Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

17^th of December, 1946

After discovering those hellish creatures and a city older than mankind itself, one would think that finding an ancient tablet would be rather unexciting. Van Huyten was insistent that its contents be translated, lest it hold secrets about the monstrosities we had uncovered only recently.

It took the combined efforts of Aline and Pulman, but now we finally know that it is a recipe for an elixir. Its purpose: to poison the blood of that which drinks it. A poor soul would either be forced or tricked into drinking this potion before being tossed into the darkness as a sacrificial lamb. Hiding is not an option for the victim, the elixir ensuring that they vomit up enough blood to attract the creature. The aged stone makes it difficult to say what happened once the unholy demon drank the toxic blood. From what we can decipher, the creature was either compelled to return to hibernation or died from ingesting the poison.

Those fresh corpses we had found many moons ago now have a much more sinister meaning behind them. I shudder to think of what those unfortunate travelers must have suffered through to fall into these caverns, only to be used as poisoned bait.

Word had reached the neighborhood that some goat herders in the Zagros Mountains were looking to hire some help for a few days. The pay wasn’t going to be much to brag about, but it was generous considering what funds these shepherds would have available. The job would be in bandit country, and several people had gone missing in the area over the years. The most recent disappearance had been of two French aid workers that went missing while responding to a distress call. Because of this, Tariq’s father had declared that anyone who would accept those shepherds’ offer was an idiot.

Zain was that idiot. An idiot who was still strapped for cash.

Staying with Tariq’s family for the past two nights ensured that he wouldn’t need to buy food for a while, but he still wanted his father to return home to running water, electricity, and a house. Besides, as much as Tariq and his mother wanted Zain to stay, he didn’t know how long he could feasibly be with them. Tariq’s father might not care that Zain was in his house at the moment, but if he ever felt that Zain was getting in the way of his comfort or eating too much of his food, he would have no reservations about sending Zain home.

That’s how Zain found himself standing in a shepherd’s hut, staring at what appeared to be an effigy hanging from the ceiling near the wall. All of the shepherds were in another room, discussing what exactly they would have him do for the day. As tempting as it was to try and listen in on their conversation, Zain was too engrossed by the effigy. He knew he had seen it before, but it was escaping him as to where. He supposed he could ask the shepherds when they returned, but he sensed that the answer was just out of reach. And he wanted to grab that answer himself.

His curiosity taking over, he poked one of the symbols, watching it swing slightly from his little push. It reminded him of something he’d seen in a movie about witches and the occult. The effigy wasn’t quite the same as the decorations surrounding those women dancing in the woods, but they were similar enough that Zain figured the origins of these symbols were along the same vein. If that was the case, then these hanging pieces of wood had either a paganistic or satanic meaning. Weird considering that Zain had seen multiple prayer mats throughout the hut.

He nudged the symbol with his finger again, but instead of the smooth wood he had felt earlier, something sharp stabbed his fingertip. Zain immediately withdrew his hand, quietly cursing, “Ah! Zift!”

A tiny droplet of blood was pooling on the spot where he’d been pricked. He lightly sucked on the puncture wound in the hopes that it would help ease the pain.

“That’s why you don’t go around touching things that aren’t yours.”

Zain spun around, taking his finger out of his mouth. One of the shepherds had entered the room, standing between him and the doorway. Even adorned with the beanie and scarf mask that most of the other shepherds were wearing, the man was easily identifiable as Yaran. Being in his sixties or seventies, he had several wrinkles that the other shepherds were too young to have, but he was also the only one with numerous slash-like scars on his face that had faded over the years.

Zain sheepishly ducked his head. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t call me that,” Yaran snapped.

“Sir?”

Yaran rolled his eyes. “Yes, that. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with superficial politeness, so do me a favor and don’t make me deal with it.”

Having never come across a situation like this before, all Zain could do was nod in agreement and offer an, “Okay.”

Yaran gave a curt nod before tossing a beanie and scarf to Zain. “You and I will be taking the goats out to graze until sunset.”

Zain slipped the hat on over his ears. “Works for me. Who else is going?”

“No one.”

This struck Zain as odd considering how many shepherds there were. While two people looking after fifty or so goats wasn’t unheard of, the entire aura of this place suggested that its residents were hard at work. Zain doubted he was hired just so they could all take the day off, but with no crops to tend to and soon to be no goats nearby to milk, that didn’t leave a lot of available chores. “Well… what’s everyone else going to be doing then?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but either selling heroin or following a recipe.”

Yaran had said it so matter-of-factly that Zain couldn’t tell if the old man was joking about the heroin part or not. He studied Yaran’s face for any sign that he was messing with him, but his eyes held no mirth and he didn’t appear to be smirking under the mask. Despite this, Zain decided that he must be teasing him. The thought of someone outright admitting to a crime without being pressured was just too bizarre.

“Now,” said Yaran, “are you done asking stupid questions, or are you going to put that mask on and follow me?”

Zain glanced down at the scarf in his hands before tying it around his face. “We can go, but I’ll probably have stupid questions later, knowing myself.”

“If they’re too stupid, don’t expect an answer.”

The two of them went outside to where all of the goats were greedily gulping up water from troughs and buckets. The sun was barely up, Zain having been instructed to get there by dawn, but the heat was already sweltering. He was tempted to grab the canteen of water that rested on his hip, but decided to save it for when the day would no doubt be even hotter.

Yaran picked up a rifle that was resting against the side of a tractor. “Listen, boy. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park. The desert is filled with bandits and wild animals. If you want to get back here in one piece, you need to do exactly as I say. Understand?”

