think this Eithan knows?”
“Maybe, but if he saw the marks he hasn’t told anyone yet. They would have been on my doorstep if he had.”
Simon, Rafik’s uncle, scratched his shaved head. “I hesitate to ask, but are there many cases of the curse in your village?”
“No. The last one was two months before I moved here and married Fahtna. She told me they hanged the boy, left his body to rot for three days, then burned his family’s house and slaughtered all the livestock. That’s the only one I know of, and it happened more than fifteen years ago. But now that I think about it, there were also two girls who went to the fields and disappeared. We looked for them for weeks but found nothing, not a trace of them. I think they ran away, maybe they were marked, too …”
After a long pause Simon said hesitantly, “The situation is grim, may the Prophet Reborn protect us. I don’t know how I can help you.”
“I need you to take Rafik away.”
“What? Are you asking me to bring Rafik into my household?”
“No, of course not. I’m asking you to help me send him far away from here.”
“But why? You said you chopped the fingers off. People will believe it was an accident. If you send him away, surely they’ll suspect.”
“I have to, Simon. I have to send him away as soon as he’s able to walk.”
“What are you are not telling me?”
It was in that moment that Sadre noticed Rafik leaning against the doorframe.
“Papa …”
Simon got up from his chair so quickly that it fell backwards to the floor with a clatter.
“You’re awake! Say hello to your uncle Simon. You last met him two years ago at the spring festival.”
Rafik nodded slowly. “Hello, Uncle.”
“Prophet’s blessings on your head, Rafik,” Uncle Simon answered nervously.
“Show Uncle Simon your hands,” Sadre said. “Go on, don’t be afraid.”
Rafik held out his right hand and Simon gasped, swore, then uttered a quick prayer of forgiveness to the Prophet Reborn.
Rafik’s hand was whole. His fingers were all there, fleshy pink and perfect, without a mark on them save the same black tattoos, which now spread across half of his three middle fingers.
A whistle and a snap from a leather whip marked the beginning of their journey as their cart rocked back and forth on the muddy road out of the village. Rafik was wedged tightly between his uncle Simon and his older brother, Fahid, with his hand wrapped in bandages and once again hidden inside his tunic. People stared and waved as the small cart picked up its pace and exited the village’s main gate. Two guards gestured to Fahid, who told Simon not to stop. One of the guards stepped aside only at the last moment, swearing. Fahid turned around and shouted a halfhearted apology as their pony went into a trot.
They were headed in the direction of Simon’s village, less than a day’s ride away, but it was a ruse. Shortly into their journey they would turn and head onto a narrow road that crossed the village and the fields. Rafik knew the area well; he had staged many glorious battles between warriors and infidels with Eithan on these very hills. Now he reckoned he would have to play on the infidel team, not that anyone would play with him anymore.
Rafik blinked away tears. His uncle said they were going to find a man who would know how to cure him. He clung to this hope with all his will. It would all be a great adventure and soon he would come back home, cured. Besides, he did not feel like an infidel; he still believed in God and the Prophet Reborn. He still prayed devoutly every morning. He didn’t feel the need to attach anything to his body like the infidels did, or to maim and kill innocents. He concluded this was all some kind of misunderstanding. Clearly the Prophet Reborn was testing him in some way, the way the Prophet himself was tested. Rafik swore to himself that he would pass this test and remain pious and true to the faith no matter what happened.
“When are we going to stop and pray?” he asked, but received no reply.
When Rafik asked again, Fahid muttered something noncommittal just as a barrage of rocks rained down on their cart. Most of the stones fell short but one stung Rafik’s back. The pony almost bolted in panic and Uncle Simon swore loudly. Fahid jumped off, leaving enough space for Rafik to turn around and see their attackers. There were nine boys spread across the hill, and Rafik knew them all. Half of them ran up the hill when they saw Fahid but a few stayed and picked up more rocks.
Normally Fahid had tolerance for pranks, but this was not a normal day. He cocked his gun and shot once over the boys’ heads, causing them to drop the rocks they were holding and scurry away in panic. The cart jerked violently as the pony tried to bolt again.
“Why in the Reborn’s name did you do that?” Simon bellowed. “They must have heard that shot in the village. Now we must hurry. Seriously, to waste good ammunition on such things …”
Rafik was once again wedged between the two nervous men. He did not watch the road ahead, or pay attention to his red-faced brother. He was still looking behind him at Eithan, who was the only boy who did not run away after the shot was fired. They were close enough to recognise each other but too far away to meet each other’s eyes. With a shout of rage, Eithan suddenly flung the stone he was holding at their cart. It fell short, rolling on the road until it came to a stop. Then Eithan turned and ran up the hill.
I shook my head in disbelief, even though I knew that Vincha was telling the truth. I had met too many liars on my journey, and I knew the difference. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill him outright,” I said.
“No, they just chopped his fingers off.” Vincha’s voice was venomous.
“You can’t beat fatherly love,” Galinak remarked from behind me. When I glanced back at him, he was shaking his head. “Rustfuckers.”
Vincha shrugged. “Some people get all messed up and do all kinds of shit when they first find out they’re marked. The worst is what they do to themselves. I knew a girl who plucked her own eyes out.” She levelled a meaningful gaze at me.
“Yes, it’s true these things happen, especially in rural areas,” I said, “and most of the time the severed or maimed part does not heal itself or grow back, although this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such a thing.”
I felt their attention on me almost as a physical sensation and added, “But I’ve never heard of it happening to an adult. Most likely the regeneration can only happen during adolescence.”
Vincha nodded and stroked her cropped hair. Galinak broke the awkward silence.
“Are you going to finish the eel?” he pointed at both our plates. “They get poisonous once they’re cold, and it would be a shame to throw good food away.”
Without a word both of us handed our plates to Galinak.
“I guess we all have similar stories, every one of the tattooed,” said Vincha softly.
I turned back to her and nodded. “For me it wasn’t so bad,” I said, feeling I should strengthen the bond I was slowly establishing with Vincha, in order to encourage her to continue with her story. “I was … I am from a well-off family, and Wilderners aside, the purges were already tapering off when my marks emerged. My family protected me.” I looked straight at Vincha, thinking, The way you protect your own, but she didn’t catch my eye.
“My