Page 45 of The Storm
They had to leave Syria,Max had said.Zana said they were shutting down.
“You’re an empath,” Renata said, trying to catch Thawra’s eye. “You feel what others feel.”
So does Evin,Thawra signed.
“I can teach you magic to protect yourself. To protect her. You’d be able to be around humans. You’d be able to live a more normal life.”
Thawra shook her head.We have no papers. We are nobody. Nothing.
“Don’t say that, Mama.” Evin hopped off the sofa and went to her mother, wrapping her arms around Thawra’s hips. “Baba says you are his moon.Ya amar, Mama.Ya habib alby. And I am his ladybug.”
Thawra took a deep breath and stroked Evin’s hair back.Go see the Christmas tree,she signed.Let me talk to the lady.
“Go ahead,” Renata said. “When Max comes in, ask him for a biscuit. There are some in the kitchen. I made them with dried apricots.”
“I like biscuits!” Evin bounced away through the stone hallway and past the iron door that hung open, leading to the house.
Renata turned back to Thawra. “You don’t want her to hear you speak, do you?”
Thawra opened her mouth and breathed deeply for a very long time. Then she put a hand on her belly and pushed out the words. “My voice. Sounds like a child.”
It did sound childlike. It was high and scratched. Something about it reminded Renata of a cat mewling.
“How old were you when you stopped speaking?”
“Younger,” she rasped.Younger than Evin, she signed.
“Why?”
“Mad,” she said.
“You were mad? Angry?”
Thawra shook her head. “The family… sold—”The family I was sold to,she signed.They told me my voice was driving them mad. Anytime I opened my mouth, they beat me. So I stopped speaking. It was safer that way.
Renata’s fury was ripe and fresh. “Your voice is a gift. We are daughters of the Creator. Our voices sing the songs of heaven. Those people were ignorant fools who knew nothing of your power.Nothing. Do you hear me? Your voice is power, and I will teach you how to use it. To protect yourself. To protect your children.” Renata took a deep breath. “And to calm and strengthen the mate who protects you.”
Thawra’s golden eyes met Renata’s. “I have… magic?”
Renata’s mind drifted back to a cold stone church, lying on the hard marble—empty and grieving—as a woman far more powerful than she’d been held out a hand to her.
“Can you teach me to be a warrior?”
“Can you heal my wound?”
“You have more magic than you know,” Renata said. “And I can teach you to use it. I can teach you how to fight.”
Thawra’s chin lifted, and Renata no longer saw a frightened victim. She saw a woman who hoped.
Hope was powerful.
“I will learn,” Thawra rasped out. “I want to.”
Renata held her hand out to Thawra. “Then you are exactly where you need to be.”
* * *
Renata watchedthe family that night at dinner. Max had made a stew he’d learned from his uncle, a typical warrior’s meal with boiled meat and potatoes and root vegetables. It was perfect for dinner, and the little family wolfed it down. Renata had peeked at their stores. They’d been existing on canned meats and beans and flour they’d probably scavenged from the house. Though all of them were thinner than they ought to have been, Zana was nearly gaunt. It was obvious he’d been going without food so Thawra and Evin could eat.