Undeterred, Zain offered a perfect salute. He had lived near the Zagros Mountains for most of his life. He was confident that he knew what dangers the wilderness had to offer.

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

Zain felt his eyes light up with excitement as he comprehended the question. While his father had taught him how to use a gun years ago, Baba had always been very hesitant to put one in Zain’s hands. His reasoning had always been that he’d seen what these things could do to people, and he didn’t want Zain to handle something so destructive unless he was under strict supervision or there was an emergency. Zain couldn’t say he liked or disliked guns, but to have someone trust him with a weapon made him feel very grown up and respected.

Reaching for the rifle, Zain replied, “Sure can!”

Before he could so much as touch the rifle, Yaran had swung it over his own shoulder by its strap, effectively keeping it away from Zain. “Good. If anything happens to me, you’ll be able to protect the goats.”

Zain deadpanned as Yaran gave a shrill whistle. Barely a second later, a mule appeared from around the corner of a hut, galloping in their direction. The goats, whether the water had run out or they were also responding to the whistle, began to crowd together in preparation for the journey.

Yaran mounted the mule, instructing Zain, “Since I’m the only one who knows where the hell we’re going, I’ll lead the way. You’ll hang back behind the herd and make sure that there are no stragglers. You see any jackals, bandits, or leopards, you tell me and I shoot them. Got it?”

Chuckling, Zain responded, “Leopards. Funny.”

Yaran just continued to stare down at him.

He suddenly wasn’t feeling very confident. “…There are no leopards out here, right?”

Gently kicking the mule’s sides, the old man and the beast of burden began to lead the way.

“Right?!”

As the mule trotted away, Yaran called back, “And don’t keep your back turned to the goats for too long. Especially the bucks.”

Zain was about to ask why when a headbutt to the lower back had him falling forward.

Having grown up in the region, Zain was used to the sun that was beating down on him, but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed walking through the open desert while the heat did its best to suck out all of the water in his body. Thankfully, the goats were doing a good job following Yaran and the mule, and Zain rarely had to step in to reel in a wanderer. He was actually starting to get bored with the lack of work.

He asked Yaran, “So how long have you been a shepherd?”

The old man didn’t even look back at him. “What did I say about superficial politeness?”

“Hey, if we’re going to be working together all day, then we might as well get to know each other.”

“If you want to get to know me, you ask something deeper. You don’t give a damn about how long I’ve been doing this, and I don’t give a damn about who kissed who at school or whatever kids talk about these days.”

It wasn’t a complete shutdown to having a conversation, but Zain wasn’t willing to try again for a while. His attention was drawn upwards to where the mountains towered above him. According to Baba, Zain had been convinced that the Zagros Mountains were magical when he was a child. He didn’t remember thinking that, but looking at their majesty now, he had little reason to doubt Baba’s claim. Zain wasn’t sure if it was purely their height or something else that he wasn’t philosophical enough to pinpoint, but there was something awe-inspiring about looking up at the peaks. He could see why mountains played such an important part in several myths. The Zagros Mountains themselves had been admired and even feared by the Sumerians. If memory served, and Zain was sure it did, the people of Mesopotamia were convinced that the mountain range held the entrance to the House of Ashes.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t looking at them the right way, but Zain didn’t understand why these mountains specifically were thought to be the divide between the surface and the Underworld. If there was a gate leading to a place where people only wandered and ate dust, he figured it would be located somewhere creepier. The Underworld was supposed to be filled with evil spirits and demons, yet Zain could easily take a picture of his surroundings and use it on a postcard.

Demons.

Suddenly, Zain remembered where he had seen that effigy before. “Those pieces of hanging wood all over the huts, they have something to do with Pazuzu, right?”

This time, Yaran did glance back, but it wasn’t long enough for Zain to gauge a reaction. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve seen a picture where that symbol was carved near one of his statues. Why do you have so many of them?”

“For appeasement.” Yaran added with a barely audible grumble, “Not that it actually works.”

Yaran didn’t seem like he was going to give much more of an answer than that, so Zain dug through all of his knowledge on Pazuzu. It didn’t take very long for him to come to a conclusion. “Oh, I get it!”

“Somehow I highly doubt that.”

Zain went on to explain his thought process, “Ereshkigal might be Queen of the Underworld, but Pazuzu was King of the Demons. He’s malevolent, but capable of doing good things. It’s said that he could prevent plagues and stop the demoness Lamashtu from stealing babies. People used to own amulets and effigies with his face on it to scare away other demons. Your effigies look nothing like him, but there’s clearly a connection. And you’ve admitted they’re used as appeasement. So you clearly have a lot of those things to prevent something bad from happening. Am I right?”

He couldn’t see Yaran’s face, but Zain imagined that the man held a thoughtful expression. As much as he liked to think he’d stunned Yaran, that seemed unlikely given what he knows of the man so far. Whatever Yaran was doing or feeling, Zain supposed it was a good sign that he wasn’t being told to shut his trap.

He felt a familiar spark that had been absent since Baba went missing, and he began rambling, “But if you ask me, Pazuzu is overrated. Sure, he causes famines and is pretty powerful, but have you seen how hardcore other Sumerian demons are?! Lamashtu literally causes miscarriages and steals children while they’re nursing! I used to have a book with a picture of her in it, and my mother found it so disgusting that she stashed it away somewhere. But there’s also Asag! You know how Medusa was so ugly that anyone who looked at her turned to stone?! Asag was so hideous that just standing next to a river caused all of the fish in it to boil alive! He also has an army of rock demons that he made by sleeping with mountains! But my favorite demon might actually be Humbaba because…"

Catching himself prattling, Zain trailed off. He had done this enough times to know that he had talked for more than what was socially acceptable. By now, his conversation partner would be casually tuning him out if not outright telling him to stop.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up.”

