Echo by Yasmine Maher

Author:Yasmine Maher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy adventure books, witches books fiction, books about witches and magic fiction, stand alone fantasy books, new adult fantasy books, urban fantasy books
Publisher: Fables and Facts
Published: 2022-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

Arc 4: The Truth

Chapter 18: One Side of the Story

It was a shady day on a land that never missed the sun, long before this story had ever begun. People lived in round huts of wattles and straw, and every morning, a bird in the color of blood would caw. One day, everyone woke up to a woman screaming. Her husband was murdered.

People wrapped in linen garments gathered on the shore of the oasis spring. The tension rose with every traded glance. Who murdered the chief of the Gudea tribe? Until they found the truth, everyone was suspect.

The widow’s tears snuck in with her sweat. On the sand, her husband’s body lay, gray as ash and foul as garbage in the sun.

A young girl came running with an infant in her arms. She was more afraid to stop than to stumble. She wore linen and a brown cloak, and her braided hair reached the middle of her back.

"Lú," a tall man uttered her name. He raised his staff, preparing to revenge for his pride, but an older man stopped him, saying, "First we question her, then you punish her."

***

Lú’s story began thirteen years earlier. When she was an infant herself, her mother took her to a nearby hut, where old Umu lived.

Umu was an ugly, toothless woman with a grin full of disdain and a home that reeked of her nauseating sweat. On a small fire, she heated a blade sharp enough to cut through the skin. "Take off her clothes and put her on the ground," she instructed.

The mother held her child close to her chest. She would’ve faltered hadn’t it been for the nudge she received. Staring at her, the grandmother, who was barely in her twenties, scowled. New mothers were always hesitant, but Grandmothers knew best. They knew how to respect tradition.

Lú’s mother put her on the dirt. She stripped the infant of her white clothes to show her smooth, tanned skin. On her left forearm, the child had a symbol carved in ink: a triangle, entangled with two infinity signs that crossed each other. The mother remembered how her child wept when they engraved the ink into her skin. That pain was nothing compared to what was about to come.

"This is her secret." The grandmother referred to the tattoo on the infant’s arm.

"Now, she gets her virtue," said ugly Umu. With the blade in her hand, she edged towards the infant who started to whimper.

The mother clutched at her daughter and pulled her away, but the grandmother intervened, "You’re not strong enough." New mothers never had the strength.

The grandmother restrained the infant while the mother retreated to the corner and covered her eyes. Her skin crawled as she imagined the hot blade getting closer and closer to her child’s genitalia.

The infant screeched like a kitten devoured by a predator.

The mother’s heart sank. She fell to her knees. But she didn’t try to interfere. She let the grandmother do the job. After all, grandmothers knew best. They had lived through this so many times they learned to accept it.

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