When Jade finished, she felt as though she’d been sleep-walking, just as she had in the Azilah tunnels. Only this time the urge to vomit, to purge herself of this memory, rose in her throat. Peering into the darkness, she saw that both Zoulikha and Yamna had their hands raised in front of their chests, exposing the partridge eyes painted in henna on their palms. She fought down the nausea.
“The water spirits have sent you a vision,” Zoulikha said. “This dark woman is a jenniya, but while many of the people who shun salt and iron do not harm and some do good, there are those ruled by Shaitan, they are the afrits. This woman is one of his first disciples. Even her name, which we will not speak lest we summon her, means ‘dark lady.’ It was she who seduced Adam before Allah gave him Eve. Even now she brings death to any man she lies with.”
“There is no need to speak her name to me,” said Jade. “I know it already.” Jade recognized the story from that first morning when Tremaine brought it up at breakfast. One of the more colorful characters who lived outside of Cimarron, New Mexico, had told it to her as a little girl. But Lilith Worthy had been a distant evil in Jade’s mind that morning in Tangier when Mr. Kennicot named her as the serpent’s daughter. Hearing it then hadn’t affected her like last night’s dream did. Now it came like a revelation from her subconscious, putting all of the evils she’d experienced since the war at this woman’s feet.
Jade didn’t need any mystical excuse for her dream. It made perfect sense that she’d dreamt of Lilith. The woman had been on her mind ever since Avery sent the warning in the telegram. As for the rest of the dream, she didn’t very well understand it, but what dreams ever made sense? She knew the dream dealt with death which was Lilith’s stock-in-trade. But while Jade didn’t believe Zoulikha’s claim that spirits sent it as a warning, she felt there was more to it than she knew. Whom did the shriveling corpse represent? Jade only hoped that if it was a warning, she’d understand it in time.
Zoulikha took some herbs from her pouch, crushed them, and dropped them into a cup of well water. “Drink this. It will help the pain.”
Jade swallowed some of the concoction and recognized the bitter taste of willow bark. She downed the rest in a quick gulp and handed back the cup. “Shukran.” Jade headed for their mounts, folded the garments, and added them into a large woven bag that hung like a pannier across her mule’s rump. Next she threw in the leather pouch she’d taken from the riad, her compass, and a flashlight after putting in her spare dry cell. Mohan held the rope halter of his mule and hers, and Jade recognized two of the animals she’d purchased in Marrakech. Jade took one halter from Mohan and they started on foot from the village. In the dark, it was safer to lead the mules than to ride. From a distance, Jade thought she heard the coughing harrumph of a male lion.
Yes, well, good-bye to you, too, Izem. Watch over Mother for me.
Darkness promoted silence and neither of them spoke a word until many hours later when the sun broke over the eastern rim of the mountains. Mohan immediately stopped, pulled a prayer rug from one of his panniers, faced Mecca, and recited the morning prayers.
While he prayed, Jade said her own prayers silently, putting her mother’s well-being in the Lord’s hands. As an afterthought, she decided Zoulikha and Yamna could use some protection from her mother’s ire once she discovered she’d been duped. How long could they keep her drugged? Probably not long enough. She opened a pannier and pulled out two loaves of flatbread and a chunk of goat’s cheese. She broke the cheese in half and handed one to Mohan. They followed the simple breakfast with several pulls of water from their respective water skins.
“We can ride,” said Mohan in Arabic. “We must go slow. The road is not easy.”
Jade mounted up and moved in behind Mohan, who led the way through some of the remaining stands of tall cedars growing in the sheltered parts of the upper mountain, not yet cut down for firewood or ceiling beams. Spring flowers dotted the floor below, popping up through old needles in pink, yellow, white, and mauve. The scent of cedar washed over them each time their mules’ hooves scraped across the forest litter.
“It is good of you to take me back to Marrakech, Mohan,” said Jade. “I am sorry you had to leave Yamna and Lallah to do this.”
