image [https://i.imgur.com/y1XUYA7.png]

21.05.2024 – 16:30 UTC +01.00

I slept less than an ideal amount of hours last night. Before the dawn broke, I decided to study the map gifted to me by that mysterious lady in Waw Al Kabir.

Well, not gifted. It was a trade, a trade with an even more mysterious cost for me. My skin crawled when I remembered the woman’s words:

Once you fulfill your Calling, you will have to come back here to me and have a cup of tea

There was something ominous in this deal I had so eagerly accepted, and I had promised myself to make it worth it.

It was proven not so hard: the map was full of details of Maydan expanding in different areas, from Mali to Sudan, with information about their owners, aggressiveness, and even interaction with non-Cursed people. Two examples were especially intriguing for our trip: the Maydan around the Tibesti Mountains in the East and the Maydan around the Aïr Mountains in the West.

It seemed like the volcanic area around the Tibesti mountaintops was under the control of a quite politically powerful Cursed clan. Living in secret from the normal people of Chad, Cursed individuals had gathered there to form their own commune – but were quite guarded against outsiders. Passing through that area would be risky.

On the other hand, the area around the Aïr Mountains was controlled by a Cursed matriarch who used her curses to allow the area to prosper, with water, life, and Cursed-born oasis’. This Maydan was not something we were unaware of before, as it was one of the few areas in central Africa where Cursed people had been thriving and openly co-existing with non-Cursed citizens. However, the map had the extra information of the clear borders of influence of that Curse, and it would be easier to navigate through Niger and head south.

That didn’t fly well with Qadir initially, as we were instructed by our parents to avoid that region: the people from those Mountains perceived clans such as ours in a quite negative light. The argument did not last long though, when I told him our current plan to cross to Chad through the Tibesti region was probably even more dangerous.

“Let’s pass through the middle,” I offered the solution, suggesting to him the only possible route between the two regions “We cross through Niger, but stay as close east as we can. We don’t come close to any of the two regions. We circle around Chad, and we go to N’Djamena from Cameroon”

He quickly agreed and we boarded our fully fueled vehicles and went ahead with the itinerary. Our entourage seemed awkward about the change of plans at the beginning, but I had armed my brother with good arguments. In the end, the men in our company had signed up for the whole trip and to get paid when it was done: this would extend the mission but make it safer.

The trip was long and boring. Both of us were sitting in the passenger’s seat, my brother had just woken up from a quick afternoon nap.

“You know, I hope you are right really,” he said.

“Depends on how accurate the map is. We can’t know for sure. But Bilma is not part of any of the two Maydan, and the best case for us to stay the night and refuel.”

Qadir mumbled something.

“Look, let’s just be happy we dodged the trouble we were running to,” I tried to argue once again “We are now way more to the South than we would have been if we had tried to go through Chad. My Calling led me to this map for a reason, and so far, so good.”

“Aha. That’s nice!” he said and shook himself off the worries “Look!”

As we turned through the dunes, it became quickly visible through my window: the skyline of the town of Bilma.

My brother rushed towards my side of the car excited.

“Wow”

Tall buildings – not quite as tall to call skyscrapers, but taller than what my brother and I have ever seen up close– caught his eye already from a distance. Bilma was an oasis town, and it was living up to its name: buildings looked covered in green while we approached, as probably vines and ivy trees blended with the city.

“Okay, I guess your ideas are cool sometimes,” Qadir said, and I could not help but smile a bit. Before I could say anything, he had already jumped into his phone searching for a fancy hotel to stay in. Before I could even ask him to show some restraint for our limited budget, he was already bargaining over the phone.

“Welcome, welcome!” yelled the hotel manager as our cars entered the parking lot. Next to him, two members of the staff sported excited smiles.

My brother matched his excitement exiting the car and already started discussing an upgrade. One of the ladies – who must have been a receptionist – approached me.

“Would you like me to guide you to your room?” she asked nicely and showed with her stance that she would accompany me regardless. I followed her towards the tall hotel.

“Fitting” I mentioned as we reached the entrance: Baobab Inn, written in Arabic and Latin. The hotel was surrounded by tall Baobab trees, planted to encircle the building. Some looked taller than others.

“Yes, we are very proud of our garden,” said the woman “and our suite guests always love living higher than the Upside-Down trees”

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I smiled at her and followed her inside the hotel.

That night I slept better than I had for many nights. The trip had started a few days ago, and at no point until now had I considered there could be time to relax. The wind blew from the windows all evening, allowing me to sleep at just the right temperature. In the morning, I had a full breakfast in my room, looking out the window. The maids of the hotel had done their best to prepare a bountiful meal and juice from what I guessed was a local production of fresh fruit. Qadir did not hold back on the expenses. I appreciated that he wanted to care for us, but I also feared we would soon run out of our budget.

