necessary to keep her going, but also bolts of material. Hijabs and long flowing robes in a variety of styles and colors were on display. It was all she needed apart from the water her anonymous protector was collecting for her. She needed to wrap this up and leave this place before she brought disaster on the innocent people who made their home here. She wouldn’t trade their lives for hers. How could she ever live with herself afterward, knowing she’d sacrificed an entire community of good people just so she survived?
No, she would leave immediately and find a place to hunker down until nightfall so she could begin her journey again. Each day brought her closer and closer to safety, so much so that she could taste the sweetness of victory. But she wasn’t arrogant enough to relax her guard no matter how close she was to safety, because such a grave error would get her killed.
An older woman tended the booth, and she was reserved but had an air of welcome and friendliness that put Honor at ease. Careful to not make a mistake in language, she concentrated hard on the words forming in her mind and was extremely conscious not only to ensure that she had the sound of an older woman with a harsher voice but also to hold the accent and render it as flawlessly as she was able.
To her advantage, the entire country had many spoken languages, despite its small size, and many of its people spoke multiple dialects, so as long as she got close to the correct accent and didn’t betray her American roots, if the woman detected any subtle differences she would just attribute it to originating from a separate region.
With deference and respect, she told the woman what she required and then pulled out the intricately fashioned decorative piece of jewelry and asked if this would suffice as payment for the food and clothing she asked for.
The woman took the piece from Honor and inspected it closely, turning it over and over to catch all angles in the light. Then she looked back at Honor, honesty reflected in her gaze.
“It is too much for what you ask. Please, choose something else to your liking. This is a most valuable piece.”
Honor’s gaze flickered to the other offerings the woman had, weighing what she could logically carry with her. The load of an extra outfit would be heavy enough. The food would be inconsequential. But then she remembered she needed a bowl to boil the water from the river and a source of flame to start a fire in case the fluid ran out in the lighter she’d picked up from the clinic. Thank God for the addiction of one of the workers to cigarettes and the fact that he routinely sneaked them during slow periods.
“A bowl,” Honor added. “And a flint for making fire. Do you have those things?”
The woman’s shrewd gaze swept over Honor, her eyes probing deep as if uncovering every secret hidden within. Her scrutiny made Honor feel uncomfortable and vulnerable, neither a pleasant emotion to endure.
“You look as though you have pain,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “With age comes pains and aches we have no control over. Come with me to my home and I’ll collect the items you requested, and I will also give you a medicinal paste to apply over the muscles or joints that pain you the most. It will give you relief yet won’t impair you in any way. My husband will watch over my display while we are gone.”
Paranoia filled Honor. It was as if these people knew exactly who she was and for whatever reason sought to aid her. Okay, so two people didn’t constitute everyone, but it was not a coincidence that the only two people she’d come into direct contact with seemed to know her plight—and had offered safe passage.
Though she appreciated the gesture and it brought tears to her eyes to know there was so much good in a world that seemed to be ruled by evil, the very last thing she wanted was for these people to suffer because they not only had not turned her in, but had offered her help and were in effect hiding her.
But to reject the woman’s kindness would be an insult of the highest order, so Honor nodded and softly thanked her. The other woman smiled and then motioned to a man who was several yards away speaking to another villager.
They spoke in low tones and at some point her husband looked up at Honor, his eyebrows going up in surprise, and oddly, admiration—respect—flickered through his eyes before it was quickly swept away.
Did everyone know who she was? Her panic level was beginning to overwhelm her. She could barely breathe. Only the knowledge that they were out there. Close. Watching and waiting. Hunting. And that innocents could very well be killed were Honor to be discovered, because nothing mattered to these people except their objective. Only knowing that she could be responsible for senseless bloodshed caused her mounting hysteria to be pushed back, and she walked calmly with the woman to one of the small dwellings a short distance from where her booth had been set up.
Once inside, Honor allowed herself to relax just a little. She didn’t feel as exposed in here, even though she knew she wasn’t safe and that the walls of the small abode only gave the illusion of protection. It would take no strength at all to burst through the closed door in front, so if someone wanted in here, there was nothing to stop them.