“Inshallah, God willing, I must do what I can for my daughter. Lallah is a jewel dearest to my heart.”
Jade smiled to think that this rough man of the mountain who worked so hard to eke out a living felt so much tenderness for a little girl. She thought of her own father, somewhere back on his mountain in New Mexico, and all the times he took her with him on the spring rides, checking on the flocks, teaching her how to track and hunt. There was something very special about the bond between a father and a daughter. An image flashed before her eyes, a distant memory aroused by the scent of cedars. It was her mother riding beside her. Jade remembered that last trip the three of them took. They camped out under the stars, laughing and seeing who could tell the tallest tale. Then later that summer, several wealthy Easterners and artists moved into Taos and Angel Fire, and Inez quit going with Jade and her father.
Why? Why would she care so much about these silly people that she would abandon her own daughter to play the role of a Spanish doña? Jade recalled the first time she noticed something seriously amiss. She was eleven and in high spirits over helping Dody, their foreman, brand the few calves from the small beef herd her dad kept along with the sheep and the horses. She came running into the ranch house, her eyes aglow with excitement, dirt smeared all over her face and britches, proudly holding her rope.
“I roped two calves from horseback, Mama,” she said. “Dody said I did real good. He even made up one of his pis-sonnet poems about it.” Without waiting, Jade had launched into the limerick. “ ‘Lil’ Jade was as good with a lasso as any cowpoke from El Paso. When she got to ropin’, the calf got to mopin’, as Jade set to brandin’ his a—’ ”
“Jade!” snapped her mother.
There had been a guest in the parlor at the time, a woman who’d recently arrived from Philadelphia. The lady had halted in midsip over her teacup and stared at Jade with horror, as if she’d seen a polecat loose in the parlor. Jade’s mother sent Jade up to her room and ordered her to bathe and put on a dress. She ran up the stairs, tears streaming down her dirty face, making muddy rivulets in the grime. Didn’t Mother love her anymore? Jade had expected a smile or perhaps a pat on the head for a reward, something to show that Inez was proud of her daughter’s accomplishment. Jade had despised tea ever since.
She tried to focus now on her mother instead of her past sorrow. All she could see of that morning was the tired sadness on her mother’s face. That’s when it dawned on her. Mother sacrificed her own freedom so that I’d have a chance to fit in.
Inez saw that their world was changing, that the free Western spirit was giving way to city rules. Young Western ladies wanting to make their way had to do so by conforming to society and going to finishing school. It was an idea that Jade had balked at as much as a colt did a saddle. And while Jade had learned to play the role, she had bucked every chance she got, up to the day she enlisted in the ambulance unit.
The revelation shook Jade. Her tears were for Inez and the opportunities they’d lost together. All those years Jade had been trying to emulate the woman she’d watch dance in Spain, and all that time that woman was molding herself into a stranger. To give herself a moment to adjust, Jade tried to converse with Mohan. It wasn’t an easy task riding behind him.
“It is good of Bachir to teach you and your family French.”
Mohan shrugged. “I do not care to learn, but it is good for Lallah. It will help her to marry well. I stay with them during lessons because it is not right to leave Yamna alone with another man.”
“Will Bachir tend your barley field for you while you are away?”
To Jade’s surprise, Mohan shook his head so that the lock of hair hanging from behind his right ear shook violently. “My sister’s husband will do it. I do not t
rust Bachir. He is the son of a one-eyed donkey and nine men. May his brain fly and his bladder be weakened.” Mohan spat to the side to seal his curse. “He watches Yamna and has betrayed his people.”
Inez bolted up from her sleeping mat, aware that something was amiss but not sure what. When she saw how bright the day was, she knew she’d overslept. Someone slipped something into that almond milk on purpose. Her glance fell on the note beside her shoes. Inez snatched it up and read.
“Do not worry about me, Mother. I didn’t talk to any spirits last night, just some harmless turtles. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you, and I’m proud of you. No other woman I know could have endured what you did and not caved in.”