“Why? You’re finally saying something interesting.”

That floored Zain enough to the point where he almost stopped walking. He figured Yaran of all people would be complaining about his chattering. This might be the first time Zain found someone outside of a classical studies seminar that was actually entertained by the information he was spewing. Even Baba, who sometimes found Zain’s ramblings endearing, would constantly refer to myths as “fairy tales” no matter how many times Zain corrected him.

“Wait, really?” He half expected Yaran to say that he was being sarcastic and that Zain’s talking privileges had been revoked for the rest of the trip.

Instead, Yaran almost challenged, “Tell me what you know about… vampiric demons of Sumerian myth.”

The request was made like a teacher asking a student to repeat a lesson, and Zain was happy to oblige. “S-sure! Would you like to know more about the rabisu, gallu, utukku—?"

Suddenly, one of the baby goats dashed away from the herd, its bleats deafening. It was running almost perpendicular to everyone else, heading straight for a wall of rock against the side of the mountain. Not forgetting his job, Zain ran after the kid, barely catching Yaran’s, “Dammit. She finds a flower there once and now…”

The goat’s legs were a lot shorter than Zain’s, but she had four of them. He wasn’t able to catch up to her until she was at the mountainside, her front hooves on the rock wall as she bleated upwards. Zain skidded to a stop, following her gaze to see what she was screaming at. Just out of his reach, a handful of purple flowers were growing on a ledge.

Zain yelled back to Yaran, announcing his discovery, “There are flowers here!”

Yaran called out, “I know! We don’t have time for snacking! Get her over here before we leave without you!”

True to his word, Yaran wasn’t stopping, and the rest of the herd was moving on without them. Zain turned to the kid, gently tugging on her shoulders. “Come on, we need to go!”

She just continued to bleat repeatedly at the flowers, like she was hoping the noise would compel them to drop down. She almost sounded desperate, like a child begging their parent not to leave them alone. Zain knew he should pick her up and carry her back, but her cries made his heart ache too much. Glancing back at the retreating herd, he decided that she had time for a quick snack after all. They just had to get the flowers somehow.

Zain jumped up, his fingers barely grazing a petal. He might be able to grab some if he got a running start, but he didn’t want to risk crashing into the little goat. Hand on his hips, he scowled at the flowers and trilled his lips like a horse. Turning his gaze to the baby goat, he instantly came up with an idea. Grabbing her by the hips he held her straight up over his head until she was in reach of the flowers. The bleating was quickly replaced by the sound of flowers being munched on.

“Don’t go to the bathroom on me, whatever you do.” She continued to practically inhale her treat, her tail wagging happily like a dog’s. It didn’t take long for her to finish eating, and Zain held her somewhat awkwardly to his chest as he made his way back to the herd. “Good girl.”

She cheerfully bleated before licking and nibbling at the sweat Zain hadn’t even realized was on his brow. Laughing, he pulled down his mask and removed his beanie so she could have better access to his face. By the time he returned to his post at the back of the herd, his face was covered in goat saliva. Not that he actually minded.

Despite ordering that Zain rejoin the herd immediately, Yaran looked almost uninterested as he asked, “What took you so long?”

Zain managed to answer around the goat kisses, “Flower picking.”

“How nice.” Yaran nagged, “Now put your hat and mask back on before you get burned.”

Somewhat distracted by the baby goat, Zain felt bold enough to not immediately comply. “A few minutes without them won’t kill me. Let her love on me a bit more.”

“She’s not loving on you. She wants the salt in your sweat.”

“Well, she can have it. I don’t mind.”

For the next three or so minutes, Zain allowed the goat to lick his hairline. During this time, he made sure to talk to her about complete nonsense like he would with the neighborhood dogs. And just like the various dogs he’d interacted with in Badra-Mandali, she wagged her tail until the moment he put her down. She happily pranced back to the middle of the herd where Zain assumed her mother was.

Yaran commented, “I’m not used to seeing this sort of behavior.”

Zain grinned. “What behavior? Kindness? Compassion? Maybe you need better friends.”

“Let me clarify. I’m not used to seeing this sort of behavior from someone affiliated with the Army.”

Momentarily taken aback, Zain was about to ask how Yaran even knew he had anything to do with the Iraqi Army, but then he remembered his lengthy, in-depth job interview. The shepherds had wanted to know everything about him it seemed, and Zain admitted just about everything to them. That included Baba’s military career and recent capture by the Americans. But exactly what Yaran meant by his statement, Zain wasn’t so sure. Baba’s coworkers could be intimidating, but plenty of them were nice.

Zain decided he needed more information. “Why do you say that?”

“You weren’t kidding about there being stupid questions later. In case you haven’t noticed, boy, I’m a Kurd.”

Of course, Zain had noticed. Even if he hadn’t learned how to tell the difference between Kurds and Arabs years ago, some of the shepherds had spoken to each other in Kurdish. He was also painfully aware that several of Baba’s coworkers viewed the Kurds in a very negative light, but those opinions had never manifested in anything more than muttered rants and dirty looks. His baba was usually left rolling his eyes or cautiously playing devil’s advocate.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I guess some soldiers aren’t very good at being civil with people they don’t like.”

Zain could practically hear the eyeroll as Yaran replied, “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I take it you’ve had a bad experience or two with the Army?”