The woman quickly and efficiently gathered the items Honor had requested and then took a goodly amount of a thick paste from a bowl she kept on a shelf and carefully rolled it in layers of breathable cloth, forming a small, compact packet that Honor could easily secrete on her body or simply carry in her bag.
She had carried the items from the booth Honor had requested and helped Honor pack everything in the makeshift bag. After seeing that it was merely a blanket with the ends gathered into a haphazard knot to keep items from escaping, she made a tsking sound and left Honor alone for a moment, returning mere seconds later with a sack that was of sturdier material and had not only a drawstring to close the opening but a strap that could be worn over her shoulder, cross body, so her hands would be free at all times.
Honor looked directly into the woman’s eyes, her gaze open and unflinching as her new protector secured the bag over Honor’s clothing. She dropped any pretense because it was obvious the woman knew exactly who Honor was. And she had to know why.
“Why are you helping me?” Honor asked softly in the woman’s native language. “You risk much to go against an army such as the one hunting me.”
Anger blazed in the other woman’s eyes and for a moment she was silent before she once more composed herself and the anger subsided after a few moments.
“They are an abomination,” she hissed, betraying her outward look of calm. “They do not do Allah’s work. They are not Allah’s sons. They betray every true believer, those who know the truth. They kill their own kind. They kill those who oppose them. They kill the foreigners who only seek to give aid to our people. They do not do God’s work. They do the devil’s. They want power and glory and they want to be both revered and feared. And if they aren’t stopped, not one single person, Muslim or those who follow any other religion or belief, who doesn’t embrace their sinful ways will be spared. They will not stop at the countries and regions they currently occupy and terrorize. Even now, they expand, like a plague, bringing death and destruction to all they touch. They will send loyal servants into the world and we will see a time such as no one has ever seen before. Where no place is safe. No country is safe. The entire world will know what it is like to be here, to be one of us, and live every single day in fear of dying or losing a loved one to senseless, godless violence. And then what will we do? Where will we go? And who will stop them?”
The woman took a breath, her impassioned statement so honest and earnest that the words had spilled forth, that she barely took the time to breathe as she confided her fears—the unvarnished truth—to Honor.
“They have fooled many,” the woman admitted. “They act godly. They are well versed in the Qur’an and they are masters at twisting the holy words, making them appear to mean what they do not. Many who follow them truly believe they are doing as Allah wills, that they are serving him and will be richly rewarded for their service.
“And this group operates on fear and
hatred,” she said in disgust. “Once initiated into the ranks of the group, disobedience or anything that could be construed as disloyalty is considered a crime against Allah and is punishable by death. And it is not quick or merciful.”
She shuddered, sorrow touching her eyes as though she had firsthand knowledge of the things she related to Honor.
“They are used as examples in order to keep the others in line. They are praised and their egos stroked for not falling out of line and for proving their absolute dedication to their ‘cause.’ Those who don’t are tortured horribly, and others, the faithful followers, are forced to inflict the torture as a way of hardening them. It’s portrayed as an honor to be able to aid in taking the life and soul of one who has betrayed them. In the end, when the victim has reached the end of his endurance and death is imminent, he is beheaded at a group gathering and is cursed to hell, his every alleged sin related before everyone. Then and only then is his head cut off and then they celebrate . . .”
She broke off again and glanced one more at Honor, this time more than sorrow reflected in her eyes. They were awash with tears and grief. Honor understood such grief. The kind that choked you, threatened to shut you down. The kind that made you numb and almost unfeeling except for that keen sense of loss. And you embraced it because you didn’t want to feel anymore. You didn’t want to remember.
Unable to hold back, Honor reached across the short distance and laid her hand over the old woman’s and squeezed in a gesture of comfort but also solidarity. To let her know she believed as this woman did. That Honor found the things she’d related as abhorrent as the woman had.
“You lost someone to this faction,” Honor said quietly.
