bastard looking for a victim. Three years ago she died. A civilian victim of an air strike. She’d been teaching her own daughter to read.”
He put the gun down and stared at his hands. “I dug out the rubble, dug out the bodies. I said to my wife, we must leave. My grandfather said I should go to Pakistan where he had friends. No, I said. We should go to the ends of the earth, somewhere safe.” He threw the gun against the wall. “Now I am the bully and my victim pities me.”
“Jay has courage.” The girl had surprised Sara. The terrible night had matured Jay, tested her compassion and found her generosity. In terror, she’d shown strength.
“That boy you were talking about,” Khan said abruptly. “My grandfather had a lime cure he used on amputees and people with bone infections. Most of his scholarship is gone, blown to the four winds, but I remember the cure. It is painful. He dosed the people first with opium.” He recited the cure, staring at the broken gun. “If you can save the boy, that will be something.”
“And you?” The cure had arrived so strangely it felt unreal. She memorised it and put the memory aside. The more immediate problem was the life of the man in front of her. Vince Ablett would make him suffer.
Khan pulled his knife from the sheath at his waist and crouched by the Persian carpet. He sliced the base of his thumb and let three drops of blood fall to stain the carpet.
Sara was better with written than spoken words and it took her a moment to translate the Pashto words.
“Consume the evil that enters.”
If Vince entered with a demon taint in his heart, the magic of the Persian carpet would trap his soul.
Sara closed her mouth on her protest. Who was she to deliver justice? What would be would be, and she discovered small sympathy for Vince, who ruined so many lives. She even felt a moment’s viciousness. Let Vince taste the prison Filip had suffered for centuries. She forced away her anger.
“Where will you go?” she asked Khan.
He glanced at her and his eyes were sharply assessing, memories and vengeance forgotten. “Will you take me there?”
She realised he meant the dematerialisation Filip had used with Jay. Although she had never carried a human, technically it was possible. She nodded. “Where?”
“Afghanistan.” He looked down at his hands. The bleeding had stopped, but there were other scars. “You and Jay remind me that there are children who need saving. My son is lost. But I have memories of my grandfather’s teachings to help others, and I have my hands and my strength.”
Tears stung her eyes. Khan was on the path to healing himself.
She held out her hand. His clasp was callused and careful of her.
“The djinni loves you.”
She glanced at him, surprised not at Filip’s love but that Khan commented.
His smile twisted. “I envy him the courage to love while Solomon’s curse still traps him. I won’t risk my heart again.”
In time you will. There was too much passion in Khan for him to live without love. His grief would heal, never forgotten but allowing room for new loves.
“At least you won’t look back with regret that you hurt Jay.”
“I hurt your djinni.”
“Yes.” The memory of Filip’s pain burned through her. But it had also torn away their defences, compassion and need opening them to one another. It had hastened their coming together.
Khan met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. Filip’s suffering was private. She changed the subject. “We need to go outside. You can’t travel through walls.”
She led the way out of the house and into the predawn chill of the backyard. With no walls or roofs in the way, she closed her eyes and concentrated on dematerialising and the geography of Afghanistan.
For a moment she felt Khan’s physical body anchor her to the quiet Australian suburbs. Then the ground shook beneath her feet. The vibration travelled along her bones. The suburbs vanished into swirling dust.
They
He put the gun down and stared at his hands. “I dug out the rubble, dug out the bodies. I said to my wife, we must leave. My grandfather said I should go to Pakistan where he had friends. No, I said. We should go to the ends of the earth, somewhere safe.” He threw the gun against the wall. “Now I am the bully and my victim pities me.”
“Jay has courage.” The girl had surprised Sara. The terrible night had matured Jay, tested her compassion and found her generosity. In terror, she’d shown strength.
“That boy you were talking about,” Khan said abruptly. “My grandfather had a lime cure he used on amputees and people with bone infections. Most of his scholarship is gone, blown to the four winds, but I remember the cure. It is painful. He dosed the people first with opium.” He recited the cure, staring at the broken gun. “If you can save the boy, that will be something.”
“And you?” The cure had arrived so strangely it felt unreal. She memorised it and put the memory aside. The more immediate problem was the life of the man in front of her. Vince Ablett would make him suffer.
Khan pulled his knife from the sheath at his waist and crouched by the Persian carpet. He sliced the base of his thumb and let three drops of blood fall to stain the carpet.
Sara was better with written than spoken words and it took her a moment to translate the Pashto words.
“Consume the evil that enters.”
If Vince entered with a demon taint in his heart, the magic of the Persian carpet would trap his soul.
Sara closed her mouth on her protest. Who was she to deliver justice? What would be would be, and she discovered small sympathy for Vince, who ruined so many lives. She even felt a moment’s viciousness. Let Vince taste the prison Filip had suffered for centuries. She forced away her anger.
“Where will you go?” she asked Khan.
He glanced at her and his eyes were sharply assessing, memories and vengeance forgotten. “Will you take me there?”
She realised he meant the dematerialisation Filip had used with Jay. Although she had never carried a human, technically it was possible. She nodded. “Where?”
“Afghanistan.” He looked down at his hands. The bleeding had stopped, but there were other scars. “You and Jay remind me that there are children who need saving. My son is lost. But I have memories of my grandfather’s teachings to help others, and I have my hands and my strength.”
Tears stung her eyes. Khan was on the path to healing himself.
She held out her hand. His clasp was callused and careful of her.
“The djinni loves you.”
She glanced at him, surprised not at Filip’s love but that Khan commented.
His smile twisted. “I envy him the courage to love while Solomon’s curse still traps him. I won’t risk my heart again.”
In time you will. There was too much passion in Khan for him to live without love. His grief would heal, never forgotten but allowing room for new loves.
“At least you won’t look back with regret that you hurt Jay.”
“I hurt your djinni.”
“Yes.” The memory of Filip’s pain burned through her. But it had also torn away their defences, compassion and need opening them to one another. It had hastened their coming together.
Khan met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. Filip’s suffering was private. She changed the subject. “We need to go outside. You can’t travel through walls.”
She led the way out of the house and into the predawn chill of the backyard. With no walls or roofs in the way, she closed her eyes and concentrated on dematerialising and the geography of Afghanistan.
For a moment she felt Khan’s physical body anchor her to the quiet Australian suburbs. Then the ground shook beneath her feet. The vibration travelled along her bones. The suburbs vanished into swirling dust.
They
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