She stood there, anticipation encircling her. Her cautious gaze filled the space. Every step was calculated, every breath, every blink weighed by the ton. Cold lines of sweat slid down her forehead, reminding her of her mission. She was ready to drive the dagger in, ready to deliver the final blow. Her scorched soul would find rest at last, breathing free of the stone buried deep within her, free of the beasts that had pressed upon her chest for years.
She had known from the beginning that she was not doing this for herself alone. She understood the weight of the justice that would water the suffering masses who had endured this villain. And justice had a price. She believed the matter settled, though she knew she had hesitated when she imagined the noose around her neck. In that moment of weakness, she remembered why she was standing there. The purpose was righteous, and she repeated to herself that she would die at peace.
She thought time was on her side, that she had stayed steps ahead of them. But the hand that caught up with her at the final instant and tore her away from what she meant to do stole her moment of glory.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, shaking her roughly, his cold eyes fixed on her with rigid stillness.
She looked at him in confusion, but her tension was quickly replaced by a sudden rage, a fire that left her soul seared in agony. She found herself lunging at him, spitting flames.
"Let me go!"
Only then did he clamp a hand over her mouth, smothering her breath. Neither of them could afford to make a sound. Their presence there exposed them both to certain death and to countless questions. He did not know that this simple act had destroyed her world and condemned her to torment. He did not know that he had dragged her back to the beginning, hurling her soul into the depths of memory.
She struggled for him to release her, to allow her to finish her task. Her gaze dropped to her hand, where the precious dagger revealed itself. The promise remained unfulfilled. She knew it was not the mightiest weapon, yet she had sworn to herself to quench it with the blood of the criminal.
She closed her eyes, pushing away the hideous memories, and found herself returning to the day when everything had ended for her.
"What is that in your hand, Rufaidah?"
She was studying the silver dagger, the beautiful ruby set at its hilt. It was simple, yet precious, much like its owner. She smiled at her friend with mischief and said,
"It is Qutaybah's dagger."
"Did you steal it again?" her friend said in disapproval, then added,
"We are no longer little girls."
She could not remember exactly why Jinan had brought it up, or why they used to steal the dagger in the past. But it was certainly something she would do again with her partner in crime.
"That is true. You are no longer a child, Jinan," she said, releasing her sharp, distinctive laugh, filling the space as she added,
"As for me, as you can see, I will never change."
"That is true. We shall see," Jinan replied teasingly.
"So, my lady, has your wedding date been set?" Rufaidah asked, searching her friend's face for signs of embarrassment, eager to mock her.
And indeed, her friend painted a portrait of modesty, lowering her gaze and whispering,
"It will be within a month."
"And I will be the first to attend," Rufaidah remembered saying, declaring war on her friend's shyness.
"I will bear witness to your love story."
"Stop it, Rufaidah," Jinan said, trying to silence her in embarrassment.
Rufaidah adored the life she lived in their small village, known as Wahat al-Ghanimah. She carried no burdens, savoring every moment. Even at twenty years of age, she retained the spirit of a playful child without shame, indulged beyond measure. Her brother had spoiled her, and after his departure for work, she became the cherished favorite of his wife, Sarah, who was like an older sister to her and the embrace she sought for refuge.
She did not stop running and laughing until she saw their grand house waving on the horizon, announcing its presence and proclaiming the nobility and heritage of the al-Haysani family.
"All right, I must return home," she said. "I promised Suhayb I would teach him some arithmetic."
"Good luck with that," her friend said, irritated by the mention of such a heavy subject.
She remembered entering the house quietly, dragging her joyful day behind her, anticipating the day she would see her friend as a bride. She laughed aloud at the memory of Jinan's reaction and her bashfulness, vowing further mischief.
"The crazy aunt," said the eight-year-old, while the three-year-old repeated it in broken words, "the crathy aunt."
"Suhayb!" she shouted threateningly, her features tightening in anger.
"The crathy aunt," the younger one repeated. She found herself chasing the elder, who had once again taught his little brother a rude word, likely picked up from his peers. He had long escaped her threats, while little Salim ran after them, searching for fun in this battle. Rufaidah won through her cunning. She threw herself to the ground, clutching her heart in feigned exhaustion. Soon, she saw Suhayb rushing toward her in fear, crying out anxiously,
"Are you all right, Aunt?"
Behind him, Salim shouted, tears threatening to fall.
"Aunt!"
She seized the moment, grabbing Suhayb and moving to discipline him, and Salim with him, so he would not imitate his brother's behavior.
"That is not fair. You tricked us," Suhayb protested.
"Do not blame my cleverness. Your suffering is the harvest of your foolishness," she said, laughing.
"All right, that is enough. You will go and prepare for your lesson," she ordered.
"I hate arithmetic," he shouted in boredom.
She sighed in annoyance and agreed,
"So do I."
"So do I," Salim echoed, imitating them both
She noticed the servant hurrying to the door, which was being knocked upon like war drums.
"Rufaidah, stop fooling around and go change your clothes before the lesson," came the gentle yet firm voice from behind her, reminding her that there was someone who could control her as well.
"Who is at the door?" she asked, ignoring the previous command, surprised by the unfamiliar knock.
"I do not know," said her sister-in-law as she watched the servant approach with an elegant envelope.
"Who was at the door?" Sarah asked the servant, her eyes questioning.
"My lady, he appeared to be a man of the Caliphate. He handed me this letter and asked that I deliver it to you specifically."
"Is it a letter from Qutaybah?" Rufaidah asked eagerly. She always awaited her brother's letters, in which he told them of his days as a scribe at the palace. He had informed them that he would soon be transferred to the judges' wing, news that filled her with excitement, for she knew it was one of his dreams.
"Speaking of Qutaybah," Sarah said with clear menace, "where is the dagger?"
"I borrowed it. It is a suitable tool for sewing lessons," Rufaidah said defensively, clutching it like a child holding a toy.
"It is a sharp weapon, dangerous in the hands of a reckless girl like you," Sarah said, gesturing for her to hand it over.
"By the way, Jinan's wedding date has been set. It will be within a month," Rufaidah said with enthusiasm.
Her sister-in-law's face glowed with tenderness as she patted her hair and said,
"That is lovely. God willing, you will be next."
But Rufaidah remembered fleeing in embarrassment from her sister-in-law's gaze, crying out,
"No, I will not marry. If I do, everyone will have an excuse to stop me from enjoying myself."
"Do not be foolish…"
"The letter?" she recalled saying, changing the subject.
She watched eagerly as Sarah opened the envelope with care. She observed her calm eyes scanning the page with focus. She was accustomed to reading longing and affection in those letters, but this time she remembered seeing something else.
"Will you read it aloud, my dear?
I think I… I do not understand what is written."
The sentence left Sarah's mouth drained of life. Her features were rigid as stone. It was as though she were confirming something, though Rufaidah did not understand what had come over her sister-in-law that day. Sarah certainly knew how to read and write, even if her education was modest.
Rufaidah took the letter from a trembling hand. For a moment, she felt that Sarah was clinging to it, as if she did not want her to read what was written. But what is destined will be, and she began to read, searching for the thing that had stolen the light from Sarah's eyes in mere seconds.
"…burned."
It was the word that burned this happy family to the ground.