She stared at the tower as if expecting a reply. “It’s OK,” she then whispered. “I forgive you anyway.”
Turning her back on the tower, Azadeh started walking, leaving the village behind. The terrain sloped gradually toward the sea, and she picked up the winding road leading to the main highway that ran north and south along the foothills of the great Zagros Mountains. As she walked, she kept on the left side of the road, using the well-worn pathway, though she tended to stay closer to the protection of the tree line and bushes.
She moved quickly, for the way was downhill, and the sun dipped toward the horizon, growing into a bloated red orb until the village and the rising guard tower were left behind.
In the final turn in the road, Azadeh Ishbel Pahlavi glanced back at the village for the last time. She reached into her pocket for her golden headband. It wasn’t there. Her heart sank into her chest. Her only treasure, lost in the chaos. She dropped her head, a single tear upon her cheek. Like everything else she had ever loved, it was gone forever.
She brushed her hand across her face, then turned back toward the road.
*******
As Azadeh walked away from the village, a shadow stood unseen near the top of the hill. He watched her intently as she walked down the path, noting the slump of her shoulders and the slow drag of her feet. Eventually the road turned, and the young girl walked out of sight.
The dark spirit, Balaam, remained alone in the shadows for a very long time.
He had once been a great teacher. He had once held such control. Once his great voice had sounded through the halls of evil power. But now he was nothing, his voice having become coarse and scratchy, as if he were always out of breath. Pale-skinned and dull-eyed, he was shrunken, hopeless and completely miserable. Condemned forever to wander the endless expanse of this world, he clawed constantly at the ankles of those he had once loved, scratching and pawing to drag them into hell. It was a bitter, dark and dejecting work, completely devoid of any sense of satisfaction, meaning or worth. But it was all he had. It was what he had chosen to do.
As Balaam watched Azadeh leave the village, Lucifer emerged from the shadows and moved to his side. Balaam turned to face him, his head moving anxiously on his thin neck. Lucifer stared a long moment, looking down from the hill. “How many years have you been watching her?” he hissed sarcastically. “Yet you haven’t stopped her. In fact, it would seem you’ve accomplished nothing at all.” He stopped and glared at Balaam, his face painted in hatred now. “You remember Roth?” he asked icily, the threat quiet but clear.
“Yes,” Balaam quickly defended himself in fear. “But at least I’ve made her miserable. Sometimes that is all we can do.”
Lucifer shook his head. It was not nearly enough. “Those we can’t destroy, we can cause to suffer, but I want more for her. She doesn’t have much, but she honors what she has. She stays true. She has not faltered.”
Balaam shook his head. There was no answer for that.
The two spirits stood in silence as the coming storm gathered around them and darkened the light. Lucifer looked up at the weather and smiled testily. “I would churn it,” he whispered. “I would sharpen the elements to hedge up her way.”
Balaam nodded. Yes, he could do that, but it would not be enough. “Give me time,” he muttered anxiously to his master. “I will get her.”
Lucifer shook his head. Frowning, he motioned. “Can you feel them?” he whispered, leaning closer to his slave.
Balaam barely nodded, a fearful move of his head.
“He is out there,” Lucifer hissed. “He’s out there. With her father. They will help her, I’m sure.”
Balaam stood silent. The servants from the other side made their work so much more difficult. And they seemed to have grown even more powerful, or at least more willing to demonstrate the power they had.
Lucifer clenched his fist and cursed bitterly. “I hate her,” he whispered, staring at the empty road.
Balaam didn’t answer.
Didn’t they hate them all?
THREE
As the sun sank toward the horizon, a north wind picked up until it was blowing down from the mountains in cold gusts that snapped at Azadeh’s clothes. The clouds were rolling in, and she stopped to study the darkening sky. The first layer of thin cirrus clouds had already passed overhead, and heavy, darker clouds were beginning to droop along the tops of the highest mountain ridges. Turning, she saw that the snow-topped peaks behind her were already shrouded in fog. Even as she watched, the temperature dropped and the air grew heavy with mist. It would start raining soon, she thought, putting her father’s coat on. Although thankful for its warmth, she also realized it wouldn’t be enough to get her through the night. Not if it was raining. Not without some kind of shelter overhead. She looked quickly around, and then heard a crash of thunder as the mist fell lower on the mountains, moving down through the canyons to roll along the foothills.
The road was empty, the sun had set, and the twilight was growing dim as the bloated clouds moved west, robbing the evening of its remaining light.
Pulling up her leather collar, Azadeh ducked her head and pulled her chador tightly around her neck. Having lived in the mountains, where the winters were long, the summers short and intense, Azadeh knew how unpredictable the weather could be. It usually snowed in her village during Nō Rūz, the Iranian New Year’s celebration in the last week of March, and it wasn’t unusual for it to freeze again by the first week of September. And she knew how dangerous an autumn storm could be. She had seen them sweep in from the north, bitter and cold, and drop five inches of hail and frozen sleet before they blew out again. She knew the temperature on the mountain could drop forty degrees in a matter of hours.
