Somewhere in O?uz, Azerbaijan

  Somewhen

  She is powerful. She could…

  Curtains. Yes, that felt like curtains. Shifting around me. Silk, fur, and cotton, soft textiles of all kinds, rubbed against my naked skin. There was no bed cover protecting me, as curtains levitated above me. I opened my eyes, shocked to see it was true.

  I was lying on the same bed, although all the lights were gone. I was surrounded by curtains, shifting with an unfelt breeze. Others seemed darker, others lighter, almost translucent.

  I could not move. But I could see.

  Kind hands appeared from the curtains; the bodies they belonged to were hidden behind the thickest of them. The hands held oils, leaves, and wet clothes. Gently, they approached my still body and caressed it. They tended to it. Everywhere they touched, the pain subsided.

  One, two, three. And a fourth pair of hands, spawning from different curtains. One tending to my knees, one cleaning my hands and fingernails. Another one, pouring oil on my exposed neck.

  I exhaled, satisfied by the sensation of the hands cleansing my body. I started dozing off again, letting go. And the hands would be preparing me.

  “For what?” My mouth asked before I could think. The question brought shivers to my body, and I opened my eyes. All the hands stopped moving, hovering above me, hesitating.

  A moment of paranoia. They cared for me.

  The hands resumed their ritual. The curtains grew in number around me, blocking more and more light. Preparing me for rest.

  “What are you doing to me?” I asked again, this time my mind defiantly shaking off the numbness. “I am not dead yet.” I was not meant to be buried yet.

  The hands dropped what they held and grabbed my unmoving body. I wanted to fight back, but I could not.

  Again, powerless.

  Then I heard a familiar warning, carried by the breeze sneaking among the curtains.

  She is powerful. She could break him out.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked. In response, two of the hands wrapped around my mouth, and the more I opened it to shout, the more they dug in to rip my tongue out.

  ? ? ?

  I woke up from the nightmare, covered in sweat. I did not try to speak. Judging by the sunshine in the room still visible from the curtained window, I deduced I could not have slept that long. Maybe a couple of hours? But it felt like more. A lot more. How had I let myself go like that? I gave a go at standing up: awkwardly and successfully, I stepped out of bed. The mind fog of sleep cleared, and I noticed I was not wearing any clothes.

  Like in my dream.

  I examined my naked body. I could see no blemishes or wounds, although it felt weak. Turning around, I examined the room: it was exactly as I remembered before sleeping. The wall of the pomegranate tree, a teacup on my bedside. Then, I noticed a set of silken robes lying on the desk that was previously empty. The robes were not mine. This house was not mine.

  Faint sounds of metal meeting plastic, and water boiling reached me. Cooking utensils. Someone was cooking in the next room, just behind the closed wooden door. Instead of walking, I stood still, fearing that if I moved, the memories would slip through the cracks of my mind. They did, regardless. Instinctively, I reached to my neck with my left hand, tracing the hints of pain and verifying it was intact. If anything, my head was in its place, almost.

  I quickly donned the robe. No questions would be answered by waiting; I had to figure out where I was and why I was there. I approached the door, and just before I was about to exit, I felt my heart beating fast. As if I were alert. I hesitated. Where was I, even? I approached the window next to the desk and looked outside. All I could see was a small garden and Persian silk trees. I was still in O?uz. I must have been. I looked at the curtains at the side of the window, and tried to remember why they scared me.

  A pot tumbled over in the room next to mine, and I heard a man’s voice, swearing. I swallowed in nervousness, and another wave of pain trickled down my throat.

  I went back to the door and opened it. I passed through it silently, into a living room spacious enough to host a kitchen as well. The walls were decorated in brown, gold, and warm red colors, much like the bedroom I was in just a moment ago. A man was cooking in the kitchen, but the flower aroma was covering any culinary smell. I tried to guess, but I could not. He held a large wooden spoon, as if he was about to taste the sauce he tended to – but a spillover of water around him indicated the accident that had stopped him in his tracks. The man mumbled to himself as he tried to avoid the hot water dripping from the counter.

  I coughed slightly, trying to announce my presence in the room. I felt like I could not yet speak. The man, startled or even embarrassed to be caught in a culinary accident, turned around. He left the wooden spoon on the stove and rushed to wipe his hands on a towel.

  “I am so sorry for the mess, sister. I hope I did not wake you up from your rest.”

  I shook my head as he bowed in the form of courtesy. He continued as he turned off the stove.

  “I am Ramin. You are in a safe house in K?rimli.”

  I nodded in a welcoming fashion, still afraid to speak. I examined him, hoping his face would trigger any memory that would explain why I was in his house. He looked at me with kind eyes, slightly looking up as he was a little bit shorter than I was. His features were familiar but also too generic for the region, perhaps only with a uniquely shaped two-day stubble beard, which, however, did not remind me of anything. He continued to stare right into my eyes, and then I realized he was trying not to acknowledge me wearing nothing but a robe.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Sister, I apologize for the lack of proper clothing to offer you. I was supposed to wait for your coven to bring me your outfit. No idea what is taking them so long,” he explained, and I could sense worry in the way his voice lingered over the last word. “So long.”

  “What… happened?” I asked with a raspy voice. The words slipped weakly out of my lips, but thankfully, painlessly.

  “Oh, please protect your voice, have some tea,” he said and ran to the kitchen, bringing me a hot cup of pink liquid, “rose tea. Bought it from Caspians.”