Jade is gone! Immediately, Inez ran from the kasbah, looking for Zoulikha. She spotted Yamna first, sitting outside of her house, turning a hand stone to grind grain into flour for the day’s bread. Lallah played at her feet with her spinning shuttle.
Inez had no time for the charming scene. She stormed up to Yamna and demanded in English, “Where is Jade?”
Yamna might not have understood the first part of the question, but she definitely understood “Jade” and the imperious tone of Inez’s voice. She rose gracefully, scooped up Lallah, and motioned for Inez to follow. She led her to Zoulikha, who was ministering to a woman suffering from morning sickness.
Inez paced in front of the doorway, waiting for the old woman to finish her task. The instant Zoulikha stepped over the threshold, Inez said one word. “Jade!” She punctuated it by stabbing her index finger to the ground next to her. She wanted her daughter here, now.
Zoulikha motioned for Yamna and Lallah to return home and shook her head. “Jade,” she said as a softer echo of Inez’s demand, and pointed to the north. “Marrakech.” Then she followed it with “Inez,” and gestured politely to the village. The meaning was clear. Jade had gone back to Marrakech and she was to remain here like so much excess baggage. Not while she had anything to say about it.
Inez stormed off through the village to one of the unoccupied houses where she’d first seen her donkey stabled. The little beast was still there, placidly chewing on some straw. His soft ears went straight up, and he paused in midchew when Inez grabbed a small saddle blanket and tossed it over his back. She looked in vain for one of the little leather saddles and decided she didn’t need it. I rode bareback as a girl. I can do it again.
By now, Zoulikha had caught up with her, Bachir following fast in her wake. Inez barged past them, dragging behind her the sad little donkey, braying piteously at having his breakfast rudely interrupted.
“La la, no, no,” they called in Arabic.
Inez ignored them, hiked up her now sullied and ruined green dress to nearly indecent heights, and proceeded to swing a leg over the beast. Once atop the donkey, she pointed to herself, then north, making her meaning very clear. She intended to follow Jade and she intended to go now.
Zoulikha’s old shoulders sagged in defeat. She nodded but came close enough to block the way. “You need food,” she said in Arabic, pointing to her mouth, “and water.” She imitated drinking. “And Bachir.” She pointed to the man next to her.
Inez considered her chances on her own, decided they weren’t very good, and agreed. “Food and water,” she said, repeating their words. “And Bachir.”
Mohan wouldn’t elaborate on his statement, leaving Jade to rethink all the past events. Bachir, a Berber from the Atlas, just happened to know how to find the Azilah tunnels. He entered those haunted tunnels, ostensibly to protect her with salt, but that just happened to coincide with the dead man’s removal. Bachir also just happened to find out where her mother was hidden, and he brought her to his village rather than to the church. He also admitted that he needed more money to pay a bride price.
Zoulikha said that some of the women had reported their dowry bracelets were missing. Could Bachir have stolen those bracelets and the kahina’s amulet to sell? What was it he said when she’d asked him about remarrying? There was no unmarried woman that he wanted. Was he trying to acquire Yamna?
Zoulikha had said something else, about initially seeing her missing amulet in the fortress of the valley’s kaid. Bachir had married into that family. Could he have stolen the amulet? There were too many coincidences and twists to sustain credibility. Might he be playing both sides? He clearly had access to Zoulikha’s house. If he stole the talisman, he may have offered to help the kahina just to cover his own tracks and to inhibit Jade’s help. But Mohan must have seen through it all. Now he risked himself for his daughter’s legacy.
They wended their way down the mountain trail, fording streams swelling with snow melt, and made it to a spring near the mountain base as night fell. Mohan started a fire and boiled water for the inevitable mint tea while Jade distributed bread and cheese. She took some comfort in knowing that her mother was safe with Zoulikha now. She trusted the old woman.
