Leila hurriedly gathered her belongings, her movements brisk and uncoordinated. In her haste, she had forgotten to veil herself properly, an oversight that only dawned on her as she slipped out of the bathhouse and ventured into the cool night air of the red-light district. She tugged her shawl closer, but the absence of her usual coverings left her feeling exposed.
Madam Baran's stern voice echoed in her mind. The older woman's words had been harsh, her words laced with frustration, but Leila understood. Madam Baran's strictness wasn't born of malice; it was because it was completely necessary.
She had always prioritized the safety and reputation of her establishment, even at the cost of her own name. Leila bore no ill will. Despite being asked to leave, she knew the door would always be open, so long as she could keep herself out of trouble.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips as her thoughts rumbled within her. A part of her yearned to visit Jaleh, but another part urged her to retreat home. She fingered the modest pouch of coins at her side, a small fortune for someone like her. Medication. She still needed to buy it before the vendors closed their stalls and retreated for the night.
The full moon had always held a peculiar influence over the town, driving its people indoors earlier than usual. The streets were already beginning to empty. The sense of urgency quickened her steps, and she soon found herself standing before the small apothecary tucked away in a quiet corner of the market.
"Greetings, good sir," Leila said softly, her voice steady despite her labored breathing. The apothecary's shutters were half-closed, and the young man adjusting them paused. His expression shifted as he recognized her, his gaze softening in a way that suggested familiarity.
"You're here," he said, almost as though he had been waiting. He stepped back into the dimly lit shop without another word, retrieving a small package from the counter.
Leila's visits were rare and shrouded in mystery. She always came at night, veiled from head to toe, and spoke little beyond what was necessary. Each time, she bought enough medication to last a week, then vanished without a trace. The apothecary had grown accustomed to her mysterious presence, and though he never pried, he found himself lingering at the shop later than usual on nights of the full moon because he knew she would come.
"I set these aside for you," he said, placing the package in her hands. His voice carried a warmth that Leila wasn't sure how to respond to. "I added a little extra this time."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, her tone earnest as she offered a smile hidden behind the veil. Without further exchange, she tucked the package securely into her satchel and turned to leave.
"Well, I have just one piece of advice for you," the man began, his tone measured as he carefully moved the remaining medication bottles off the shelves. He hesitated, his gaze meeting Leila's briefly before he continued, "If the sickness remains the same after using this medicine, you must involve someone more skilled—a proper physician or even beyond that."
Leila's brows knitted together, her curiosity piqued as she stopped in her tracks. She opened her mouth to question him, but he stepped closer, lightly resting on her shoulder. His sudden proximity made her stiffen.
"You know what I mean, don't you? You should involve a shaman," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though the walls themselves might betray his secret. He straightened and cast a cautious glance around the dimly lit shop, ensuring they were truly alone.
Only when he was satisfied that no one could overhear did he lean in again, his voice dropping even lower.
"I know a very skilled one. They say she has the power to heal any illness and even bring the dead back to life—provided they haven't been gone for more than a day. Her power is so great that people call her a goddess in human form. Because of this, she's been exiled from many lands, including the Empire of Reza."
Leila's breath caught in her throat. The weight of his words pressed heavily upon her, and she found herself leaning forward, drawn to the possibility he was describing.
"You're saying she can heal any sickness?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, though hope shimmered in her eyes like polished gold coins. Yet here he stood, speaking as though it were truth.
"Are you certain?" she pressed, her disbelief mingling with her yearning.
"Absolutely," the apothecary replied without hesitation. His eyes grew distant, his voice softening as he delved into memory. "My daughter, Sur, was once so sick she was on the brink of death. Despite my years as an apothecary, despite all the tinctures and remedies I prepared for her, nothing worked. Then, as if by divine intervention, I encountered a woman. She was unlike anyone I'd ever seen—dressed in a garment of many colors, adorned with animal hides, and her face marked with strange, foreign paintings. She spoke a language I couldn't understand, but her presence was otherworldly. When she laid her hands upon my daughter…" His voice faltered, thick with emotion. "Sur lived, she hasn't even had the common flu since that time, it was almost as though she drank from the elixir of life."
He blinked, as if pulling himself back to the present, and fixed Leila with a steady gaze. "I've never doubted her abilities since that day. And I know where you can find her."
Leila's pulse quickened, a mixture of excitement and hesitation coursing through her. The idea of meeting someone with such power—a being who could heal such grave conditions, and isn't a member of the Norae clan—both thrilled and terrified her.
