Chapter Text
Samir Ghafa
Even years later, Samir Ghafa’s fingers would tremble when it came time to mend the nets. As he inspected the lengths of ropes, pulling at fraying knots and feeling for signs of rot, the tumult of the caravan would fade into the background. Instead, blood would rush in his ears, eerily reminiscent of waves breaking against the shore. Then beneath his calloused fingers, he would twist the flaxen fibers, weaving in new threads as deftly as Bhavna had once braided their daughter’s hair, strand over strand, back before that horrible morning on the outskirts of Os Kervo.
He would remember Bhavna’s screams until his dying day, the way she sank to her knees and wept when they returned to the vardo to find the door wrenched open, twisted sheets trailing down the steps. He had frozen for a moment, his heart stuttering to a stop when Hanzi spotted the smear of blood in the rocky soil. The tall grasses surrounding the wagon were broken and bent, trampled beneath the heavy boots of men in a path that led through the cove towards the sea.
He sprang into action, shouting for the men of the caravan. The sun was still high in the sky. They couldn’t have gotten far, he reasoned.
They had.
The night before they left Os Kervo behind them, he had wondered why mourning felt like a betrayal. He had pulled Bhavna tightly to his chest beneath the thin cotton sheets, holding her close as her ragged sobs gradually stilled, her weary body succumbing to the temporary agnosia of sleep. Try as he might, Samir Ghafa could not bring himself to sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Inej, poised atop the tightrope as though she could fly. He saw her bright smile, the daring determination in her gaze as she squared her shoulders. She was born to the wire, borne aloft by invisible wings.
Then, it all came crashing down as the rope gave away beneath her. In his mind, he watched her plummet to the earth, a puppet without strings. All he could do was watch as she crumpled to the ground, broken and bloodied, eyes dimmed with pain. Unable to bear it any longer, he had opened his eyes, staring into the impenetrable darkness as never-ending waves of self-loathing crashed on the outskirts of sensation.
The next morning, he held Bhavna’s hand as he stared out over the True Sea. As the sun rose on the horizon, the water glimmered, refracting light like a jewel. Samir’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Bhavna knelt in the sand to tie a dark ribbon around a branch of dried driftwood. He recognized it as one of the ribbons Bhavna used to weave into Inej’s braids when she was younger. Recently, she had abandoned them as childish, but Bhavna had kept them all the same.
“An offering,” Bhavna had whispered, her voice rough with sorrow, “An offering for Sankta Margaretha.”
Gulls screeched overhead as Bhavna whispered prayers to the patron saint of lost children, her faith unshakeable even as the world crumbled away beneath her. Legends whispered that Sankta Margaretha had defeated a demon preying on children beneath the bridges of Ketterdam, but where was Sankta Margaretha when his daughter was stolen by slavers, carried away across the True Sea?
Samir found that prayers died in his throat.
“Ne brinite. We’ll find her,” he promised instead, pressing a kiss to the crown of Bhavna’s head. “We’ll find her.”
They didn’t.
Samir felt Bhavna’s steady hand on his shoulder, the scent of the oils that she used in her hair grounding him in the present. He breathed deep, willing himself to forget the phantom aroma of the sea until all he felt was her. He let the net slip through his fingertips, reaching back to grip her hand with both of his. It had been two years since he had lost his daughter to the waves, two years since he had lost his faith in the saints, but Bhavna was unshakeable. She was his saint.
“Hanzi will finish the mending, mera pyaara,” she declared, her tone brokering no argument. “I’ve made you a cup of tea. Come.”
He allowed himself to be guided back to the vardo, where he sipped warm tea until his fingers finally stopped trembling. Bhavna smiled sadly at him over the patchwork quilt that she still stitched together years after her daughter’s disappearance. Samir watched as her fingers knotted the colorful yarn, a silent act of faith. Her hands were disciplined and steadfast. They did not shake. He found his heart swelling with pride as he followed their progress, allowing himself to become mesmerized until his eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep.
The sound of thundering hooves tore him from his slumber. He jerked awake, knocking Bhavna’s delicate teacup to the floor, where it shattered. There was shouting, muffled but growing louder, and then abruptly the sound of heavy knocking at the door of the vardo. Bhavna set aside the quilt, rising to her feet, as Hanzi wrenched open the door. His eyes were wild, alight with something like awe.
“Uncle—” he gasped, out of breath, “There’s a messenger– a royal messenger. He’s—he’s looking for the Ghafas. Come quick.”
Samir met his wife’s eyes and allowed himself, for the first time in two years, to feel the fledgling stirrings of hope.
The messenger was, indeed, a royal one. Samir recognized the insignia of the Lantsov double eagle on the wax seal of the letter that he handed down to the Ghafas from atop his grand horse. He stared at the wax eagle, scepter clutched in one talon and three black arrows gripped in the other. Whispers rippled through the caravan as children peered curiously out from beneath the flaps of their vardos. When had the royal house of Lantsov ever deigned to notice the Suli, let alone hand deliver mysterious missives on fine parchment? Yet, there was their family name, written in a scrawl of dark ink. He found that his fingers began to shake once more as he peeled away the wax and began to read the Ravkan words within:
Your daughter, Inej Ghafa, has been located in Ketterdam. Passage has been arranged for you and your family from Os Kervo…
Samir didn’t finish reading. Bhavna had fallen to her knees next to him, thanking Sankta Margaretha, who had plucked their daughter from the dark waters of Ketterdam.