We talk for another fifteen minutes or so, on trivialities. The sky’s turned nearly black, now, and the first few stars are coming out. By the time I stand to go—she’ll catch the next one, she says; she wants to work on some poetry before she heads on—she’s entirely fenced in again, as though nothing had happened. A rock has settled in my belly.
I shake her hand, smile mechanically, say goodbye. I use the name on the sheet of paper in my pocket, but my heart screams at her, Phoebe. She uses the name I gave her, the name of the identity I will kill in Leeds. On an impulse, I bend over and kiss her on the cheek before I turn to go.
Poppies
S.G. Larner
Screams punctuated the cold night air. Zahra clung tight to Adir, trembling as she buried her head in his shoulder. He tightened his embrace, whispered soothing words.
“If he finds out—”
“We’re careful. He doesn’t suspect. Besides, he’s away.” Adir stroked her long black hair. “I love you.”
She was silent, listening to the distant sounds of death. An ugly cheer went up and soon after the night was still again. Zahra stretched out her legs and pushed Adir away before scrambling back into her clothes. He watched her with a smile on his face. Surrounded by moonlight-silvered poppies, she looked a goddess risen from the sea.
“He’s back tomorrow,” she said softly and rubbed her arms. “Adir . . . we must end this.”
Adir got to his knees and stretched his arms out. He took her hands in his and kissed them.
“Go home. Sleep well. God give you the grace to endure my pig of a brother.”
He heard her sigh as she turned and left him kneeling in the dirt. The opium poppies danced in her shadowy wake.
The sun was still sleeping when Adir climbed out of bed and dressed. He knelt and prayed for forgiveness, and for Zahra’s safety. Then he left his barren house.
At this time of morning the village was peaceful. His breath puffed out in little clouds of vapour as he made his way through the narrow dirt streets, choosing the long way to avoid the village square. A newborn cried as he passed Sharif’s house. He smiled but felt a pang. Zahra might bear his brother a child soon. A bitter thought.
The bakery stood still and cold until he lit the fires. He hummed as he kneaded dough and shaped the loaves. Some he left to rise; others were formed into flatbreads that he then baked on a hot stone. When the loaves were ready, he tossed them into the oven and wiped his floury hands on his apron.
Light crept into the bakery and he rolled up the shutters.
“Morning, Adir!” The cheerful salutation was followed by Hassan’s ungainly form. Adir’s teenage apprentice—an indiscreet boy, with no lack of friends—got to work, whistling as he swept the floor. “I didn’t see you last night.”
Adir rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand. “I felt unwell,” he said. “These loaves will be ready in half an hour. I will be back in an hour, can you manage?”
Hassan nodded, his head bobbing precariously on his skinny neck.
Adir trod the well-worn path to his house; a small dwelling to the east of the village square. As he passed through the square, his gaze was drawn to a wooden post. It stood tall and solid in the centre of the square, the weathered wood stained dark by time and more ominous things. Its latest victim was gone, taken to the field of poppies.
He pulled his gaze away, but not before he caught a glimpse of a splash of red at the base of the post.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder before taking a closer look. A solitary red poppy grew from the earth; a crimson cousin to the white opium poppies in the fields outside the village.
“That’s odd,” he said and reached out to touch it. A shadow passed over the sun. He shivered with the sudden cold and snatched his hand back. He looked around again and hurried to his house.
Once inside he splashed water over his face and scraped the stubble off with a knife. He sat down at his table and re-read his father’s last letter. With a sigh he picked up a pen. He formed his letters slowly, with effort. Finally he threw the pen down and scanned his reply.
Dear Father,
In reply to your last letter: there is no one. I do not want to marry. Please come home soon. No good will come of this. We must go back to using sheep. You have to convince the Elders. Already the village is different. When you get back, you will see.
He grimaced at the painstaking scrawl. Writing was Sayid’s talent, not his. Sayid was always the clever one; the one with the plan. That was why Adir, the eldest, was the village baker and Sayid, the younger, was the village’s chief trader.