Turning so that his face was in full view, Yaran wordlessly tugged his scarf down. With the goats keeping them separated, Zain could barely make out most of the scars he had noticed back at the huts. But to his shock, there was a prominent crevice starting at the side of Yaran’s nose, running diagonally across his lips and all the way down to his chin. It wasn’t a clean cut, appearing to be the result of a messy knife wound, and the top lip especially hadn’t healed evenly.

Zain found that he couldn’t take his eyes off the mangled scar. “Wh-what happened?!”

Yaran pulled his mask back up as he faced forward again. “The Iraqi Army is what happened.”

“I-I don’t understand…” Even as Zain said this, he had a horrible feeling that he understood perfectly.

“Then I’ll spell it out for you. It was the eighties. I was a Kurdish man of battle age. The Army decided they wanted a little… Anfal.”

The explanation rung a bell, but only because Zain recalled Baba once saying to his mother, “The fact that no one ever tried to force me to take part in the Anfal Campaign, Habibti. I consider that the luckiest moment of my career.”

The following silence must have been very telling for Yaran. “Are you finally getting it?”

“I think so.” Zain hated the tension the new mood was causing. It wasn’t that there hadn’t been tension between the two of them before, but this kind was a lot more nauseating. Hoping some humor would calm things down, he halfheartedly joked, “Well, I bet I know which side of the war you’re on.”

If Yaran caught that Zain wasn’t being serious, he didn’t show it. “I don’t know nor care what Kurdistan thinks of all of this. My colleagues back at the huts are pretty split. Some believe the Americans are up to no good. Then there are the others who receive floods of letters from family talking about how nice the Americans are.”

“What about you?”

“I am of the opinion that everyone’s an idiot and we’re all doomed.”

Zain chuckled in spite of himself. “I think I can get behind that somewhat.”

“And whose side are you on? You’re the son of a Republican Guardsman and yet you’ve enrolled in a British university.”

“Maybe I’m a Ba’athist secret agent. And I’m being sent to London to spy on the enemy.”

“The day you’re a spy is the day cows walk on their horns.”

Sighing, Zain relented, “I’m not crying over Saddam’s disappearance, but I think the Americans are going about this the wrong way.”

“Well, there just might be some hope for you yet.” Yaran went on, “Saddam was a killer parading around as a president, but the Americans have created a power vacuum by toppling his regime. I’ve been around long enough to know what happens next.”

“And what does happen next?”

Rather than answer, Yaran decided it was time to change the subject. “No more questions. Tell me about the rabisu.”

As curious as Zain was, he didn’t want to jeopardize the rapport he had built with Yaran by pushing. Besides, it wasn’t like the conversation was turning to something he didn't find interesting. “Okay! So, rabisu are demons that hide in the shadows around the house, waiting to ambush people who draw too near. I also heard once that they’re like the welcoming committee in the Underworld.”

And just like that, Zain had a way to entertain himself until they reached the pasture.

Chapter Text

The pasture had a lot more grass and vegetation than the surrounding area, but it didn’t look like those green fields Zain would see in movies. And no matter how many times Yaran insisted otherwise, he wasn’t convinced that the watering hole wasn’t manmade. The goats were very content grazing in the area, though, and the mule seemed to enjoy wading through the water.

Zain had had more fun than he thought he would. The work was tiring and wasn’t something he was interested in doing every day, but he enjoyed playing with the baby goats and skipping stones on the water. Perhaps surprisingly, Yaran turned out not to be insufferable once Zain figured out how to interact with him. The old man hated social conventions. Small talk didn’t interest him, and trying to bring up topics like the weather or sports wasn’t tolerated. He also only talked about what he wanted to talk about when he wanted to talk about it. This led to weird jumps between subjects in the conversation that Zain had struggled to keep up with for the first couple of hours.

It wasn’t sunset per se, but the sky was starting to change colors as the sun continued westward. Yaran sat on a large rock while Zain had found a somewhat level spot on the ground next to him. The two of them could easily overlook the herd from where they were sitting, and Yaran especially was convinced that nothing would be able to sneak up behind them. This was good enough for Zain, who, while wearing his hat again, was using his scarf mask like a makeshift tablecloth for some almonds. He would cheerfully toss an almond into the air before catching it in his mouth, feeling more like a carefree teen than he had in a long time.

Yaran said, “And that was the day I decided I would never get married.”

Zain chuckled. “I get it. I can see myself getting married to a fellow mythologist or archaeologist one day, but definitely not anytime soon.” He caught another almond. “You know, my parents weren’t much older than me when they got married.”

“That so?”

“Uh huh. I forget how old they were when they got engaged and everything, but they had me when Baba was 22 and my mother was 21 going on 22. Baba says he doesn’t regret it, but he looked pretty happy when I said I wanted to go to college and have some adventures.”

Zain dumped the last handful of almonds in his mouth. Yaran became quiet next to him, so he spent the time chewing just watching the goats eat or frolic.

When Yaran did speak again, he sounded almost thoughtful. “You really care about your father.”

Zain could sense that he was looking at Yaran in a far more incredulous way than he’d meant to. In fairness, his companion had talked like there was any possibility Zain couldn’t care about Baba. “Of course I do. Sure we fight every now and then and he can be a bit… overbearing. But I love him.”

“How long has he been gone?” Yaran asked.

“Too long. I was hoping that I would’ve found a way to get him back by now.” Zain took a large gulp of water from his canteen, suddenly feeling sullen.