  I nodded as a thank you, but looked at him with enquiring persistence. He shrugged. “They did not give me any details,” he said, “They brought you here two nights ago, deep into the darkest of night. Your face was covered in blood, still breathing.”

  Ramin led me to a chair as I tried to process the timeline of what he just said. Two nights ago – was I sleeping for so long? Why here? Where was I before?

  “Two nights?” I asked, but he had already left my side and was by the stove. He had already redirected his attention to his culinary activities. I could not speak louder and get his attention.

  I could not get his attention. That feeling; of reaching out and not being heard reminded me of something. Disappointment. I had failed my coven and Starling. Somehow. As much as I could strive to remember more, I could not.

  I left the teacup on the table, after sipping its hot and soothing liquid. “How do you know Starling’s Coven?”

  “I am here for you,” he responded, “you must be my very first visitor.”

  “I have never heard of a safe house in K?rimli,” I said, my head hurting. I drank some more tea, and the pain subsided.

  “Well, I do not advertise the Safehouse,” Ramin said jokingly, “but I don’t know Starling personally if that is what you mean.”

  That was not suspicious per se. Starling did not make herself available to just anyone. I had only met her briefly myself on two occasions.

  “So, what happened?” I asked once again.

  He stood uncomfortably across the room, still holding a big ladle. “They did not tell me. They only said that if you heal, you should be able to find the way out. But hey! The wild propaganda of the last weeks has stopped, at least on the radio. No more talking about hunting, you know, Cursed.”

  I felt my head hurt. No matter how much I tried, the events were sealed at the back of my mind. “So, I was attacked,” I said, trying to recount what happened. “But who did I whisper…” I wondered in complete confusion, “I remember… a desert. Far away…”

  I could feel sand falling on my hands and feet as I was compelled to whisper a message far away. The message I had to relay was in another language, something Latin-sounding.

  “I do not know. Look, you can take another sister’s clothes from the wardrobe,” he said uncomfortably, eagerly moving around the kitchen. “And then I am sure, you will figure it out.”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” I said calmly. I was sitting in nothing but a robe all this time. That could explain his awkwardness. Still, I could not shake the feeling that something did not add up.

  I stood up and found my way to the bedroom again. Searching in the wardrobe, I indeed found some clothes that could fit me, some pants, and a long-sleeved t-shirt, although they appeared old, unused, and their fabric was wrinkled. While I changed, my heart beat faster again.

  I did not know where I was or who this man was. He knew Starling, which I guess was a positive sign. But still, there were so many gaps in the story to fill. For starters, why was I so calm?

  The cotton clothes wrapped my skin in safety. Coziness. This was a Safehous. I decided to cut myself some slack. Even if I did not remember what precisely, something horrible must have happened to me that night, and Ramin – whoever that was – had given me refuge, clean clothes, and a chance to heal. I opened the windows of the room and inhaled deeply. The evening breeze mixed with the flower aroma filled my nostrils.

  ? ? ?

  “Hey, dinner is ready!” Ramin shouted from the other room.

  Not much was said while we sat around the dinner table. The hot soup made my throat feel better, so I could chat, but neither of us initiated any important topics. I spent most of the time observing him and trying to get to know him. I learned that he was also Cursed, a satellite of Starling’s coven, maintaining a safe place if anyone needed it. I did not pry for more information.

  Ramin placed a radio, almost from a different decade, onto the table, by the window. He stretched the antenna and searched for an interesting station. Between the cracking static and the voices, a melody reached through. A song that sounded familiar.

  “Leave that on,” I asked, and he smiled.

  Was this from my days in the Caspian Sea? I could not tell.

  ...v? onlar?n

  tap??r??? yaln?z

  i???? tapmaq idi...

  I looked at Ramin and wondered what his Curse was. The moment the thought jumped into my head, I pushed it away. It was beyond rude to ask someone that, and improper of me to even be curious about it. My head hurt a bit.

  “Sister, are you alright? Do you need some more soup?”

  “No… no, I am fine, really,” I said, but I was not. This headache had been torturing me all day, showing up and then retreating. It was not normal. It was a similar feeling to when I would receive a whisper, but instead more esoteric. My subconscious, perhaps? “I could do with a bath if that is alright.”

  “I see,” he said, “Of course, the bathroom is in that corner. There are clean towels already there for you, and they are already warmed up. I can stay and clean up a bit here.”

  “Sa? olun. Thank you.”

  I stood up, the song on the radio shaking me more than anything. Its words, their meaning was lost to me, even though I knew it was important somehow. Unstable, I reached the bathroom, I closed and locked the door behind me, making sure Ramin wouldn't interrupt me. It felt important to do so. I was in danger.

  I paused.

  In danger? What was I thinking? Why the sudden paranoia? Everything was fine. This was a Safehouse.

  I turned on the faucet to draw a warm bath. I focused on the sound of the running hot water. Yes, everything was fine. But maybe I had to try to tune in to my coven. Maybe they were trying to whisper to me, and I had been distracted. I tried to deprive myself of senses: no sight, no smell, no hearing except for the running of hot water. I needed all my senses muted, leaving only my whispering to pick up anything from the rest of the coven.

  I almost tried to whisper, but something held me back. My tongue, my lungs, and my vocal cords all threatened me if I tried to do so. It was fine, maybe I was exhausted. Maybe I was not ready to whisper. Still, I was hoping there would be someone reaching out to me, sending whispers seeking me. Where was Zephyr? Did he bring me here?

  The water running into the bathtub filled the silence in the bathroom. There was no whisper coming to find me. Nothing.