Diya snorted. “No. Why on earth would you think that?”
“Your grave-tokens. Clay and lacquered—”
The widow waved a dismissive hand. “Prayers from visitors, no more. We prefer coin. It’s truly the hawkers who benefit from selling them, preying on pilgrims and mourners. If anything, we should be the ones selling such things…”
As she spoke, Arwa felt a terrible pressure build behind her eyes. This was not the unnatural, clawed thing resting at the base of her skull. No. It was only natural, dawning understanding, and terrible for it.
“Your holy effigy,” she said haltingly.
“What of it?”
“It is expensive. Isn’t it? Marble or—ivory.”
Diya gave her a perplexed look, frown line forming between her eyebrows.
“It is wood, girl. Plain wood. Your eyes must have deceived you.”
Flesh like white bone. A faceless thing. No, Arwa’s eyes hadn’t been deceived. Not at all.
She swallowed. Said, “Diya. Sister. Why are all sitting up here? Why is nobody hiding in the prayer room?”
Diya gave her an odd look. Blinked, as if confused. Then haltingly she said, “I… I don’t know.”
Arwa nodded. She rose to her feet, walked over to Zahir, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Please come with me,” she said. “I know where the nightmare is.”
They left Eshara behind to watch the widows—and the door.
“If you’re not back soon, Zahir,” Eshara said, voice low, “I’ll follow. The fact you’re leaving me here…”
“I know,” he said. “But needs must, Eshara.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look, but said nothing more.
They walked down the stairs, a lamp in Zahir’s hands. The prayer room was not entirely dark. Some of the clay lamps on the floor were still giving off a faint light. But the dark around the light was somehow too rich, and far too alive.
“It feels wrong here,” Zahir murmured. “The air is too heavy. My skin… my body knows something isn’t right. And yet, I’m not as afraid as I was, beyond the grief-house’s walls.”
“Please don’t tell me you find this fascinating,” Arwa murmured in return.
“I won’t, if that’s what you wish.”
“But you do. Don’t you?”
“Fear and curiosity can coexist,” he said. “You know that very well.”
He raised the lamp. In the flickering light, the effigy was clearly visible. Its surface was still smooth ivory, inhumanly pale. It remained faceless, palm upraised with the world grasped inside it. Awe flickered to life inside her. She resisted the urge to fall once again to her knees.
“Strange,” whispered Zahir. He lowered the lamp carefully to the floor, and moved to stand beside her.
“Do you feel it?” she asked. “The—awe?”
“Of course.”
She released a breath. Steadied herself, grounding herself as if she were beginning a rite. Held her hands before her. Stopped.