"Then please tell me, kind sir," she urged, her voice urgent now. "Where can I find this woman?"
"Not today," the man replied, his tone calm yet firm as he resumed arranging his stall. He didn't even look at her as he spoke. "I will tell you, but you must come on the night of the full moon—earlier than you did tonight."
"Why not now?" Leila's voice betrayed a hint of panic, her eyes darting nervously to his face. She needed the information now, every fiber of her being demanding it. Then he suddenly pointed his hands, and her eyes followed the movement of his fingers.
Her stomach sank as she turned to see two guards approaching in the distance. Though they were still far away, their presence sent a cold shiver down her spine. She understood immediately—it was too risky to speak further.
Quickly, Leila fumbled with her pouch, her trembling fingers counting out the payment for the medication. She pressed the coins into his hand, her grip tight with unspoken gratitude. "Alright, sir. I will come on the night of the next full moon," she whispered hastily, glancing over her shoulder. Without waiting for a response, she clutched the package of medicine and turned, bolting down the street.
The cobbled road blurred beneath her feet as she ran, her heart racing in her chest. She didn't stop until the sound of heavy boots faded entirely, leaving only the distant chirping of crickets and the echo of her own rapid footsteps. Finally, when she was sure the guards were no longer following, she slowed, a small smile forming on her lips.
For the first time in years, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. After so much suffering, after countless nights spent worrying over her mother's illness, she now had a lead—a chance, however slim, to save her. If the shaman could bring the dead back to life, then curing her mother's ailment would surely be a simple task. The thought filled her with cautious relief, a feeling she hadn't allowed herself to indulge in for far too long.
Leila's journey home was fraught with danger, but she didn't hesitate. Slipping across the border, she entered the forest that marked the boundary between safety and wildness. The dense canopy above swallowed the moonlight, leaving her to navigate by instinct and memory. Her fingers clutched the small amulet hanging from her neck, the carved talisman cool against her skin. The old woman who had sold it to her swore it would repel wolves, bears, and even the infamous Shahkhur himself.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she pressed forward. Stay on the trail. Walk quietly. Just a little farther, and you'll be home. Leila repeated the mantra in her mind like a prayer, willing herself to believe it.
But then, a sudden rustling broke the silence.
Leila froze, her heart hammering in her chest. The sound came from the bushes just ahead. Her mind raced, conjuring images of prowling predators and unseen horrors lurking in the shadows. She clutched the amulet tighter, the edges digging into her palm.
No.
The rustling grew louder. Something—or someone—was there.
Could it be the rabbit she had seen earlier, hopping innocently through the underbrush? Leila clung to that hope for a fleeting moment, but logic quickly dispelled the thought. It was far too late for any rabbits to be out playing. The rustling grew louder and closer, and her body refused to move.
If it isn't a rabbit, then is it a wolf?
No, she would have heard the howling of them, or they would have made a sound, they weren't so quiet animals.
Fear rooted her to the spot, every muscle in her body tensed as she braced herself for the worst. Her mind conjured visions of a lion, a bear, or even worse Shahkhur emerging from the shadows to claim her as its prey. But what stepped out of the bushes was no beast.
It was a man.
Leila's breath hitched, and a wave of dread swept over her. Shahkhur? The thought sent her stumbling a step back, her pulse roaring in her ears. But no—this man wasn't naked like the Shahkhur. He wore clothes, though they were a little bit dirty, the material was very expensive silk. Her eyes widened as recognition dawned on her.
"What is Baran's niece doing in the forest at this time of night?" the man asked, his voice dripping with smug confidence. A smirk tugged at his lips, and the glint in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.
Leila's confusion deepened, her mind racing to process his words, but before she could respond, she noticed movement in the shadows behind him. He wasn't alone.
Her heart pounded violently, each beat reverberating in her chest. Panic began to creep in, but she forced herself to stay calm, though every instinct screamed at her to run. But where? The forest offered no sanctuary; no path seemed safe.
The man tilted his head, his smirk widening as though he could hear the frantic rhythm of her heart. "Well, this makes things easier," he said, his tone mocking, as though she were some prey that had walked willingly into his trap. "Now I won't have to explain to my father why I killed a nobody."
She now fully recognized this man, he was the same man who had demanded they had dressed her up and sent her to his room, the governor's reckless, and useless son, Shapour.
"I will make sure you regret refusing me."