Looking around, she realized for the first time that she had absolutely no plan. She had no idea where she could go or what she should do. Her only objective up to this point had been to get away from the village.
She remembered briefly the man who had sneered at her while running a finger from his eye to his throat, and she shuddered, the overwhelming loneliness washing over her again.
She was durandâxte. An outcast. She understood how it worked, for she had seen others cast out from the village before—a woman caught in adultery, a younger girl who’d been raped, a son who’d refused to marry the girl his father had chosen for him—the reasons for being durandâxte were many, but the results were the same. “Stay and we’ll kill you. Go and you might live. Where you go or how you live, we don’t care anymore. You are durandâxte, it matters not, but you must leave us now.”
But what was she to do, out here all alone? A woman—any woman, but especially one who was barely of age—couldn’t just trot around the countryside without an escort. She couldn’t drive, she had no money and no way to get around. Worse, she had no friends or relatives she could turn to, no one who could help her at all.
For the first time since leaving the village—really for the first time since watching her father die—Azadeh started thinking, her mind clearing enough to recognize the danger she was in.
She needed help. Someone to turn to. She could not survive on her own.
But no one would help her . . . .
She shuddered suddenly, but not from the cold.
*******
Lucifer watched and walked beside her, then turned to Balaam. “What is the worst decision she could make now?” he asked in a patronizing tone. “What is the worst thing she could do, as far as we are concerned?” Lucifer already knew the answer, but did his slave know? It was a test. He always tested. It made him feel good. It was part of how he controlled.
Balaam stood beside him, his weak shoulders slumping, his eyes burning with a pathetic desire to please. He stared down at Azadeh with a dark, hateful frown. “I don’t know,” he muttered fearfully, terrified of disappointing his Master but more afraid of his punishment if he were to say the wrong thing.
Lucifer hovered over him, and Balaam felt his cold breath, like
a chill of stale air escaping from an old grave.
Balaam looked away. He hated being with Lucifer. It hurt him inside. His eyes were so piercing, his power so complete, it was like falling into ice water—it sucked the very life out of his core. Lucifer was never kind to his angels; he distrusted, even hated, all of his followers. And Balaam was no different, he was hated as well.
Balaam’s head fell.
Then he tightened in panic as Lucifer drew near. Balaam took a breath and held it to brace himself for the scorn.
“I asked a simple question!” Lucifer sneered. “What is the worst thing the mortal could do now? Where is the one place we don’t want her to go?”
Balaam’s fists clenched with tension as he suggested, “The American mentioned Khorramshahr. She would find safety there.”
“Yes!” Lucifer shouted in a sarcastic reply. “Yes! He got the answer. Someone give this lad a reward!” He loomed over Balaam, a master over a child. “Now think, then,” he continued with a hateful sneer, “we don’t want her to go to Khorramshahr. Where could we tell her to go?”
Balaam thought, then shook his head. He simply didn’t know.
“Where is the most immediate danger? Where would she almost certainly be killed?”
Balaam’s face remained blank, and Lucifer swore. “Idiot!” he screamed. “How could you be such a fool? Who does the young girl trust now? Who is the only friend she has? Omar, you idiot. Isn’t that clear? And where are the soldiers? They are at Omar’s house! He isn’t there. He is hiding. But they are waiting for him there. They are searching and waiting; they know he was involved. So if we can lead Azadeh to Omar, the enemy soldiers will find her, for they are waiting there.”
Balaam nodded eagerly. Yes, that was true.
Lucifer pushed Balaam aside. “Stand back and listen, my child, and if you listen, you will learn.” He grew very serious and took a step toward Azadeh.
Walking beside her, Lucifer leaned toward her ear. His robes moved around him, blowing back as if from some unseen storm. His eyes glared as he watched her; then he started to speak. His voice was gentle and sweet. “Omar will help you. You must go to him, my dear. You have no one else. No where to go. It is the only safe place to be. Go there, and go quickly, do not think more on this, dear. You must go to Omar! What other choice do you have?!”
Lucifer spoke to her softly, keeping a constant drumbeat of lies in her ear.
*******
Azadeh considered her situation, her heart heavy, her mind weak. But the only person she could think of was Omar, her father’s best friend, the bear of a man who liked to meet with her father on the ancient guard tower, the mysterious companion who had occasionally visited their home. A gruff man, all business, a man who reeked of wealth and power, Omar had shown an occasional interest in her. He had been kind, had brought her books and items of clothing: a chador or small scarf, once even a new pair of shoes.
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 com
es 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.
(Wrath-03)-Son Of The Morning (2012) Page 3
