Zara awoke to her stomach gurgling. The nasty, swirling sensation eventually sent her hovering over a bin on the floor at the edge of her bed. This was the third time today she had vomited. And it was still morning.
“Ohh,” she groaned, not bothering to wipe the long drool hanging out her mouth. Her throat burned and her breath was rotten. The skin on her face and body was in no better shape. The swelling had gone down, but left behind purplish scars everywhere she’d been bit. The rampant fevers and chills she’d suffered with for two days straight were on and off now. The puncture in her left knee wasn’t as bad as she’d originally thought; the doctor had cleaned and dressed it well, but she still needed a cane to walk. Not that Zara left her bed much anyway, other than to relieve herself in the chamber pot.
Leyli looked in on her three times a day to bring meals, retrieve empty dishes, and switch out the trash bin and chamber pot as needed. Zara was given instructions on medicating herself, so Leyli did not bother with it. Zara was left to wonder if her mother was acting under Zahir’s threats, or if her heart had just iced over on its own.
It had only been two days. Two days, but it felt like two weeks.
Zara needed water—her mouth was drier than cotton—but she wouldn’t bother Leyli by ringing the stupid hand bell left for her on her bedside. It was better to suffer in silence than to rely on either of her parents for anything.
They had taken her to the clinic that horrid night, but there hadn’t been any real rush about it. Leyli had to beg Zahir to take their daughter to Dr. Almur before she died. Zahir, with a sloppily bandaged head, had loaded the carriage with an overnight sack of Zara’s belongings, grumbling about bothering the local doctor at such a late hour. He had the horses practically stroll all the way into town. Leyli had accompanied them, cooing and crying all over Zara. Zara had cried in her chest, because it was all she could really do, and while she regretted it now, she had enjoyed her mother’s embrace. It was so rare for Zara to get a hug from her anymore.
She had half wondered whether death was the better end of the deal after all, but she couldn’t let Rowan’s sacrifice be in vain. That pesky brother of hers had saved her life. The fact that he would struggle at all for her was nothing short of astonishing, and Zara would be eternally grateful for what he’d done that night. The boy had a good heart after all—one he hadn’t inherited from their father, clearly. Zahir had punched Rowan’s face before ordering him to clean the splattered beetle in the dining room once he’d brought Zara back from the clinic.
They arrived to the dim, hushed roads in the middle of town at half-past twelve. Dr. Almur lived on the clinic’s second floor, and he allowed after-hour patients. “There’s never telling when someone should fall ill,” he would say. His night staff let the family into the well-kept, homey looking office and let Zara sit wrapped in a blanket in front of a crackling fireplace while the assistant called on the doctor.
Dr. Afzar Almur was an old man in his mid fifties, bald and stout with a thick graying beard. His small, gray eyes were kind and jovial. He knew the family well; they’ve been patients of his for years.
When questioned by Dr. Almur about both Zahir and Zara’s injuries, Zahir of course had no issues lying about how Zara ended up in the condition she was in. She had gone out without permission and locked herself in the shed when Zahir went looking for her. And once found, she had scratched his head up from delirium. The poisonous centipedes and mosquitoes have left her battered, a punishment he thought fit for a daughter’s rebellious disobedience.
Was that why he’d made the carriage take so long? To ensure he had enough time to come up with that hack of a story? It was true those damn centipedes had almost done her in, but what in Mother’s name was this talk about running away when he had dragged her, by her fucking hair, out of the house?
No, it was stupid to question it at all—Zara knew full well the reason for his lies—but in her rugged mind, she couldn’t help but silently question anyway.
But when the doctor brought up the rough scrapes on Zara’s legs, hips, and the poorly wrapped knee—nobody had bothered taking the glass shard out, it had remained jammed in her knee all this fucking time—Zahir’s adamant attitude worsened, loudly claiming that she had done this to herself, that she had grown mentally sick. Leyli just bobbed her head along, trying not to let too many guilty tears fall. The doctor let the matter drop.
Zara was given plenty of natural leem medicine and ointment treatments for each injury. The shard was finally removed, and her knee was cleaned, stitched up, and professionally re-bandaged. It was all a very painful process, but worth it so as long as Zara could eventually walk on both legs again. She was advised, as they all had expected, to stay the night so her fevers could be monitored. Zahir pulled his wife back home with him, despite her meek protests.
“We’ll be back in the morning, okay?” Leyli had assured Zara sadly. “Don’t worry. You’re in better hands here.”
Zara had spent the night crying, shivering, and vomiting. She swore her skin would melt off her, but the doctor assured her the medicines were taking effect. The nurse gave her some ice and extra blankets.