That was why Sayid was Zahra’s husband.
He bent over the letter and added another two sentences.
Since you left there has been another. She was given to the crop that is due for harvest.
Adir folded and sealed his letter. He then threw his father’s letter on the coals in his hearth.
As he stepped from his threshold a tiny black shadow accosted him. Deep-set black eyes studied him from above a stern nose. Wrinkles gouged deep chasms in her skin and spoke of a long life, hard won.
“Grandmother Junah,” Adir said, bowing his head. The oldest woman in the village was not his grandmother, but she commanded his respect.
“Gambling is forbidden by our Lord God.”
He looked up, startled. “I am a Godly man.”
“You dice with the life of your lover. I am displeased.” Her eyes narrowed. “You must leave her be.”
Adir struggled to breathe normally. His eyes were wide. He smoothed his face. “Pardon, Grandmother, you are mistaken. I have no lover.”
Her brows swooped into a fierce frown. “She is in danger, you fool. Can’t you feel it?” She stretched up and stabbed him in the chest with a bony finger. “Forget about Zahra,” she hissed. “If you love her.”
Adir stumbled, falling backwards onto his doorstep. For a moment Junah stared down at him, then vanished around the corner in a swirl of dark skirts.
The council convened in the evening to receive Sayid’s trade report. Adir slouched in his chair. His position on the council was a mere courtesy to his father, so he usually kept his mouth shut and admired the intricately-carved wall frescos. He watched Sayid’s entrance through slitted eyes.
Sayid was light on his feet, always smiling and charming. He bowed to the Elders and nodded to his fellow council members, gaze skipping over Adir.
“What did the Gloam have to say about the poppies, Sayid?” Elder Tamam leaned forward and raised his grizzled brows.
“They were most pleased with our poppies. Results were unexpected and they have requested more of the same,” he replied, displaying a smug expression.
Adir suppressed a frown. He cast a glance at the other men. Several muttered and shook their heads, while the rest appeared unruffled.
Can’t you feel it? Junah’s voice had snapped. Sweat beaded on Adir’s brow as the air in the room became oppressive. Hatred, overwhelming—
“This is a difficult request to grant.” Tamam looked at the other three men who shared the Elders bench with him. Zahra’s father, Wadi, slanted his hand in a negative motion. Adir sucked in a deep breath as the pressure eased.
“We cannot continue with this practice,” Wadi said. There were nods around the room. Sayid’s smile slipped.
“The Gloam understand the difficulty faced by this village in providing poppies cultivated in such an unusual manner. To that end, they have proposed assistance in procuring what we need.”
Adir sat up straight. “Stop speaking in circles, Sayid,” he called. “What exactly are they offering?”
Sayid ignored him and spoke directly to Wadi. “Father-of-my-wife, I understand your concern. We do not wantonly sacrifice our innocent women for the sake of a few poppies. The Gloam will send us criminals from other villages.”
Wadi glanced at Adir. Is he regretting his decision now? Adir shook his head, a tiny movement.
“I’m sorry, daughter-hu
sband, but I must still oppose this.” Wadi crossed his arms over his chest. “I am against the Gloam.”
Sayid spread his arms. “The Gloam cannot be refused. Think of our traditional obligations.”
“We are not obliged to kill our own for their unnatural desires,” Wadi said with a growl. “What have we come to?”
Tamam clicked his tongue. “Sayid is right, Wadi. I vote with the Gloam.”
The two remaining Elders shrugged. In unison they said, “With.”
Tamam stood and faced the younger men. “Will we call a general vote, or will you submit to the will of the Elders in this matter?”
Adir felt Wadi’s gaze on him, but he kept his demeanour calm. No one spoke.
Tamam nodded and spread his hands. “It is agreed, then.” He put his hand on Wadi’s shoulder. “None of our women have anything to fear as long as they obey God’s laws.”
Adir’s cheeks grew hot. He ducked his head and inspected the tiled floor. When he looked up Sayid’s stare met him head on. One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking half-smile.