More tears glittered brightly in the woman’s eyes, and for a moment she dropped her gaze as though collecting herself. She placed her other hand atop Honor’s so that Honor’s hand was now sandwiched between both of hers.
“Yes. A son. He wasn’t evil. He was misguided. He thought what the group stood for, what they pretend to stand for, was right, and he had a strong sense of honor and he wanted to protect his homeland, his family. He wanted to provide for us so that his father and I would not have to work so hard any longer. By Allah, he did it for us,” she said in a stricken, pained voice full of guilt that wasn’t hers to bear, but she felt it nonetheless. And again, Honor understood that feeling. She still grappled with survivor’s guilt, of being the only one to have lived through the murderous attack on the place where she’d volunteered.
The older woman paused, going quiet, and the silence stretched between the two women. The mother was lost in thought as if in a distant place, lamenting decisions of long ago and likely blaming herself for not being able to stop her son. Her heart went out to this woman. A mother grieving for her son, a woman who despite her strong religious beliefs and her devout spirit felt hatred that at times she felt ashamed of. Honor was sure of it.
“What happened to him?” Honor softly prompted.
The woman took a difficult swallow and then reached for a small cup containing water and sipped to ease the dryness of her mouth and enable her to speak further.
“At first he was devout. The perfect soldier. He climbed the ranks quickly, impressing his superiors with his intellect and the fact that he was an excellent strategist. But the longer he was there, the more he saw, the more he began to understand. He began to question. First himself, because he was still reasoning out in his mind what was wrong when it had felt so right in the beginning.
“But then they grew bolder, more aggressive. Targeting the innocent for no other reason than they could. They began to expand their grip on their territory, always greedy and wanting more. Complete domination. They felt invincible, that no nation could stop them. Not even the best military forces in the world. Their plans shifted and they began to think on a much larger scale, bolstered by their many successes. They were remorseless, godless monsters who thought nothing of killing women and children. Unarmed men. Of destroying peaceful villages that had never taken up arms against another and for that matter didn’t even possess the weapons to do so. They were conquered effortlessly and every single man, woman and child was executed, the children being killed first, in front of their parents so that they felt the agony of their loss. They went down the line, killing all of the children first while their parents waited an eternity, grieving, hopeless, blaming themselves for not protecting their children. Only when the last child had been slaughtered did they start on the adults, and as with the children, they shot the women first so their husbands had to watch them die. Even worse, many were raped, right in front of their husbands, and there was nothing their husbands could do, no way for them to help. It drove them mad and when it finally came to them, they welcomed death, prayed for it and embraced it because they could no longer live with the horror of having their entire family violated and murdered right in front of their eyes.”
“You don’t have to continue,” Honor whispered, the woman’s sorrow so heavy in the room that Honor’s chest was clenched and tears burned, threatening to fall. “This hurts you far too much. I don’t want to make you relive it all over again.”
The woman tried to smile, but all that came of it was a hint of a grimace.
“I relieve it every single night when I go to bed. I relive it every single rising. I relive it every hour of every day. There is no banishing it from my mind.”
Honor closed her eyes, long-held-back tears leaking down her cheeks. She would have to rub more henna on her face just in case before she left the woman’s dwelling.
“My son was sickened. The truth was revealed to him in a vision from Allah himself. Allah revealed to him the group’s true agenda. That they were instruments of evil and not good. Never good. And that my son should leave at once.”
She sucked in an unsteady breath, her voice cracking, and she had to swallow back a keen of heartbreaking sorrow.
“He should have just left. Waited for the right opportunity. But he didn’t do that. So convinced was he after receiving the word of Allah that what the group stood for was wrong and not in keeping with the teachings of the Qur’an that he confronted the leaders. He told them of his dream and that they must stop or face eternal damnation. They didn’t kill him on the spot. Nor did they detain him. They toyed with him. They told him in absolute seriousness that they thanked him for sharing the word of Allah and that he must be a devout man indeed for Allah to have spoken to him and that they would take everything he’d told them into account and gather the members and discuss changes. And they let him go.”