“If I gave you advice, would you actually heed it, or would I be wasting my breath?” In response, Zain turned his whole body so that he was facing Yaran, who seemed to get the message. “I get it. You want to rescue your father. Be this big shiny hero.”

“I wouldn’t say hero,” Zain corrected, “I’ve been looking into more—”

“Shh, I’m talking.” Yaran cleared his throat before continuing, “Now, this is what you have to do. Ready?”

Nodding eagerly, Zain felt his stomach twist in excitement. He had expected the advice to be something more along the lines of how to be happier or what to do as far as finances. In actuality, it seemed like Yaran was going to give him a way out of his troubles. If he had a notebook and pencil, Zain would have whipped it out in preparation to take notes.

Yaran revealed, “Nothing.”

Zain deflated at the most anticlimactic answer he had ever heard. “…Nothing?”

“That’s what I said. Your father’s fate is in the hands of two people: his own and whoever has him. It’s up to them whether or not he gets out alive.”

“Gets out alive?”

Yaran rolled his eyes and shook his head. An outside observer would think he was dealing with some sort of moron. “Would you stop echoing everything I say?!”

“Okay, okay,” Zain said, momentarily holding his hands up in surrender. “His captor’s power is obvious, but what control does Baba have exactly?”

“Sometimes, people give up, boy. They let themselves waste away when circumstances get too tough. I’ve seen it.”

Zain had heard of that happening, but he couldn’t see his father surrendering to death like that. He’d hope Baba wouldn’t willingly leave him alone in this world. “Not Baba. He’s too stubborn to die. And I won’t let anyone kill him either.”

He got the sense that Yaran wanted to chuckle, but the man didn’t look amused. “I’ve been in a situation very similar to yours. Trust me, you have no power over whether he gets out. Much less over whether he lives or dies.”

That wasn’t something Zain was going to accept so easily. “There has to be something I can do. Some sort of solution I’m not thinking of…”

“You’ll drive yourself mad looking for it.”

“Better that than giving up!” Pointedly facing the herd again, Zain hugged his knees to his chest and scowled at the horizon. Perhaps it was a bit immature of him, but he couldn’t believe Yaran would dare suggest that he sit back and do nothing while Baba was suffering somewhere.

Yaran scoffed, though he sounded entertained. “Go ahead and sulk. That’ll show me.”

Zain tried to stay upset, but a tiny voice in the back of his head was scolding him for being so childish. Sighing, he meekly looked back at his companion. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. It’s just…”

Yaran finished for him, “You haven’t accepted your father’s imprisonment yet.”

Zain restrained his emotions, not wanting to get needlessly mad at Yaran again. “I haven’t?”

“Course not. It takes a long time to come to terms with something like that. When my family members were imprisoned, it took months for me to accept it. You still expect your father to be in the other room when you wake up, no?”

Not wanting to admit how true that last sentence was, Zain switched the focus onto Yaran’s own experience. “And... what did you say to your family when you saw them again?”

The man shrugged. “I told them that I was sorry for not being good enough. The ones I did see again that is.”

“Oh…” Perhaps it was a little presumptuous of Zain to expect that they all made it out alive, but it was difficult to suspect anything else. He didn’t want to even think about prisoners being killed while Baba was a prisoner himself. Nevertheless, he did feel bad for bringing up Yaran’s losses. “I’m so—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, boy. I’ve heard it plenty of times by people who didn’t really mean it.”

Zain knew exactly what he was talking about. When Baba disappeared, there had been plenty of people who had felt sorry for him, but he did suspect that there were those who only wished him well out of common courtesy. “But what if I mean it?”

Yaran raised his eyebrows in what might have been surprise, but quickly composed himself. “Then I would say that I don’t want your pity. It’s done. They’re gone.”

Despite Yaran’s nonchalance about the whole thing, Zain couldn’t help but feel that it did bother him on some level. Maybe in the future, he could help Yaran find some closure, but right now, it was probably best to drop it. “When I see my baba again, I’m going to apologize too.”

“For what?”

Zain could list several things that he was sorry about: not getting Baba out sooner, stealing, arguing, not paying attention to Baba’s lectures, crying in front of the enemy, selling stolen goods, smoking a blunt that one time just to impress some peers, getting caught smoking said blunt by Dar of all people, and for possibly being the reason his mother left. But he didn’t want to get into all of that. “Same as you, I guess. For not being good enough.”

Yaran hummed in response before saying, “I think you’ll find that no one’s good enough.”

The two of them sat in a comfortable silence, staring out at the pasture as the sky became less and less blue. It was peaceful, and Zain couldn’t help but think that Baba would enjoy this too. He didn’t know what sort of luxuries were given to POWs, but he hoped windowed cells and time outdoors were among them. It was bittersweet to imagine that Baba was looking at the same sun as him right this very moment.

Zain smiled. “You know what else I’m going to do when Baba gets back?” When he received no audible sign that Yaran was paying attention, he switched his gaze from the sky to the old man, but there was no visible indication that Zain had been heard either. “Yaran?”

The old man just continued to look at the horizon, and Zain tried to remember if he had forgotten another quirk of the man’s that might explain the sudden emotional distance. He leaned over and waved a hand near Yaran’s face, but there was still no response.

He was about to give up when the man asked, “When is murder justified?”

While used to the sudden leaps in subjects Yaran had displayed, Zain wasn’t expecting the conversation to swerve in this direction. “Umm… I guess that depends… Do you mean when is it okay to kill other people?”

“Is there another definition of murder that I’m unfamiliar with?” Yaran asked in annoyance.