Does he suspect? Adir refused to look away and refused to blink, even as his eyes burned. With easy grace Sayid stepped back and broke his gaze.
A solid lump of fear lodged in Adir’s throat. He left the squat building, avoiding the general mingling and talking that took place after a meeting. Sweet opium poppy perfume laced the evening air and filled his nostrils. He had to be careful.
* * *
Without warning Adir’s father returned to the village. Asim knocked on Adir’s door in the dark of night, slipping in without a word as Adir opened it.
“It’s bad,” he said without preamble. He sat at the fire, warming his hands. “The new poppies have stronger properties. The magic of the Gloamlings has become sharper, more dangerous. I assume it was previously tempered by the dull nature of sheep.”
“But, women?” Adir sat beside him.
“Oh, I assume God-fearing women would make magic just as dull as the sheep,” his father replied. “We’re talking of women who have fire inside them, women who’ve defied God’s laws. Do you have any bread left?”
Adir fetched him a flatbread and sat back down, contemplating his father’s words. “What kind of power?”
“Their normal powers are amplified: healing, illusion, animal mind-control. More worryingly they have developed the power to shift objects and bend humans to their will,” Asim said, around a mouthful of bread.
“Do you think Sayid was manipulated?”
“Most certainly,” Asim said and sighed. “Sayid has always been fascinated by the Gloam. I think he wished he was born a Gloamling. He has chafed at his limitations. Your brother is a difficult man, but he is not a bad man.”
Adir looked away and remained silent.
“I know you’re angry, but you need to let it go. If you’d wanted the girl, you should have gone to Wadi. He wasn’t going to refuse the prestige of the chief trader as son-in-law. It’s your own fault for waiting.”
“He did it to spite me.”
“Maybe.” Asim sighed again and stretched his shoulders.
“She was too young to marry. I was waiting for her birthday.” Adir glared at his father, who raised his eyebrows.
“It’s in the past, Adir. I wish you would make peace. There are other young women—”
Adir stood. “Did you feel it? When you returned?”
His father stared at him and chewed the last mouthful. “Yes. Darkness. Hatred. Something old and malevolent. Adir, there is more.”
“What?”
“When I was in Farbec, I consulted their histories. There was no mention of a foreign invasion of Sharaz. None.”
“They could have erased it—”
“But why? No, I believe the Gloam has been using us for their own purpose. We were once a nation of scholars, scientists and philosophers. Now we are peasants and poppy farmers. Why is that?”
Adir had no answer. Instead he asked, “Have you ever seen a red poppy?”
His father raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, son, poppies are only white.”
Adir nodded. “We’re feeding more than the opium poppies, father. Wadi may be an ally, but Tamam holds sway.”
Asim nodded. “On the morrow,” he said.
Upon rising in the morning Adir discovered his father already gone to meet with the Elders. He rubbed his eyes and splashed water on his face before treading the familiar route to the bakery.
* * *
While Sayid was in the village Adir stayed as far away from Zahra as possible. She always bought bread in the company of her sister, Fadwa, and numerous cousins, and they were both careful to remain polite but distant. The last two weeks was torturous for Adir, but Sayid was due to leave soon.
In the dirt near the door Adir noticed a crudely-scratched flower. His heart beat faster. The sign was Zahra’s way of telling him that Sayid had left and she would meet him in the poppy field at midnight.
A memory of stern eyes brought the words ‘forget about Zahra, if you love her’ into his head. He kicked the dirt to erase the sign and went inside.
The fires roared to life. He stoked them, distracted, wrestling with his conscience. Life was meant to be simple. He loved Zahra and he wanted to be with her. Darkness swelled in his heart. Zahra should have been his. Sayid stole her. The shadows cast by the fire brooded, while Adir whistled as he imagined Zahra naked under the stars.
There was little light as Adir navigated the furrows between the rows of poppies. The moon was dark, but the stars provided just enough light to see by.
She waited for him in their usual spot, a little hollow created by the shift and movement of their bodies. He caught her to his chest, kissed her soft lips. She shivered against him.
