Zahara and the Lost Books of Light by Joyce Ruth Yarrow

Author:Joyce Ruth Yarrow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, historical fiction, history
Publisher: Adelaide Books

*

I broke free from the Vijita and Luzia’s tormented psyche only to have our shared sorrow follow me. Ja’far’s death and Carlos’s murder took place decades apart yet I’d experienced them both within minutes, a traveler trapped in a negative vortex.

Celia was seated in the same position on the couch she’d occupied before my undetected absence. At the sight of my tear-streaked face, she asked, “Why so much grief? You and Carlos were at odds and barely knew each other.”

“I witnessed your mother Pilar’s breakdown when she learned your grandfather had been slain by the franquistas.”

“How is that possible? It happened years ago.”

I was done hiding my abilities from my cousin. “It’s not easy to describe. I experience what I call Vijitas. People from the distant past to whom I’m related inhabit me, or I inhabit them, it’s hard to tell. I always return to the exact moment of my departure. Sounds crazy, I know.”

“I wouldn’t say so, Alienor. There’s more to this world than what appears on the surface. Like I already told you, I suspect you have a maggid. If you were a Muslim, Grandpa Ja’far would have said you have al-hibat ar-ru’eeya, the gift of seeing. Since our ancestors are of mixed origins, you’re doubly blessed. You can be sure there’s a reason behind these gifts, a higher purpose.”

“I never thought of it that way. Maybe I should have fully confided in you sooner.”

“Secrecy is a habit harder to break than truth-telling.”

A knock sounded at the door. Celia put her finger to her lips and whispered, “Please, not a word about the libraries.”

In his uniform, Inspector Fernández looked taller than I remembered. He ducked under the archway into the living room, accompanied by a colleague he introduced as a member of the Policia Local. Behind them in the mudroom, a technician in a white jumpsuit leaned over Carlos.

“This is most strange,” Fernández remarked. “Only today we cleared Carlos Martín of the attempted murder of Mico Rosales, and now he turns up dead. If you would be so kind as to tell me who found him and under what circumstances.” The Inspector spoke to me in English, perhaps his way of stressing my tenuous connection to his country and the expectation of my full honesty were I to remain here.

“Celia invited me to lunch and I arrived early. She was out shopping. As soon as I saw Carlos, I knew he was dead. That’s when I called you.”

I’d done my best to give the falsehood some credibility but I doubted Celia and I would be able to keep track of all the half-truths and falsehoods we were about to tell. It was a necessary evil given how much was on the table. We were protecting a bond of trust that had held strong for more than three hundred years, as well as tons of invaluable paper and ink people had dedicated their lives to saving.

“Did your brother come to see you often?”

“No, we were estranged for many years,” Celia said.

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