“Well, in my eyes, murder is an unjustified killing. If you want to know when I think a killing shouldn’t result in jailtime, I would say when it’s in self-defense, within the rules of war, or when the killer’s perception of the world is so warped that they don’t realize what they’re doing is wrong. What about you?”

Standing, Yaran didn’t bother to look Zain in the eye as he said, “It’s getting late. We should head back now.”

Zain shrugged before tying his mask back on. “Okay. Did you want me to tell you about Dumuzid and Geshtinanna? I think you would really like that story if you don’t already know it.”

Yaran began to walk away. “I think it would be best if we didn’t talk on the way home.”

A lot more disappointed by that suggestion than he would’ve been at the beginning of the day, Zain said, “Oh… that-that’s fine. But why?”

“It’ll make things easier for both of us.” Before Zain could ask what that meant, Yaran was already a good distance away.

The sun was partially hidden by the horizon by the time they returned to the huts. Zain had tried to subtly start a conversation multiple times during the journey back. At the very least, he had hoped to get a reminder to keep quiet, but Yaran hadn’t made a sound the entire trip. Zain might as well have been talking to all of those funny looking rocks he kept pointing out on the trip back.

Even with the goats secured in their pen, Yaran didn’t dismount the mule. He just continued to sit there, his steed patiently standing in place. His behavior was honestly starting to worry Zain, who had sensed a change in the atmosphere long before this moment.

Zain tugged on Yaran’s sleeve. “Yaran? I put the goats away.”

Nothing.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to get you some food or water?”

Still nothing.

Zain tugged on his sleeve again. “If I said something earlier that upset you, I’m really sorry. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but can you at least let me know that you’re alright? Please?”

Yaran finally looked down at Zain with an unreadable expression. Whatever he was feeling, Zain could tell it was nothing akin to happiness. He searched Yaran’s eyes for any sign as to what was wrong, feeling desperate not to lose the friend he had found himself making.

“Maybe I should—”

“To hell with this.” Yaran dismounted the mule and grabbed Zain’s upper arm. “Follow me.”

“Yaran?” Zain didn’t struggle as he was led to the front of a hut. Despite the low lighting, the white lawn chair by the door was still visible. Before he knew it, Yaran had pushed him onto that very chair.

“Listen to me,” Yaran said with a level of stern urgency that Zain hadn’t heard in a long time, “I have to take care of some things. Do not move from this spot until I come and get you. Not any of the other shepherds. Me. Understand?”

“I… okay.” And with that, Yaran rushed into the hut.

Concerned, all Zain could do was bounce his leg and pick at his nails. The chair wasn’t very comfortable, but Yaran’s orders made him very hesitant to so much as shift in his seat. While acting odd, Yaran didn’t seem like he was suffering from any sort of delusion, so Zain trusted him enough to stay put. He waited, the seconds turning into minutes and the minutes turning into what felt like hours. The leg that wasn't bouncing was starting to fall asleep.

“Zayd.”

Zain looked up to see Agrin, one of the other shepherds. While the middle-aged man didn’t have any obvious marks on his face like Yaran, he was easy to tell apart from the others because he never wore his scarf as a mask. Yaran had described him as aggressive yet perceptive, and Zain couldn’t help but feel small under his scrutinizing gaze.

“My name is Zain, sir.”

“My apologies,” said Agrin, “How are you feeling? Tired?”

“A little,” Zain replied with a polite smile, “but I’ll live.”

Agrin looked him up and down. “Did Yaran not give you any work?”

“No, he gave me plenty of work. I just don’t tire easily.”

“Hmm.” Agrin squinted down at Zain in a way that made him feel like he was being interrogated.

The teen shrunk back in his chair. “Is there something wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Agrin gestured behind him as he said, “Why don’t you follow me? I have something for you to do.”

Zain’s first instinct was to obey his elder and employer, but it was quickly overshadowed by Yaran’s instructions. “Oh, uh… I promise I’ll do it in a minute, but my feet are really sore from all of the walking.”

Agrin looked suspicious, but otherwise kept calm. “I insist. You won’t even have to stand much.”

Again, there was that pull to listen, but Zain clutched onto the arms of the lawn chair. “I… I’m really sorry, sir. Once Yaran gets me some pain meds, I’ll be able to help. Really.”

Maybe it was the memory of the CENTCOM officers affecting him, but there was a long, drawn-out moment where Zain thought Agrin was going to drag him away kicking and screaming. Instead, the man shrugged and walked off, allowing Zain to finally relax in his chair. The peace didn’t last long, as Agrin returned with a small cup. “Drink this.”

Zain took the offered cup, staring into it in curiosity. It was hard to make out the liquid inside of it as it got darker out, but the smell was very unfamiliar. “What is it?”

“A home remedy for your soreness.”

The perhaps irrational image of Zain overdosing on unneeded medicine invaded his mind. “Like Tylenol?”

Agrin visibly considered his response. “No. More like herbal tea.”

“Oh, well then.” Pulling down his mask, Zain took in a mouthful of the remedy. The liquid was in his mouth for about half a second before he let it fall back into the cup. Agrin may have compared it to tea, but this tasted nothing like any tea Zain ever had. It was as if someone had decided to make lemonade out of a rotten lemon, but then also decided to try diluting the lemony taste by adding an extra gallon of water. Even with the liquid out of his mouth, a bitter aftertaste remained on the back of his tongue. “You know what? I think I’ll just wait for Yaran.”

Unamused, Agrin replied, “Don’t your feet hurt?”