The woman glanced at Honor as if judging whether the younger woman believed such a fantastic story. But Honor stared back at her in earnest, absorbing every word. Still, the woman must have felt she needed to back up her wild claims.
“If you wonder how I could possibly know of such things in a group that is so secretive, my son kept a journal of every detail of his experience as a member of A New Era. He had it sent to me right after he confronted the leaders. Maybe he knew what was going to happen. Maybe he sensed they were lying and wanted someone to know what they truly are. And as for my knowing what happened after—the last journal entry was of his confrontation with the leaders—one of his friends in the organization, one who like my son, didn’t like the actions of the group, came to me and told me what they did to my son.”
This time, the mournful sound poured from the woman’s mouth, soaring from the very depths of her soul. Tears ran freely down her face and her features were so stricken with grief that Honor couldn’t even look at her without responding in kind, without remembering the horror of that day when every one of her friends and coworkers had been killed. She knew exactly how this woman felt. They were bound by a bond that no two people should ever have to share.
“They came in the middle of the night. My son had packed his belongings and had planned to leave at dawn to come home to me and his father. They pulled him from his bed and dragged him outside where all the others were
already gathered. They gagged him so he couldn’t speak, couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t denounce the organization and their agenda and possibly strike a chord with other followers.
“They told the others that he was a traitor to his brethren. That he’d committed an unpardonable sin by giving their location to an opposing military faction. He’d been bought off and had betrayed every single one of his brothers for money. He was an abomination not only to Allah but to their cause—Allah’s cause. By the time they were finished denouncing him, the others were only too happy to participate in his torture. They were angry—furious—that he could do such a thing. They called him evil. Possessed by evil spirits.
“They tortured him endlessly for an entire week,” the woman whispered, tears still spilling in endless trails down her cheeks. “And in this instance, they didn’t behead him at the very end just before he’d die on his own as is their custom. They said that a traitor such as he didn’t deserve the mercy of a quick and painless death. He was left there to slowly succumb to the torture they’d inflicted on him. He had no food or water in all that time. It took three more days!”
The woman put a fist to her mouth, biting down hard, her grief a terrible, tangible thing in the tiny dwelling. Honor couldn’t help it. It was her nature to comfort others. To help them. No matter the cost to her. It was why even now she was fleeing for her life. Because she’d chosen a dangerous place to render aid. But it was also the area that was most in need because so many others didn’t dare come here to help.
Honor wrapped her arms around the other woman and simply held on as they both shed tears for so many horrible, senseless deaths.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Honor whispered next to the woman’s ear. “He sounded like a good man and not at all like the mindless puppets these monsters command who embrace the promise of riches and power. He tried to right the wrongs. He is safe with Allah now. You must know that.”
The woman pulled back a wan smile. She wiped at the tears with the back of her hand, and it shook as she lowered it to her lap once more.
“Thank you for saying that. I admit at times I’ve feared for his soul. I’ve prayed that he finds peace in the arms of Allah. But yes, he was a good man.” Her chin notched upward, her gaze more determined. “When he learned of the true goals of A New Era, he fought back. And I admire him for that. But in my heart I wish he’d simply walked away.”
Honor nodded her understanding. Knowing her time was limited and that the man collecting water for her was likely searching for her, she leaned forward to take the woman’s hand again.
“Thank you for your aid. I can never hope to repay such kindness. But I must go now. A man who escorted me into the village and who is getting me water from the river said that the group is here, in the village. At least some of them. They surround it and even mingle at the market. Looking for me. I must find a way to leave undetected and without drawing suspicion. And then I must find a place to rest. I sleep by day and journey by night to lessen my chances of detection, but this morning I had to come into the village to get more supplies. I was nearly out, and was completely out of water.”
The woman’s eyes gleamed a moment and the first true semblance of a smile lit her face.
“You will stay here,” she said triumphantly, as though she’d just solved an enormous dilemma.