“This is the worst of it, dear,” Dr. Almur said in a gentle voice. “Do make sure you don’t run off into a viinstra’s den again, and all will be well.”
There it was, the official name for the white centipede that no one ever cared to remember. He laughed, but Zara had not laughed with him.
----------------------------------------
The soft knocking at the door almost startled the crap out of her.
“Yes?” Zara squeaked. She coughed, desperate for water still.
The door opened ajar, and in popped Rowan’s frizzy head.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Zara was relieved to see him. “Hey,” she said back, her voice low. “What are you doing?”
He rushed in and quietly closed the door behind him. In his hand was a bowl of ice shavings.
“I brought some ice,” he announced. “In case your fever’s still running hot or whatever.”
“I need water,” Zara replied with a small smile. “That will do, though. Thank you.”
Rowan took the chair from her desk and placed it next to her bed. He set the bowl down on the side table, allowing her to pop some into her mouth to quench her thirst.
“Thought you might’ve wanted some company,” he said, sitting down. “Also, Ma went out for a bit and Auntie’s asleep. They’ve been making such a fuss over that hag for nothing…”
The bruise on the left side of his mouth had darkened. At least it didn’t seem to be bothering him much for now.
“Baba’s seriously acting like Auntie was the one who almost died—” Rowan shut his mouth for a moment. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Zara put more ice in her mouth. It was difficult not to cry, and that pissed her off. She should be so used to this by now. Used to feeling unwanted, used to feeling like a mistake. Yet she kept breaking down anyway, for nothing. Zara clenched the bed sheet. A warning cloud of death loomed over her, constantly. Zahir made it clear he wanted her gone. He hadn’t spoken directly to her once after that night. He was probably plotting another way to get rid of her.
Zara gave Rowan a quick glance. He used to be such an unbearable little kid. When he hadn’t been outright ignoring her, he used to make fun of her and her subpar dancing skills, and the fact that she was a witch who’d be alone forever. He’d often gloat that he was the favorite child—at least when Naz wasn’t around.
Now he was becoming a young man, a man who still had a lot of boy left in him. He was still the same Rowan that was rowdy with his friends and smart with his mouth, the same Rowan who would barge into his sister’s room unannounced and sprinkle onion crisps all over the floor. The same Rowan who couldn’t take care of his hair or hygiene for shit.
“It’s fine,” Zara lied. “They always act like that around Auntie.”
“Well, sure,” he said. “But…still.” He ran his hands through his hair. It was messily tied up, and he had just made it worse.
Zara chuckled. “Right. Thank you.”
“Huh?”
“I said—never mind. You heard what I said.” She shrugged, because this was Rowan, and it was awkward even though she really wished she could hug him. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for your help.”
“Oh!” Rowan flushed. “Right. Whatever.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“What I can’t believe is you actually carried me—”
“You were really heavy by the way.”
“I’m not heavy.”
Rowan chuckled. “If you say so. But it was so nasty. You know you got blood all over me?”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“…Was it a lot?”
“Well…no. But you stained my shirt. And that shirt was white. What a pain to get off.”
Zara smirked back at him. “You’ve become like a good brother so suddenly.”
“Suddenly? And what are you saying, anyway? Like a good brother?”
They laughed. It felt nice to laugh. Zara felt the clog in her throat cease, along with the impulse to shove down more ice.
“Anyway,” Rowan said, “it seems Baba hates us both now.”
“Really?” Zara pressed her lips together. “Mmm…he’s always hated me, but you? I don’t know. That’s quite the assumption to make.”
“Okay maybe hate’s the wrong word,” Rowan admitted. “For you…it’s more like he tolerated you. But I don’t think it was hate or anything. Only because… one time I heard him and Ma talking and it sounded like they were hoping you would turn out normal or something. So we could be a family.”
“Oh…” That was interesting. Zara did not know about this. It did nothing to erase her contempt for him, however.
“They’re always worried. Because if people found out, you know…like if you made a mistake….”
“Like I did with Auntie?”
“….She deserved that.”
Zara regarded him for a moment before reluctantly nodding.
“That’s why you did it, didn’t you?”
“That’s my problem though,” Zara explained. “I didn’t actually mean to do anything. I don’t know what happened, or how I did it, or how any of this works. I was furious and I…felt something warm coming, in my hand. The bug was on the table and there was this urge to—”
She didn’t know why she was suddenly detailing all of this to him.
“Urge to…?” Rowan pressed. His eyes were rounded as though Zara was telling him she’d climbed the highest peak of Mount Lilith or something.