“They do, but—”

“If your feet are in so much agony, then you’d be willing to drink that. Unless, of course, you’re lying to me…”

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Zain realized he either had to prove that his lie was the truth or disobey Yaran’s strict orders. Grimacing down at the cup, it was clear what he had to do. His eyes squeezed shut, Zain threw back the drink like he was taking a shot. He got the whole thing down in about three gulps, but the process lasted way too long for his liking. That bitter aftertaste came back full force as he suppressed a shudder.

“ZAIN!” The cup was knocked out of his hand before Zain even had a chance to react. It hit the ground, its emptiness causing an echo that sounded strangely ominous to his ears.

For several moments, all was quiet as even the night itself went still.

Out of nowhere, Zain was yanked out of his seat and dragged into the hut. The speed at which he found himself moving was disorienting, and his stomach didn’t appreciate the mystery liquid swishing around in it. Finally, Yaran dragged them to the same room they had begun the workday in. It was dark save for a faint, orange candlelight, but it was enough for the effigies to cast shadows onto the walls. Yaran was spouting off some not-so-nice words that Zain knew were directed at him, but he was too preoccupied with the remedy’s aftertaste to be offended.

“Well that was probably the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.” Zain barely got the words out when a metal pail was shoved into his arms, almost knocking the breath out of him.

“Vomit,” Yaran ordered.

Zain felt like his brain was short-circuiting as he tried to process what Yaran had told him and why. “Eh?”

The man practically snarled, “I said… vomit.”

Looking back and forth between the bucket and the room’s only other occupant, Zain protested, “I can’t throw up on command!”

“I don’t care if you have to stick your entire hand down your throat! Do whatever you have to do and do it now! That poison works fast!”

At the word “poison”, something inside Zain snapped, and he suddenly found that he could throw up on command after all. He heaved into the pail, doing anything and everything to make sure that every drop of the “home remedy” was expelled from his system. By the time he was finished, his stomach ached and his throat burned, but any physical discomfort was matched by the sense of overwhelming relief.

“Is it all out?” Yaran asked. All Zain could muster was an exhausted nod. It was enough for Yaran, who took the bucket and probably chucked its contents out the window. Zain couldn’t be too sure what his companion was doing with his head down, hands on his knees to keep from falling over. “What in the name of all things holy did you think you were doing?!”

Zain didn’t bother looking up as he answered, “He wanted me to get off the chair. I told him my feet hurt and he offered me something to help.”

“And you didn’t think to just say no?! Allah, with how long your father’s been gone, I’m shocked you’re still alive!”

Finally straightening himself up, Zain used a demanding tone as he asked, “Yaran, what’s going on?!”

Instead of offering an explanation, Yaran just handed him an envelope. “Here. Count yourself lucky that I put a few coins in there for your troubles.”

Tentatively taking the envelope, Zain turned it over in his hands. It was a regular size envelope for letters, but the thickness suggested that it was stuffed with paper. True to Yaran’s word, he heard the sound of coins clinking together inside. With his brain still short-circuiting, Zain had no idea what to say except, “I don’t understand.”

Yaran still wasn’t eager to clear things up. “Now… I’ll go outside and distract everyone. When all of the attention is on me, you run out that door, and you don’t stop running until you get home.”

Zain stubbornly refused, “Not until you tell me what—”

He was interrupted by Yaran yanking him up by the shirt collar. His voice was stern but low, like he was trying not to be overheard. “You listen and you listen good! You either run for your life and get the hell out of here, or my colleagues throw you into an abyss that you can’t possibly hope to escape from! If you’re lucky, the two demons we’re after will crush your skull before drinking your blood! If you’re not, they’ll keep you alive as they tear you to pieces! Is that what you want?!”

Zain stared, eyes wide, at the man in front of him, so stunned that it took him a moment to realize that he had been holding his breath. “Demons?”

“That doesn’t answer my question, boy!”

His mind was still jumbled, so it was hard to make sense of what was happening. However, he was able to recall bits and pieces of information. Yaran’s interest in Mesopotamian demons. Yaran asking about murder. Yaran not wanting to bond more on the journey back. Agrin poisoning him.

Zain shoved Yaran away, wanting the man to stay as far away as possible. “You were going to kill me?! I thought we were becoming friends!”

“I know what you thought, and you were wrong! Why do you think I was so open with you?! Because I liked you?! No! I thought I was talking to a dead man!”

Yaran’s words hurt, but Zain hid the pain by glaring daggers at him. The man didn’t even have the courtesy to look guilty about the betrayal, which only served to make Zain more furious.

Yaran continued, “You want to do something for your father?! Give him someone to come home to!”

“You don’t get to talk about him anymore!”

“Be mad at me all you want! It doesn’t change the fact that I’m right! Or that I’m trying to save you!”

Zain recognized that Yaran’s recent actions suggested the old man was indeed trying to help him, but he was still skeptical as to this sudden change of heart. “Why aren’t you going to feed me to those demons anymore?”

At this, Yaran looked intrigued. “You believe me about the demons?”

Zain glanced at the effigies. There was no doubt in his mind that the shepherds believed in these monsters, but… “Hell no. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have ended up dead regardless. So what changed?”

“Anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

Zain just crossed his arms. This may have been a stupid move, but dammit he was owed some sort of explanation.

To his slight surprise, Yaran relented. “I never got to apologize to my father. The Army killed him before I got the chance.”

It took less than a moment for Zain to remember their conversation out in the pasture. His anger receded slightly at the memory, turning into something more like curiosity. “So what, killing me was going to be your revenge against Baba? ‘Your coworkers killed my family so I’m going to kill yours’ sort of thing?”