I looked at the baobabs’ sky-reaching branches below my room, and I thought the receptionist was right. There was something about eating breakfast just above such magnificent trees. Their branches spread like an upside-down root system, and I could imagine them choking the air around the hotel, draining it of the gases needed for them to grow taller. I decided that these trees had a sense of danger around them, and I respected them for it.

I let my gaze wander away at the skyline of the city until my phone started vibrating.

It was a while since I had it connected to a stable enough WiFi, and after turning it on an hour ago, it had been going non-stop with updates and notifications. I checked it out again, to make sure none of these were a text by Qadir.

Some news caught my eye: international help was sent to the Antarctic Colonies, and even some representatives from the African Union were making statements about sending relief packages and “supporting against a new war of terror”. Before I could read more, my phone rang showing Qadir’s number.

I picked it up.

“Hello, Miss, uhm. We are sorry to wake you,” a man said, almost too afraid to address me.

“Who is this? Where is Qadir?”

“Walid, miss. I am from the convoy, the car behind you. We – uh – found your brother, he was in some kind of, uh, situation. He is okay, but he is in the hospital.”

I sprang up from the chair. I put the phone on speaker as I reached for my bags.

“What happened, is he okay?” I yelled at the phone.

“Yes, yes, he is okay now. Well, he is a bit hurt, but we thought we should call you. He is in the hospital two streets down from the hotel. A car is coming for you.”

His voice was worried, and that made me tense.

I did not bother preparing my messy hair at all, I dressed and ran as fast as I could.

I was right outside his door in less than a quarter of the hour, but it seemed like a day had passed. I did not understand how he could have possibly ended up in the hospital. Being in a foreign city and country made it a whole lot more difficult to plan what my next steps could be.

I decided asking myself questions would not help. I had to speak with my brother.

“What the hell happened?” I asked the doctor standing outside his door. Some of our convoy’s men were sitting far behind me. The man had a stern and strict look as if he was almost scolding me for my rude language.

“We do not know Miss, he was brought in the middle of the night. He has extensive injuries and probably a concussion.”

“Can I see him? Please.”

“Of course, but he is under a lot of painkillers right now. Please be gentle around him.” The doctor opened the door behind him, and I tried to hold my tears. One of his legs was in a cast, his chest was covered in gauze, same as his left hand. His head was wrapped around with some kind of plastic wrap, and his eyes looked black, as if hit.

“Qadir?” I asked as I approached. We were alone in the room.

“Sis” he said, and you could hear he was in pain.

“What… what happened to you? Did you get in a fight?” I asked him.

He looked right at me.

“Yes. I think so.”

“You think so?” I said, and he flinched at the hint of anger in my voice.

“I… do not remember. I don’t remember anything.”

“Okay. The doctor said you are very badly hurt, and need some time to heal”

We both sat in silence.

“What about your Calling?” he asked.

“I…” I paused. There was nothing to say about it. Part of me hoped that my Calling would take over now and suggest a course of action and make the decision for me. It did not. “I think that is not important right now”

“I am sorry sister,” he said, and I could see his eyes filling up with tears.

I approached him.

“Don’t be.” I pulled a handkerchief from his nightstand. “Whoever did this to you, that’s the one that should be sorry. They messed with the wrong family.”

He laughed a bit and then visibly ached.

“Khalida Ashour. What are you planning to do?”

“Where are your clothes?” He nudged towards the wardrobe in the room.

“I asked them not to wash them,” he said.

I opened the wardrobe and found clothes reeking in blood. Pants, a long blouse that must have been expensive, and a half-torn scuff. No shoes.

“Good,” I responded. I used the handkerchief and passed it through all the clothes. I was sure almost all of it belonged to my brother. But that did not matter, as I only needed the rest of that almost that would be foreign.

The handkerchief had turned a shade of dark rotten red by the end. I squished it tightly in my hands and closed my eyes.

I recalled the training with my mother. Every living thing has a Nabd.

Immediately, I heard my brother’s pulse. His pulse was worryingly weak, but I had enough of a sample to listen to it clearly. I tried to zone it out completely, sending it as far as possible to the back of my mind. His heart rhythmically danced in the background of my earshot – and then, I picked it up. It was like an illusion of a sound, only a percentile of what my brother’s pulse sounded like. That one percent of his assailant’s blood was indeed there and was like a homing beacon for me.

I smiled. I had not done this in a while: listening to the Nabd not to guard, but to hunt. It was intoxicating.

“Khalida, please no. It must have been a stupid robber or something” my brother protested, but after listening to my little brother’s weakened Nabd, I opened my eyes angrier than before.

I stood up, carefully placing the handkerchief in my pocket.

“You,” I said and went back towards him. I petted his head with my hands, blemished by his blood “Don’t worry about a thing”