Deities of Deceit

Chapter Thirty-five

"Tell me more about this river," I implored.

"Not much to tell. The only people allowed are those who work in the kitchen, those assigned to cleaning, and those assigned to throwing away dead bodies. The river goes nowhere, I believe," he answered.

They fed my ears for weeks with all the rules, places they could remember, where to go, who to go to, where to avoid.

"Iman. The prison mine is no place for a rebellion. If you are disorderly, the warden will behead you and everyone in your battalion for your sins," another woman who lived in the mines for twenty years said.

"My battalion?"

"All those you arrive with. You will be paired together." She watched my face closely as I watched the fire. The cracking noise of burning wood filled the air. "But, if you choose this." She dug out a rolled paper from the side of her wrapper and offered it to me.

I opened it and glanced over the portrait of a smiling young girl, "Who?"

"I was foolish enough to get pregnant during my sentence. But the child was nothing short of magic, a true blessing. However, all children born in the mines, stay in the mines." Her eyes filled with tears. "If... I wouldn't ask, but–"

"Yes," I said, "I will find her."

It was quiet for a time. She didn't need to say anything more, the gratitude poured out of her softened stare. "Her name is Tom. She won't look anything like the drawing. She will be a whole woman by now." She smiled painfully, then wiped her tears away.

"I will find her," I repeated.

What began as a simple mission, for the sanity of a dear friend. Now quickly turned into a rescue mission. Different people sent in portraits of a friend, a lover, their children. It was hope for many, though they knew it was highly unlikely I'd be able to rescue any of them.

I considered this. There were thousands of wrongfully imprisoned white Arjanians in the mines. If I were to find a way, I could help them cross the border into Niger. News had reached me concerning Niger's welcoming hands to white people. They were a poorer kingdom, with nothing but fishing and herding driving their economy. To us, that was an abundance of wealth.

For one to be imprisoned in the mines, one must have committed a grave crime. Sins like murder, arson, blasphemy. My choice was clear. I had always dreamed of wearing a hijab in public, it felt like embracing the freedom, my basic desire to wear what I chose. In a way, most white Arjanians, Muslims, Christians, or traditional worshippers understood this feeling. None of us were gifted the freedom to wear what we chose, especially those who lived in the capital.

"Iman," Fadimah called from the shadows as I strode through the hallway and my feet halted.

"What— how are you here? Shouldn't you be at the ball?"

She stepped out into the light from the burning torch hanging on the wall, illuminating her pretty face. "I could not bear to be there anymore, and not touch you. You were beautiful tonight, Iman."

I sighed, "No one was stopping you, Habibi."

"What in the name of Amadioha compelled you to such a stupid decision?"

"What do you mean?"

"You wore that," she pointed to my Hijab, "in public? At the royal ball? Have you gone mad?" She stepped forward. "Take it off."

"No."

"I said–" It all began to fade away, the blue of my gown turning back into the dark gray of servant rags. Midnight was finally upon us, the camouflage magic had run its course. With her lips ajar, she asked, "What just happened?"