Bringing Dua Home
We carried Dua’s lifeless body home through the streets of Port Damali.
The people we passed either hurried away, afraid to be associated with us, in case they, too, were labelled a disturbance to the Marquis. That, or they bent their heads in prayer, giving us the grace and strength we needed to keep going. I do not know if any of them witnessed what had happened.
It was silent, just the echoes of our steps off the ramshackle buildings of the Tumbledowns.
We thought it would be safer to go that way, to avoid the Zhelezo, though the way they had scattered left me believing they would avoid us at all costs.
The square had emptied as quickly as it filled. The violence ended as the citizens watched the Zhelezo run. I don’t believe the murder was on their agenda.
No one had offered us help as I pressed my cloak onto the gushing wound in her stomach, the bright teal quickly turning to scarlet. I told her it would be okay, I told her she would be fine.
I don’t know how long I whispered those words to her before Rab found us.
“She’s gone, Maal,” he said. His voice was husky. When I tore my eyes from Dua’s face to look up at him, Rab turned away. Abashed at the hollow look on my face, ashamed by my grief.
Rab had pulled me to my feet before stooping to scoop Dua into his arms. I’d tried not to let go, how could I let her go?, but with a look, my brother stilled my protests.
Now we walked.
We passed through the city gates without any issue. The guards must have been alerted to our coming and ordered to let us by with no question.
The cobbled street soon gave way to a dusty road as we made our way back to our village.
The wind caught her hair, long and black and curly, and brought it to tickle Rab’s face. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, but I knew I would never laugh again.
“Maal,” Rab said, his voice intruding into my thoughts, replaying the moment the Zhelezo’s blade entered her stomach.
I couldn’t answer. The taste of bile was bitter against the back of my throat, my anger bubbled up, ready to spill out.
“Maal.” His voice again, insistent. It was then I noticed he’d stopped.
I turned back to him. His body, large and framed by the setting sun, held my best friend in the world. A world that would never be the same again.
“Maal, what are we going to do?” My younger brother, his voice thin and lost, turned to me for strength, for guidance.
I took a step closer to him, closing the gap of silence that stood between us.
“We will fight,” I said, a hardness in my voice I’d never heard before. “Never again will an innocent life be lost so the Marquis can line her pockets.”
I watched as Rab looked down at Dua and then up at me. His hesitation was only for a moment before he joined his steps to mine.
The first houses of our village started appearing around us, children and old ladies peeking through their curtains to see what we carried.
By the time we reached our house, it seemed like the whole village followed in a procession behind us, the silence broken only as the waves lapped close by.
My mother and Pa opened the door and stared, a strangled cry breaking the silence as Mother grabbed the doorframe.
Behind them, ‘Lo burst from the house.
“Give her to me,” he said, as he recognised the slight frame of his only child in my brother’s arms. His agonised wail echoed in the street; it seemed to go on for hours.
I don’t know where they got them, but around us, candles lit in the dusk. My mother started to sing, her alto voice haunting and sad.
Rab laid Dua in ‘Lo’s arms, joining him as he knelt in the street. I fell beside them, my grief finally breaking through as I tried to bury myself in their embrace.
Breth appeared behind me, lifting me into his arms. I sniffled and tucked my head into his neck, crying softly as he stroked my back.