Alarm took hold of Honor and she shook her head automatically. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t endanger you and your husband—or the rest of the villagers—that way. It’s best if I leave this place as quickly as possible so I draw attention away from you and the rest. You’ve been so kind and I will not repay such kindness by getting you killed for harboring someone they hunt for.”
The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “They will not find you here. Even if they come inside to search.”
Her expression was smug and more importantly confident. There was no hesitation, no fake confidence to falsely reassure Honor.
Honor looked at her in puzzlement. “How is that so?”
“Years ago when the fighting was so bad in this area, we feared we would be bombed on a daily basis. The attacks would only come at night. They were too cowardly to face their victims during the day. So my husband dug a shelter underneath the flooring of our home. It’s deep and wide enough to fit two people. It’s where we slept every night when we had the threat of bombing looming over us for months. You can go get your water and bring it here. I’ll boil it to cleanse it while you sleep. When night falls I’ll awaken you and you can be on your way once more with Allah’s blessing.”
“And what will your husband think?” Honor asked quietly.
“Any victory over this abomination calling themselves messengers of God and instruments of his will only pleases my husband. And he would never turn his back on a young woman in so much need. They will not find you. My husband made the opening in the floor undetectable. Those animals could be standing right on top of you and they’d never know. You need the rest and you need your wounds tended to. Allow me to do this small thing. I couldn’t help my son, but I can help you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Honor said tearfully, relief falling over her like a cleansing rain.
This time the woman reached for Honor’s hand and gripped it firmly in a clear gesture of solidarity. Determination passed from the woman into Honor. She could feel it. Could feel the woman’s resolve not only to help Honor but for Honor to escape and to live.
“You can thank me by living,” the woman said simply. “Know this, Honor Cambridge. You have many who are praying for your safe passage and many who would aid you in any way, but you cannot afford to trust anyone, because just as there are many praying that you reach safety, there are also many who wouldn’t hesitate to betray you for the riches that have been promised to the person who finds you.”
Honor looked at her in utter shock. The woman knew her name. Her name had been distributed widely.
The woman smiled. “You have become somewhat of a legend in the span of a few days. Word of your escape from the militants has passed from village to village, all in awe not only that one lone American woman was able to escape the vicious attack on your relief center but also that you’ve managed to evade capture for over a week. You have become a beacon of hope to our people. Proof that A New Era isn’t as invincible as they proclaim, as their reputation suggests. It is why you must pay heed to my caution and trust no one. You are a source of great embarrassment to the militants because while they wield much power and are feared widely, they have been unable to find you. Their rage is great and they grow angrier and more impatient by the day.”
“I’m no one special,” Honor managed to croak out around her astonishment. “I’m just an average, normal woman who wants very much to make it back home.”
“You will,” the woman said fiercely. “If anyone can accomplish this feat, it is you. You’ve made it this far, and you won’t fail now.”
CHAPTER 6
AN urgent voice intruded into the vast nothingness of Honor’s mind, disturbing her deep, dreamless, restoring sleep. Despite desperately wanting to remain in the safe cocoon she’d rested in for the last hours, fear and readiness were too ingrained in her not to respond.
Her eyes flew open, seeking the source of the call, and she saw her protector standing anxiously on the bottom step leading down into the shelter her husband had constructed.
“I am sorry to wake you so early, but there is need of you to get ready and depart while the sun is still high in the sky.”
The worry in her voice roused Honor, and she scrambled up, gathering her bag and straightening the new garment she’d purchased earlier. She’d put the headdress on once she was above ground level so she could touch up any areas needing more dye.
“What has happened?” Honor demanded even as she followed the woman up the stairs.
Waiting at the top was the woman’s husband, who wore a grim expression.
“Sit,” the woman urged. “I’ll work m
ore dye onto your face and in your hair. You can listen as I work. And I have an idea you may be opposed to, but I think given the circumstances it would be the perfect form of disguise to get you safely past the assassins.”
Honor immediately complied, dread pitting deep in her stomach, causing a knot to form, but also intrigued by the idea the woman spoke of. So she settled down into one of the hand-carved chairs, curling her fingers together in her lap so as not to betray how badly she was shaking.