Late morning had stretched into late afternoon before Bachir could assemble the necessary supplies for their trip. Inez watched, wishing she could do something, feeling helpless in her inability to communicate. She settled for doing the one thing she knew how to do: care for their mounts. Besides two little donkeys for riding, there was the third mule Jade had purchased to use as a pack animal. Inez rubbed them down using an old woven bag in lieu of a cloth. Then she wheedled a knife from Bachir and set about cleaning their hooves. She noted with approval that Jade’s mule had sound legs. The girl did know horseflesh.
Cleaning the animals helped a little. At least it made the time crawl less slowly. It didn’t do much to lessen her anxiety, though. It was that horrid dream that did it. She saw Jade in shackles with other men and women, then dragged away to the ends of the earth. Holy Mother. It’s all this talk of symbols and charms. It’s gotten to me, as well. But something in the back of her mind told her that her daughter was walking into danger. Just as Jade had saved her, it was her turn to save Jade. She felt for the Roman coins they’d found in the leather pouch. Inez had kept them in a little leather bag she’d borrowed from Yamna. It was all the money Inez possessed right now and it might be needed. She tossed a blanket over the donkey’s back, and called for Bachir.
CHAPTER 18
Handle your book bindings with respect.
Men toiled through hell to produce that coveted red leather.
—The Traveler
JADE WOKE UP STIFF, sore, and sleepy Wednesday morning. She attributed the stiffness to crossing the icy Oued Issil and the long walk those last twelve miles across the flat and rocky wasteland. Stupid mule. If Mohan’s beast hadn’t taken it into his stubborn head to investigate what looked like something edible at camp last night, he wouldn’t have gotten that rock in his hoof. And if Mohan had checked his animal’s feet to begin with rather than waiting until the poor beast started going lame, the rock wouldn’t have cut in so far. Jade had taken it out and cleansed the wound as best she could with their limited water supply, but they’d ended up walking the last part of the journey and had lost valuable time, arriving in Marrakech after the gates had closed.
The soreness? Well, that was another issue. Apparently Mohan’s mule didn’t like having his hooves checked, which probably went a long way to explaining why the man had neglected doing it. At least the beast’s teeth were good, if Jade’s shoulder bite was any indication.
And the sleepiness? She chalked that up to camping out near the palm gardens. The area was filled with other people who’d either arrived too late to find a caravansary—a hostelry for both man and beast—inside the city or who preferred the outdoors to a crowded building. Jade and Mohan had ended up near a cluster of grunting, grumbling, ill-tempered, smelly camels and their equally noisy owners who snored all night long. She’d slept through quieter nights in a French farm cellar three miles from the front lines.
Jade might have done something about the situation herself, but by then she was supposed to be a Berber woman traveling in the company of her brother. She’d paused by a
clump of ruined huts near the mountain’s base and removed her boots and overskirt, rolled up her trouser legs, and donned a Berber headdress, the handira, and slippers. She’d put her boots in one of the panniers. With the aid of the henna tattoos, she’d transformed herself from an Anglo to one of the Imazighen. With the disguise came the required behavior to make it work, and that meant putting up with all the singing, chattering, and snoring around her.
After a necessary visit to the nearest private palm and a quick breakfast of bread, cheese, and dried apricots, Jade turned her attention to the business at hand. Chances were her adversaries were still holed up in the same house as before. But outside of de Portillo, Jade didn’t have any idea who else was in Lilith’s employ, if, in fact, she was the brains behind the operation.
In Tangier, de Portillo had claimed he was a leather merchant coming to Marrakech to buy goods. Marrakech and Fes were the two principal places where this coveted red leather was made, and since those leather bags bearing Lilith’s seal were found in Marrakech, they were probably crafted there, as well. Jade estimated she had seen nearly one hundred bags in that room. Making so many would have taken longer than the time de Portillo had been here. After all, he couldn’t have arrived in Marrakech much before she did. So if she could locate the leather worker who’d made the bags, she might be able to find out who the initial client was. That might tell her who else was working with the Spaniard. Then perhaps she could go to the French authorities. Surely they would listen, especially when she showed them the hashish.
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