“How I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I thought he would never leave.”
“Adir, my love . . . ” her voice was stilted. “We can’t . . . I can’t keep doing this.”
He looked down at her upturned face. Shadows distorted the familiar angles. “What’s wrong?”
In the silence that followed his words, his heart drummed anxiously in his chest. Slowly she replied, “I told Sayid I am pregnant.”
Adir’s ears hummed. He grasped onto the tiny thread of hope she offered. “You told him? But . . . ?”
“I am not.”
Adir looked up at the stars, trying to understand. “Then why—?”
Zahra shifted away from him. “He is . . . different, since he returned. Unpredictable. Violent. I was scared.”
His hands clenched by his sides. “Did he hurt you?”
“Sweet Adir,” she said and laughed before reaching out and touching his face. “After tonight, I will be the dutiful, faithful wife. Do you understand, my love? Your brother is my husband. As much as I wish it were you, we cannot keep doing this. You must find a wife. Promise me.”
He pushed her hand away. “No. I will not promise.”
Zahra stepped back. “Do you feel it? The anger, the hunger? Adir, we are part of the problem. We must not give them any excuses.” She waited for his reply.
He could think of none. His mind cried out for her. Think, Adir, think. But life was meant to be simple. “One last night, then?”
“Yes.”
Adir buried his fears and pulled her to the ground.
It was too bright. The sun had already peeped over the horizon. Adir swore and scrambled upright. A cry went up and people rushed for the field. He glanced down at Zahra, who was rubbing her eyes in sleep-daze.
“Stay down,” he snapped at her then ran, great strides taking him from her side in the hope she would remain undiscovered. A man rose from the poppies and tackled him. They tumbled to the ploughed earth in an awkward tangle.
More people joined the fray. The villagers swarmed; bodies heaving and bumping together, united in outrage. Adir caught a glimpse of Zahra’s face. Dark eyes wide with fear as they hauled her from the hollow in the fields. Sweat slicked his s
kin. Hard fingers pinched him.
“Zahra!” he called as fear scurried through him. Small women hurled abuse at him, their familiar eyes narrowed in hatred. He heard a scream and fought to free himself from the mob. The many-fingered monster that held his arms pushed him out of the field and towards the village square.
“Zahra!” Adir called again. “Let her go!” His muscles flexed and heaved as he was shoved down the street. Someone draped an itchy sheet over his shoulders. His feet were numb from the cold.
Shadows still lingered in the village square, giving the whitewashed walls a blue tint. He saw Zahra. She was ashen pale as they prodded her; laughing when she stumbled on her bare feet. She had been wrapped in a sheet, covering her shame. Her black hair was wild and tangled. Her face bore scratches and trails of tears. She cast a glance at the wooden post and looked away with wide eyes.
“Murderer,” a woman hissed at Adir. He glanced at her and saw Grandmother Junah’s wrinkled face. “Your fault,” she said.
“No!” he yelled and with a lunge he tore free. He ran to Zahra, shrugging off the grasping hands. Men appeared before him, barring his way. He roared and threw punches, but they tackled him, sat on him, ground his face into the gravel.
Someone grabbed Adir’s hair and wrenched his head, forcing him to look up. Zahra was bound naked to the post; the sheet crumpled by her feet. He heard mutters and saw the anger on the faces of the women.
“Cover her,” called Grandmother Junah. Gawky young Hassan hurried forward and hastily wrapped the sheet around her body.
Adir strained to move his head to see. Where were Asim and Wadi?
“A trial,” he croaked the words out. “A trial,” he said louder. Zahra’s gaze pierced him, her eyebrows raised with hope. A trial was a slim chance, but . . .
“The whore was caught lying naked in the arms of my brother! She is guilty as witnessed by many. Adultery carries but one punishment.” Sayid emerged from the crowd and strode to stand before Zahra. “Surprised to see me?”
The Year's Best Australian Fantasy and Horror 2013 Page 25