Might Omar help her? Was he home? Had he gone there with the child? She didn’t know. And she didn’t know how to reach him anyway. She had no idea where he worked and only the vaguest idea where he lived, for she had been there only once and that was four or five years before. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to picture Omar’s home. It was somewhere north of the village, up along the foothills near where the river cut through the canyon; she remembered standing on the riverbank and looking down on her town. It was a sprawling brick, stucco, and mud house, far larger than anything Azadeh could ever hope to live in, with pastures for Omar’s horses, rows of olive trees, and a natural orchard along the rolling foothills.
She turned toward the mountains and stared through the deepening gloom. Could she find it? She didn’t know. But if she was to seek help from Omar she would have to walk north, toward the mountains and into the heart of the coming storm. And she would have to climb, which meant even more rain and deeper cold.
Azadeh looked around her, wondering where else she could go. Who was there to help her? Whom could she trust now?
* * *
“Omar!” Lucifer whispered, “You must go to him. Go. You’ll be safe there. Don’t think now, just act. It’s the only thing you can do!”
* * *
The answer seemed apparent. Omar was the only person she could think of who might be willing to help her.
She felt a soft raindrop on her cheek and looked up at the sky. The rain started falling in a light drizzle, and the wind turned very cold. But the rain didn’t last long. It turned quickly to ice pellets and then heavy sleet. She heard more thunder in the distance as the hail and sleet blew against her neck.
She thought a final moment, and then started walking. She had made up her mind.
Turning north, she left the road and began to make her way across the open terrain. Coming to an ancient rock fence, she climbed over and snagged her brown dress, tearing it up to the knee. She examined the torn material, and then resumed walking. As she made her way up the mountain, a dark and gloomy dusk settled in. She heard movement around her and stopped to listen carefully, her imagination picturing horrible demons in the dark. She felt it, she sensed it.
There was someone there.
* * *
Lucifer smiled with a horrible grin, a sick twist of his lips at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t smile because he was happy—he hadn’t been happy since his exile from the Light—he smiled only because he had her, because she was doing what he had hoped.
* * *
Azadeh stared through the darkness, certain she was not alone. A small herd of goats moved toward her, the nanny bleating as she complained of the cold. Azadeh touched the nanny’s head, and then trudged along again. The terrain started rising to form the foothills at the base of the mountains, which were completely shrouded now in dark, heavy clouds. She made her way to the forest, where the ground became spongy with old, rotten growth. The temperature continued dropping to a bone-chilling cold, and she started to slip on the wet ground.
It grew dark very quickly and within a half hour after sunset she could barely see, the heavy clouds covering up any light from the moon and the stars. To her right, in the distance, there was the faintest white glow, nothing more than a thinning of the darkness and a tint of white. The village was down there, perhaps four or five kilometers to her right, and the low lights from the market shimmered miserably in the cold.
Azadeh stopped and looked at the soft glow that lightened the darkness. She was so homesick, so lonely, she thought she might die. But she pulled her scarf around her and kept walking.
* * *
Lucifer walked along with her. He was laughing now. Balaam walked toward him. “You were right,” he said. “Omar’s house has been taken over with Iranian secret police. They are looking for him now, and they are very upset. If Azadeh goes much farther, they will find her. And if they find her . . . well, who knows what we could convince them to do? Many of these soldiers are our servants; many of them worship you, Lord. If we can lead Azadeh to them, they will take her and have her, I’m sure.”
Lucifer snorted with pleasure. He had been proven right again. But that was no surprise. It was always so. Could I ever trust my servants? he wondered. Would they ever be worthy of me?
He looked over to Balaam, his eyes dead and lifeless, almost covered with film. “It may not matter,” he muttered. “She may first die from the cold.”
* * *
Azadeh walked all night because there was nothing else she could do. She knew if she stopped she would die. It was as simple as that. The temperature was now midwinter cold, and the rain and sleet were intermingled with snow.
Snow. This far south. At this time of year!
It was an evil omen, an omen she could not ignore.
But she tucked her head and kept walking, pulling her arms near her chest. She took one step, and then another, traveling in a direction she thought (and then hoped) was northwest. She prayed as she walked, sometimes closing her eyes. “The rain comes from God. The cold comes from God. Death and life come from God. Please, God, I want to live.”
To live she needed to find Omar. But which direction to go? The night was so dark, and she was so cold.
By 10 p.m., her hair had frozen in long strands at her neck. By midnight, she could no longer feel her fingers or feet. By 2 a.m., she was walking unsteadily, stumbling through the wet sleet, her teeth chattering so hard they rattled her brain. Everything started to look familiar. Had she been here before? The trees pulled closer around her as the forest thickened and the terrain grew steeper. Every few minutes she would stop and listen, trying to peer through the dark. Which was north? Which was south? She couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead. Reaching an awkward turn in the path she tripped suddenly, falling into the brush and the wet forest floor. The decaying leaves that enveloped her felt surprisingly warm and soft, like a blanket. The bushes were a pillow and she almost felt warm.
It was time to sleep. She had done all she could. I’ll just lay here a minute, she thought. For a moment, I will rest. I feel so tired and cold.