“I-I had an urge. But I can’t say why I did. There was talk about Yohid and then Auntie wouldn’t shut the fuck up so…it’s like I saw something in front of me. Something that…I can control? I wanted to make them stop.”
Rowan stared at her for so long it made her physically uncomfortable. He leaned back in the chair.
“Wow. I guess I should stay on your good side all the time from now on, huh?” he said quietly.
“I-I’m sorry,” Zara stuttered, shifting back on her bed. She was scaring him again, making him think she was some dangerous thing that cursed anyone who looked at her wrong. She couldn’t have that. Not when things between them were patching up—
“I was joking!” Rowan said. He burst out laughing. “You should have seen your face, ahaha!”
Zara frowned. He was so stupid, really.
" Though…seriously, I should probably stay on your good side,” he faltered.
“You aren’t doing a very good job of it right now,” she remarked dryly, but relaxed her defensive posture.
Rowan smiled, and it was genuine. “I think your magic is….pretty frightening. But in a good way. It’s…frighteningly good.” He quickly added, “As long as you never use it on me, of course.”
Zara’s brows flew up. It took a moment to process what he had just said.
“….A-Are you being serious?”
Rowan nodded. “The more we learn about it at school, or when Auntie goes on one of her tirades about it, I can’t help but wonder about you. I mean…the potential’s there, is it not? You’re just never allowed to use it. And we also learned that some mages used to be good. We all used to live peacefully together, too. It’s just…most of them became our enemies, eventually. But, not every mage has to be bad, right?”
He seemed hopeful and uncertain at once. Zara let it sink in. Yes, mages and humans have once roamed just fine without war breaking loose at every corner. It had been a normal part of life, a thousand years prior. But much has happened in those thousand years, and now here Zara was in a world where most of her kind have long since been executed, because humans have exploited their weaknesses and doomed them unholy. What a life.
“I thought you would hate me,” Zara said. “I mean, I used to think you already did?”
“Hm…” Rowan thought about it. “To be honest, I didn’t like you for a long time, but that was before. I thought you were weird and, well.” He shrugged guiltily. “Not a good person.”
Ouch. Zara winced.
“But I started feeling bad for you. I can’t remember exactly when it started though.” He cocked his head in contemplation. “Maybe it was that time when we went on that family trip to Darhai some months ago, and you weren’t allowed to come with us. We left you here with Auntie of all people to watch over you. The look on your face when Baba told you that you would be staying here was nothing short of depressing. You were so looking forward to getting out of the house. And then on the day we left, I looked back from the carriage and saw you crying at your window, and I think that was when—”
Rowan blushed at Zara’s tearful gaze.
“What are you doing? Why are you crying now? Did you need more ice?” he asked aggressively.
“So that’s what started it? The family trip I never got to be a part of?” Zara couldn’t help but scoff through her tears. She wasn’t upset knowing this, not at all. Simply surprised that a memory was all it took for him to open up. It was making her emotional.
Rowan shrugged. “You could say that. It made me realize how sad you are all the time.”
“I’m not sad all the time,” Zara said. “Though, I don’t remember the last time I was very happy. I have good—well, normal—days and then of course, there are the bad days. Lately, I’ve had a string of bad days.”
Rowan chuckled before his expression grew serious again. “You know, Ma and Baba treat me like I’m stupid. I mean, you do too—”
“And I’m sorry,” Zara said, “but there are times I know you’re doing it on purpose.”
Rowan frowned. “Um. That’s true, I guess. But Baba especially thinks I’m a failure compared to Naz.”
Naz. That’s right. Ma sent him a letter invitation for Dolly’s engagement party. So that’s what’s eating him. Naz’s potential return.
Zara shook her head. “You’re thirteen. He’s twenty-five. There’s still time. He’s done a lot and you’re far behind him through no fault of your own. You’re not even finished with school yet.”
“I know! But I don’t understand why they act like it’s the end of the world just because I’m not as refined as he was when he was my age. What shit!” Rowan huffed. “And now…neither of them are speaking to me. What am I supposed to feel about it? Is it better than them breathing down my neck all the time? I can’t even ask a simple question like, ‘May I have something to eat’ without them looking at me like I’m that squashed up monster-beetle on our dining room floor. Which, by the way, that was really disgusting to clean up.”
Zara clucked her tongue. The reason they weren’t speaking to him was obvious, but she would let him figure that out on his own.
“I don’t think they ever liked me. Auntie thinks it’s because I’ve sided with the ‘wicked’ and I’m just so confused because I never said I sided with anybody!” he rambled.