Yaran chuffed a humorless laugh. “No, not for me anyway. Revenge is for the weak. This was about making sure the demons below don’t wreak havoc on the world in their search for blood. Give them blood and they won’t have to go looking for it. Give them poisoned blood and we don’t have to worry about them ever again.”

Zain had done a lot of research on human sacrifice. It was one of the few aspects related to mythology that Tariq actually found interesting. Every culture that sacrificed others to appease their gods had pretty solid reasons. As much as people liked to display these killings as a result of savagery and wickedness, they were actually born out of desperation. More often than not, these societies believed that not sacrificing people would result in their downfall, and they thought they had supporting evidence. Zain couldn’t really be mad at that. Repulsed, maybe, but not mad.

The fact Yaran was going to sacrifice him still made him enraged and devastated, but Zain clung onto the suggestion that it was for selfless reasons. “And… what are you going to do about these ‘demons’ now? You’re not going to sacrifice someone else, are you?!”

“Without you, we’ll have to move on to Plan B.” Zain was about to ask for more details when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “The less you know, the better. Trust me.”

“But no one’s going to die in my stead?”

“…No one will be sacrificed.”

Zain closed his eyes, allowing himself to calm down. “Good.”

“You’re a good kid, and I appreciated your company today. You make sure to take care of yourself. Understand?”

“I will. And you make sure not to do this anymore.”

“Of course.” Yaran patted his shoulder a few times. “When you hear a lot of noise, run like hell.”

And with that, Yaran left the room. Despite the betrayal, Zain found himself feeling like an abandoned child without the old man. Maybe it was because he wanted to believe that Yaran cared about him this whole time, but it was just as likely Yaran was sparing him for more practical reasons. Maybe he realized Zain wouldn’t make a good sacrificial victim after all. While the shepherds could easily tell everyone that Zain went missing due to bandits or animals, there were people who’d look for his body. And if a released Baba caught wind that Zain disappeared, he’d dig until he could piece together exactly what happened. People poking around the area had to be the last thing these shepherds wanted.

Zain had enough time to consider stealing one of the effigies as a giant middle finger to the shepherds when he heard a cacophony of bangs, goat bleats, and shouts coming from outside. Recognizing it as his cue, he ran out of the hut and sprinted into the desert. He didn’t think outrunning all of these middle-aged men would be a problem, but that didn’t stop him from going as fast as his legs would carry him. He also didn’t dare to look back the entire way to Badra-Mandali.

He just ran. And ran. And ran.

“It’s a prank,” Tariq said over the sound of his TV, “No one actually believes in monsters!”

Zain and Tariq were sitting on the latter's living room floor, the contents of Yaran’s envelope spread out between them. There had been a few coins that added up to a practically worthless amount of dinars, several sheets of paper written in cuneiform, what appeared to be journal entries by a 20^th century archaeologist, drawings of creatures that looked eerily similar to Pazuzu, and a multipage letter from Yaran. With Tariq’s parents being at a neighbor’s house, Zain had been able to tell his friend everything the moment he had burst through the front door, sweating buckets and out of breath.

Zain picked up a realistic drawing of a winged monster. “I don’t know, Tariq. Why would Yaran make all of this up?”

He could practically hear Tariq’s eyeroll. “Don’t tell me you actually believe in this garbage!”

“Of course not!” Zain defended. “But the shepherds do.”

“No, they don’t. Think about it. Would you have accepted these coins under normal circumstances?””

Zain glanced at the money. “I mean, it’s nowhere near the amount they promised me.”

“Exactly! They scared you away so that they wouldn’t have to pay you for an honest day’s work. The coins were probably just to cover their asses.”

It was a sound theory, but Zain still had a bad feeling about this. “I still think we should go to the police. If they’re killing people, we need to stop it.”

Tariq began gathering up all of the papers. “You know just as well as I do that they’ll laugh in our faces.”

“But shouldn’t we at least try?”

“You can run to the police if you want, but I’d honestly just forget about it.” He stuffed the papers back into the envelope before standing.

Zain sighed in what was either defeat or exhaustion before conceding, “Maybe you’re right...”

Meanwhile, back at the huts, all of the shepherds had gathered in a bedroom. Most were standing, but Yaran had chosen to sit on his bed, his mask and hat off.

“So,” said Agrin, “you’re telling us that the boy’s father returned?”

Yaran shook his head. “Not quite. A friend of the boy’s came by with news that his father will be released any day now.”

“And why should that matter? We always knew the father coming home was a possibility.”

He scoffed in response. “We knew he might come home months from now. Or would you rather have a Republican Guardsman following a fresh trail right to us?”

Agrin raised an eyebrow. “And when exactly did this friend of the boy’s deliver the news?”

“On our way back from the pasture.”

“The path you took isn’t between here and Badra-Mandali. How did this friend pass the huts without us seeing him? How did he even find you?”

Yaran shrugged. “How should I know? Maybe the kid meant to go to the huts but missed them and hit us instead.”

“Then why bring the boy back to the huts at all? Why not send him off with his friend?”

“The boy wanted to finish what he started. I wasn’t about to turn down the extra help.”

Agrin peeked back at an item leaning against the wall. “That was the boy’s first reaction upon hearing his father was being released?”

Yaran grinned, but let it drop a second later. “What can I say? He has a work ethic I can admire.”

Sighing, Agrin went back to the object by the wall. “Oh, Yaran.” The other shepherds either averted their eyes or stepped back as Agrin picked up what turned out to be a rifle. “You always were such a terrible liar.”