Closing her eyes, she felt a warm tear on her cheek. Rolling onto her side, she pulled herself into a tight ball.
Death and life come from God. Please, God, I want to live.
* * *
Lucifer stared at her as she fell into the brush. “Sleep, little child,” he hissed his most evil lies in her ear. “Sleep now. It is over. There is nothing left in this life for you. You have nothing left to live for, nothing to look forward to. You are alone. No one cares. You don’t have a friend in this world. You are worthless, you are miserable; there is nothing worth saving left inside of you. So lay there, my child, just lie there and die. You have nothing left to live for. It is the only thing you can do.”
Balaam stood beside Lucifer and listened, a cold chill on his spine. Lucifer was so convincing, even at these most vile lies. Balaam almost laughed in delight.
Then he heard a voice from behind him and felt a hot stab of fear. He saw the light, he felt the power, and he almost fell to his knees. Then Lucifer felt it too, and he turned around and screamed.
* * *
Azadeh woke suddenly and looked quickly around. There was a fire . . . no, a light. And she felt peaceful and calm.
A lone figure stood over her, causing her to squint in the dark. Then he reached down and touched her, wiping the frozen tear from her eye. She felt his bare finger and shuddered, feeling instantly warm. “Azadeh,” he said to her, and she took a deep breath.
“Father!” she whispered. “Father, is that you?”
Rassa Ali Pahlavi stood over her, an expression of worry and deep concern on his face. But though he looked like any father would look staring down at his freezing child—his eyes were drawn with sick worry, compassion, and alarm—he appeared much younger and lighter, much happier and more pure, as if the cares of this world could not affect him so deeply now. It was as if, though he wat
ched her, he knew there was something more. He was assured of the outcome, and the moment didn’t seem to trouble him so.
He bent down and touched Azadeh’s shoulders, helping her stand, then put his arms around her and held her close to his chest.
“Azadeh,” he said simply, “you’re going the wrong way.”
He held her more tightly, and she sensed his deep warmth again.
“Father,” she said, “I don’t understand.”
“You’re going the wrong way, Azadeh. Omar isn’t at his home tonight. Remember, he had to flee from the army. He left with the young prince and child. And even if he was at his house, Azadeh, the soldiers are waiting. You would be in great danger if you were to go anywhere near.”
“But Father, what do I do, then? Where am I to go?”
Rassa pulled away but kept his hands on her shoulders. “What did the American tell you?” he asked patiently.
Azadeh thought, her mind clearing. “Khorramshahr,” she whispered.
“Yes, Azadeh, Khorramshahr. Do you know where that is?”
Azadeh pondered this. “West of the border, along the Persian coast,” she finally said.
“Yes, that’s right. You must turn around. You are in danger. Stay away from the village. Do not try to find Omar. Do you understand, Azadeh? Will you do as I say?”
Azadeh didn’t hesitate. “I will, Father.”
Rassa stepped back. “Azadeh, I can’t stay here long.”
She cried with disappointment. “Please, Father, you cannot leave me now!”
He reached out and touched her lips, and she fell silent again. “I need you to remember something for me, Azadeh.”
She nodded wearily.
“Remember my final words, for they may be the most important thing I can say. There are times in your life when you feel completely alone, times you feel abandoned, as if there is not a soul in this world who cares about you. But when you feel that way, Azadeh, remember there is another world. There are others watching over you from the other side of the veil. We watch. We listen. And we understand. We never leave your side, Azadeh. Someone is always near, someone who knows you and loves you and wants you to succeed. You are never alone. There is always someone there. Think of that, remember, and it will give you the strength that you need.
“Now there is nothing more I can tell you, nothing more I can do. Turn around. Walk down the mountain. It is warm and safe there. You will be all right.”
Azadeh glanced behind her a quick moment, but when she turned back, her father was not there.
Gone. He was gone again!
Then she felt a sudden wave of heat, as if from some unseen fire.
Yes, he was gone now. But he had been there!
She stared at the darkness a long moment, then turned around and started walking. Soon she found a path that led down from the mountain. About the same time, the rain stopped and a warm wind blew from the ocean, pushing the mist aside. Half a kilometer down the trail, she found a cutter’s old woodshed, the lean-to that was but a shadow in the dark. At first, she was too afraid to approach it but eventually she gathered the courage to walk toward the woodshed and looked inside. Dry grass. Straw. A few bales of hay for the horse the cutter used to move the wood down from the mountain. She lay on the rough straw and curled into a tight ball, pulling the leather coat around her neck.
Although she couldn’t see him, Rassa was kneeling by her again. “Sleep now, my daughter,” he said. “Rise in the morning and turn your feet east. Go down to the coastline; it will be warmer and safer there. There will be early vineyards and berries. Keep the sea on your left and stay away from the road.” Rassa touched her eyes. “Sleep now,” he whispered.
In seconds she was breathing very deeply and slowly.
* * *
Azadeh slept peacefully until midmorning. By then the sun was shining brightly and it was growing warm.
Waking, she looked around her and rubbed her eyes, completely confused. Where was she? What time was it? Why was she alone? Then the memory came crashing back and she drew a quick breath. Jumping to her feet, she looked around desperately.
