm not."
Nana cocked her head, slightly shaking it. "You're never like this. What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Sci averted her gaze.
She didn't mind Nana thinking differently about the Gods, not really. Her grandmother was from Makurdya, a city more south than any of the seven volcanoes. With her darker skin and beautiful curly hair that had turned ash grey, she looked nothing like Sci, Indra, or Ummi—her own daughter. Sometimes she would utter strange words or speak of devilish goblin ghosts. Still, the Queen who lived in the grand palace up on the hill with the large dome and the seven slender towers was as much her Queen as she was Sci's. A Scorian in heart and soul.
Nana made a humming noise. "There's no sand nor wind here, child. Undo your rezzi so we can talk properly."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because..." Sci's lips trembled. As long as she wore her scarf, she was safe. Nobody could see that she... that she...
Tears sprung to her eyes. She didn't care for the vials of venom she stumbled over as she rushed into Nana's soft, silk arms and hugged her tightly, scared for the fate awaiting her. For Esen—now frolicking with his abah on the roof next to theirs—calling her names and throwing dirt to her face, for the shame she would bring to her family, and the Queen's scimitar that would take her from this world to the judging eyes of the Gods of Sin, miles and miles below the bubbling pits of the fire mountains where she would burn forever.
"Child, my sweet child." Nana rocked her, her hand on Sci's flask scarf. "What troubles you?"
"I... miss... Abah," Sci said in between the sobs. A lie as white as the Greenlander merchants selling wood and strangely salted meat.
"You know your abah is on a very important mission."
"I still miss him. He should... should stop looking and... and come home—there's nothing but water south of Scoria."
"Maybe. But if he finds land, he will be a rich man. He'll bring honour to our family for centuries to come. All Kings and Queens in the five kingdoms will know his name."
Sci cried harder. Not with her as a daughter. All of Abah's efforts gone to waste because he had a cursed child. The black sheep, not an explorer like him, or a soldier like Indra, or a scorpion milker like Nana. Gods, she would never become a mother like Ummi or serve boring rich men and women in Khan Rafi's brewery. She would rather let a Deathstalker sting her.
Nana grabbed her face, her rough fingers wiping away the tears. "Dear blood of my blood, what can I do to dry your rivers of sadness?"
"Nothing. I... it's..."
"It's not just your abah you miss, isn't it?"
Sci shook her head.
"Then what is it? You can tell Nana everything."
"And you'll not tell anyone? Not even Indra or Ummi and Abah."
"It will be our secret," Nana assured her.
Behind her, the market's buzzing and shouts continued. On her right, Esen was wrestling his abah and winning, his screams of victory loud yet shrill. And on the other roof, a week's worth of laundry was flapping on the lines.
"Swear it on all the Gods," Sci demanded. "And on Queen Rainah too."
Nana removed the purple woven bracelet from her wrist and fastened it around Sci's arm. "I even swear it on Alafin Cyrus, may his beauty fade if I break my vow."
Sci took a deep breath, then glanced sideways again to confirm there were no accidental onlookers. Slower than the God of Sloth on a bad day, she unwrapped her scarf. "It was an accident. I was lying on my belly, crawling towards the Deathstalker to catch it. I was so close and then it scampered off, and I stretched my hand, wanting to stop it... and... and..."
An uneasy sensation had tingled in her fingertips, after which a sudden gust of wind had enveloped the creature.
"I made the scorpion fly," she squeaked.
As Sci undid her scarf, Nana froze, a low gasp half-escaping her mouth.
"I'm hideous, aren't I?" Sci didn't know how much of her hair had lost its midnight brown colour, or whether it had darkened or grown lighter. But she had heard tales of what magic did. Black hair turned white, and white all black.
"No, my child. You're still beautiful, and sweet as ever." Nana stood up and pushed the left side of Sci's face against her bosom and kissed her hair. Peace washed over Sci, and her heart filled with love. "Now freed from the colours of autumn in your hair."
"It's gone?" Sci peeped. "I'm normal again?"
"Yes, but you must forget what you are, Sci. What you can do." Nana was serious, more serious than Sci had ever seen her. "You must ignore the call of the wind. Scorpions can't fly. A Scorian walks on two feet. And you are not a witch."
"I'm not a witch," Sci repeated. "The wind is just the wind."
That night a desert storm swept over Alburkhan, covering every stone, curtain, and carpet with a layer of dust and ashes. The rumbling clouds of sand carried a name that only the little blue-eyed girl lying wide awake in her hammock could hear. Her hair red as lava.
Scirocco.
YOU ARE READING
The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...