“You haven’t picked a side, then?” Zara said. “So, what do you think of Yohid? He dies in a few days.” And it broke Zara’s heart to pieces. Fate wasn’t on his side. And it wouldn’t be on hers either. She felt like vomiting again.
Rowan studied her. “I can’t answer you. I’ve never met him,” he said carefully.
“Does it matter? He’s eight. He’s…just a kid. And they’re gonna kill him.” She stopped a moment before whispering, “It could be me one day.”
“Zara, you’re shaking,” Rowan said, moving the chair forward so he could hold her wrist. “You should stop thinking about him. There’s nothing you can do.”
Zara pressed her lips tight. She willed herself not to break down.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Rowan emphasized, “that won’t have you falling in the same predicament as him. So stop. Give it a rest. You need to rest from all of this. Especially magic. As much as I want to know more about it, I’m afraid that it does more harm than good. That’s what our history shows, and it’s showing it now. To me. With you.”
“With me?” Zara didn’t understand. What she had done with that beetle could be considered horrible, but how could Rowan bring up something as extensive as the history of magic into this? Unleashing a bug couldn’t possibly be comparable to all the atrocities past mages have done. Atrocities that had nothing to do with Zara. “What are you talking about?”
“The bird,” Rowan said. “You had it come for me, to help you. But then you also used it to attack Baba, so…”
“Wait….what?” The bird. That black bird of death. Zara remembered the glaring, beady eyes, the cracked beak…the wings half-feathered, half bones. The thing was going to shriek at her before she fainted. She still had nightmares about it.
Zara believed she had seen the true manifestation of death.
But, how could Rowan know about it?
“You don’t remember?” Rowan blinked, surprised. “Wow, you must have been really out of your mind.”
“Rowan, what are you even saying? How do you know about—are you talking about…what I saw…?” She trailed off.
“What you saw? What? I’m talking about the scary black bird you summoned that night.”
“Summoned?! I didn’t summon anything!”
“Yes you did! You just said you saw it—”
“No, I meant I saw it in a dream! A really horrible dream of a huge black crow thing with a cracked beak and it was about to scream at me, or-or eat me, I don’t even want to know. I’m so confused. How could you know anything about that?”
“I-I don’t? That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not talking about any dream, Zara. You sent that bird to me to help you. It came to me. And it spoke.”
Zara stared at him, her mouth parted in disbelief.
Rowan went on, “It said your name, a bunch of times. And then ‘Help’. That thing led me right to you.”
“That’s…not possible,” Zara whispered.
Some birds can mimic human sounds, but…this bird Rowan spoke of…if what he said was true, then that bird—it had to have been a raven, now that she considered it—had been oddly specific. Tracking down Rowan, speaking her name, calling for help…had it been enchanted? By who?
“Until next time, Zara.”
Zara shivered.
“It led me to you,” Rowan firmly repeated. “Explain that, then.”
“Oh…” Zara paused. She couldn’t tell him about the wizard. Not now. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t remember after all. Maybe…I did summon it somehow? Out of desperation? I mean, I was dying.”
Rowan’s gaze softened. “Right. I can only imagine.”
“So, talking black bird. A raven, then?”
“Raven? Oh yeah, that’s the name for it. Yes. A raven.”
Zara wanted to be alone now. She wanted to contemplate this. The demon raven from her dream brought her a lot of dread. It had to be connected with the one that had aided in her rescue. The wizard, it had to have been him. She could feel it. But she wasn’t comfortable relaying any of this to Rowan. The fact that she’d met an expert mage, and said mage had showed an interest in her, was something she wanted to keep to herself for the time being.
“I wish I would have done it anyway,” Rowan mumbled.
“What?”
“I should have helped you anyway. With or without the raven coming to me,” Rowan admitted. His face was flushed. “I’m sorry. I-I think I would have come to you, later on. Just because….you’d be out there all night—and I wasn’t sure what Baba was planning. Maybe I would have asked him if he’d bring you home eventually, or run out on my own or—”
She cut him off. “It’s okay, Rowan. You did more than anyone here ever would’ve.”
So he’d wanted to rescue her anyway. Zara rubbed her eye, pretending it was just the dust.
“Uh-huh,” Rowan grunted awkwardly. He stood up and stretched. “Okay, um. Sure. I should go now, I think. Auntie might wake up any minute and I don’t want her to catch me in here.”
“Of course. We’ll talk again some other time.” Maybe. Hopefully.
Rowan nodded as he backed toward the door. “Okay. I’ll see you, then.”
They heard the front door opening downstairs, signaling Leyli’s return. This was Rowan’s cue to open Zara’s and step out.
“Until next time,” Zara murmured, after he shut the door behind him.