“Father!” she cried. But there was no one there. “Father,” she called again. But she knew that she was alone.
Had she become delirious? Had she lost her mind?
She turned in a circle, holding her hands at her head. Had it all been a dream? Wasn’t any of it real?
Then she saw something shining and looked down at her feet. Her golden headband had been carefully placed on a large maple leaf, its star-shaped diamond catching the light of the sun.
She cried out, moving her hand to her mouth, then swallowed painfully, catching the lump in her throat. Her eyes welled with tears and her heart burst in her chest as she picked up the prized possession. Lifting her head, she looked up at the sky.
“Thank you,” she whispered, though she didn’t know to whom she spoke. But she couldn’t help smiling as she lifted her head.
Now this was insha’allah.
This was Allah’s will.
So she left the woodshed and started walking just as her father told her to do.
* * *
Azadeh followed her father’s words, doing exactly as he said.
She turned west and started walking toward the lowlands that defined the coastline on the east side of the Persian Gulf. The going was much easier, for she was walking downhill, and the air had turned dry and warm. Making her way through the forest, she quickly realized that she had been walking in circles most of the night before, disoriented and lost in the dark. Emerging from the forest, she saw the valley that spread down to her right, the green slopes gently bending toward her village, which was a just a little more than five kilometers away. On the edge of the forest, she found a wild patch of berries and ate until she was full, drank from a small stream, then lay in the sun to feel its warmth. Moving quickly then, her heart feeling inexplicably bright, she turned for the main road that led from the Agha Jari Deh Valley to the lowlands along the Persian Gulf. Agha Jari Deh was tucked against the mountains at almost seven thousand feet, but the terrain to the west dropped evenly toward the sea, the landscape shifting from steep slopes and rocks to gentle hills covered in orchards and finally ending in the sandy bluffs that extended to the shore.
It would take her three days, maybe four, to make her way to the U.N. refugee camp on the southeast border of Iraq. Thinking of it, she felt peaceful inside. Before, she had heard stories of the camp, stories that had filled her with fear. And it was illegal for an Iranian to enter the camp, but she didn’t care. She didn’t fear Khorramshahr. Her father had told her to go.
Putting the mountain range behind her, she walked toward the shimmering waters.
* * *
By late afternoon, Azadeh had reached the descending terrain on the west side of the mountains. Although she stayed away from the road, afraid of being picked up by one of the many military convoys that patrolled the roads every day—or worse, by one of the mutawwa—she still made good time making her way down the trail.
Just as evening was coming on, a rickety bus loaded with migrant farm workers pulled up beside her. The bus—faded blue paint and rust from the front tires to the rear exit door—creaked and belched smoke as it slowly rolled to a stop. The front door swung open, and Azadeh peered in carefully. The inside of the bus was crammed with four or five destitute-looking families who were likely heading up north to help with the harvest on the potato farms.
The driver, an old man with a faded gray turban, salt-and-pepper beard, and thick glasses, studied Azadeh for a very long time. “Where you going, child?” he finally asked her, just as she was stepping away.
Azadeh hesitated. What was she supposed to say? She clenched her teeth and answered defiantly, “Khorramshahr.”
The old man studied her a little longer. “You in trouble?” he demanded.
Azadeh shook her head. “No, Sayid,” she replied.
“You running from the authoriti
es? Are the mutawwa after you?”
Azadeh shook her head again. “No, my Sayid.”
The old man stroked his long beard while two dozen sets of eyeballs stared from the tattered seats of the bus. She heard the cries of several babies and smelled a propane griddle cooking flour cakes from somewhere at the back. She glanced toward the smell, her stomach growling so loudly she was sure that everyone heard. The old man cocked his head, and then pointed to the back of the bus. “Get in,” he told her.
Azadeh hesitated. “Sayid, are you sure?” she replied.
“Get in,” the man repeated. Then, turning in his seat, he called over his shoulder. “Irshad, come up here. Get this poor girl something to eat.”
* * *
The next day, after riding in the bus all day, partaking with the families’ meager offerings of food, and getting off the bus, evening was coming on while Azadeh hid in the thick brush on a gentle hill that looked down on Khorramshahr. She studied the road along the border, which was guarded and narrow. She knew there were two guards in the guard shack, but they seemed uninterested. As she watched, the road remained empty, as it had been all day.
The official Iranian position regarding Khorramshahr had changed over the past year or so. Although it was still illegal for an Iranian to enter or seek refuge in the compound, the Iranian leaders had decided they were more than happy to send their problems into the U.N. refugee camp. Most of those were only troublemakers anyway, and it served no purpose to try to keep them in.
So, though the soldiers still manned the guard shack, it was pretty clear they didn’t care one way or another if any of their countrymen tried to slip across the border. As night came on, the two guards settled in, getting comfortable for the night.
Azadeh waited until darkness. Then, before the moon rose, she slipped from the shadows of the brush and climbed down the hill. Moving quietly, she crawled through a small trench that defined the border between U.S.-occupied Iraq and Iran.
Twenty minutes later, she was inside Khorramshahr.
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