The Blinding

Prologue - Yanile

The wind kicked up the sand from the arid land and splayed it over the swollen belly
of my wife, Rahma. It mixed with the blood that poured from her body like water from a
well. She lay there dying and still willing the last of the strength left inside her to push
out our child. I wanted to look away. No one wants to see their soulmate take in their
last breath. But I had to help her. Even the fear of my own impending death wouldn't
stop me from attempting to soothe her pain.

"Push," I whispered. "You can do this. Everything will be okay." She looked at me
from under her matted curls for a second before the agony took over again. We both
knew this wasn't true. And yet neither of us had the strength to face reality. She
screamed again, and I winced. "Keep pushing," I said once more as a mop of pitch black
hair began to appear between her legs.

Yesterday was different. Our morning started much like any other. We ate our usual
laxoox while the sun bore down on us, unrelenting. The heat was unbearable for Rahma.
After eight months of pregnancy she was irritable and exhausted. And I hoped that a trip
to Berbera beach would make her feel better. I walked patiently as she waddled her way
through the sand. She floated on her back in the shallow blue green water, balancing
atop my hands, her skin shimmering under the radiant sunshine. The smile on her face
was infectious and we broke out into laughter when she flopped around in the sea. Our
dinner that night was blissful. We set up a picnic on the beach and ate under the sunset.
She looked utterly content when she gave me her brightest smile.

"Let's go on a trip," she said.

"Now?!" I choked through a sip of water.

"Yes, I want to visit my mother before the baby comes," replied Rahma.

Rahma's mother lived in her ancestral village. About a 10 mile trip west through the
desert.

"Are you sure you can make it, in your delicate state?" I asked hesitantly.

"We can take the camel," she replied.

"I don't know..."

"I don't know when I'll have the chance to see hooyo after the baby comes."

Rahma would probably be bombarding her mother with questions about childbirth
and parenting.

"Okay, it should be fine." I gave in, not willing to see her smile fade.

The next morning we set out into the desert. I secured our things to the front of the
camel saddle and made sure Rahma would be safe. The trek was silent, and step after
step I grew wary. Something was coming but I would never have imagined just how
bleak the next couple hours could become. One mile into the trip we stopped under an
acacia tree for a snack of milk and dates.

"I need to tell you something," said Rahma. She wasn't looking at me, instead she was
staring at the line of ants as they crawled near her foot.

"Hmm," I said absentmindedly as I chewed on another date.

"We're not going to make it to my mother's house," she said, still not managing to
look me in the eye.

"We should be fine. The camel just needs to rest a bit and we can carry on for
another..."

"No," she interrupted. "I had a dream last week."

I looked at her then. Rahma was a deep sleeper. Most nights she would fall asleep
quickly and her eyes would rest in dreamless slumber. But Rahma's grandmother, Muna,
was from a different tribe. Her eyes had been reminiscent of the clouds in the middle of
the rainy season. The mark of a truly powerful Seer. And Rahma, being the descendant of
such a gift, had inherited some of her grandmother's abilities. Her dreams, though rare,
carried visions of the future for as long as she could remember.