“Like me?”
“Strong and healthy, with minor wounds.” She finished removing the sutures. “Toward the end, I had to focus my efforts on the critically injured. There were more than I could help. The month after Khalil died, I worked so much I hardly slept. Then one day I walked away and never returned.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
She put away her scissors, avoiding his gaze. “You healed well.”
He tugged his shirt back into place and rose to his feet. “I was in Syria. I don’t blame anyone for getting out.”
She acknowledged this statement with a nod. She wasn’t ashamed of her inability to continue treating patients amid crushing grief and daily bombings, but she appreciated his lack of judgment. She decided not to confront him about the passport. He could keep it until they parted ways, if it gave him comfort. They had another day’s travel between here and Semdinli, where she would leave him. Her chest hitched at the thought. She stared at him with a heavy heart, wishing for things that could never be.
Yelda approached with one of the village elders. “This is Sheikh Faqir. He would have counsel with you and Mr. Hudson.”
Layah bowed her head toward the sheikh, who wore traditional garb and a white turban.
“What’s up?” Hudson asked.
“The sheikh wants to speak with us.”
They followed Yelda and the sheikh to the other side of the courtyard. There was a lattice pergola shrouded in grapevines giving shade to a long wooden table.
“Are we in trouble?” Hudson whispered.
“I don’t know,” she said, sitting across from the Yazidis.
Sheikh Faqir spoke for several minutes. Layah listened politely, though she had no idea what he was saying.
“He wants to thank Hudson for guiding us to our new home,” Yelda said.
Layah repeated this in English for Hudson, who inclined his head.
“There is a problem,” Yelda continued. “Three days ago, there was a bomb in Semdinli. It detonated on a bus full of aid workers. Seventeen were killed.”
Layah felt the blood drain from her face. “Did anyone claim responsibility?”
“The Da’esh.”
“Have they invaded this region?”
“They are here in small numbers. The Kurdish rebels say the Turks have been arming them in secret.”
She translated for Hudson, her thoughts racing. There had been conflict between the Kurds and Turks for decades, but the rebels rarely targeted civilians. The Da’esh had no qualms about killing innocents. Even if the invaders weren’t involved, a terror attack in Semdinli meant they couldn’t travel that direction. There would be an increased military presence, strict curfews and increased tensions.
“The sheikh wanted to warn you before you resumed your journey. He also regrets to inform you that you cannot stay in the village, as an unmarried couple living in sin.”
“We’re not living in sin,” Layah said.
“You have slept together in the same space.”
“Not as man and wife.”
“He can see the lust in your hearts. That is sin enough.”
“What the hell is she saying?” Hudson asked.
“She says we have to leave because we are sinners.”
Yelda cleared her throat. “There is a solution. We will cast out your sin by joining you in holy matrimony.”
Layah’s mouth dropped open. Yelda had predicted a marriage between them at the end of the journey. She also might have overheard the conversation in the bathing room. Layah had been speaking Assyrian, but Hudson’s name was the same in every language.
“They want us to get married.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No.”
“Our marriage ceremonies last three days,” Yelda said. “They begin with the groom striking the bride lightly over the head with a stone.”
Layah tried not to show her surprise. The Yazidis were allies to the Assyrians, and they had a shared history of persecution, but they had very different beliefs. Layah didn’t want to offend them by expressing disapproval or refusing outright. She turned to Hudson and translated without inflection.
His face became a hard mask. “No. No way.”
“He’ll never do it,” Layah said.
Yelda looked disappointed. “You will encounter great danger if you continue the journey without a marriage bond.”
The sheikh spoke again.
“Because of Hudson’s bravery as a guide,” Yelda said, “the sheikh offers you a spiritual cleansing and a boat trip downriver, to Halana. This way you can avoid the conflict areas and we will be purged of your bad luck.”
“Thank you,” Layah said stiffly. “You are very kind.”
They were escorted to an ornate peacock statue in the center of the village. Yelda told them to kneel in front of it. Hudson complied with obvious reluctance. The priest performed a ritual with clay, holy water and a peacock feather. They were cleansed of their sins. When the prayer was over, they were allowed to stand.
“You may gather your belongings now,” Yelda said.
Hudson strode back to the courtyard, his irritation clear. Layah hurried after him, nibbling on the edge of her thumbnail. She’d planned to travel to Semdinli, the most populated town in the region, and leave Hudson there. That was no longer an option. After a major terror attack, every foreigner would be a suspect.
Hudson had to stay with them. She couldn’t abandon him, for reasons both moral and practical. The sheikh had offered them a boat ride because of Hudson’s bravery. It was his reward for delivering Yelda and Hanna safely. Without Hudson, there would be no ride, and they desperately needed one.
She stopped him before they reached the courtyard. He scowled, but didn’t pull away.
“You are angry,” she said.
“I don’t like getting jerked around, or praying to peacocks.”
“We are guests here. We must respect their customs.”
“Should I hit you over the head with a rock? Would that be respectful?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “They are giving us a ride to Halana and saving us three days of travel.”
He moved closer and lowered his voice. “What about my freedom?”
“You are free to go to Semdinli and take your chances there. I would not recommend it after a terror attack. You are in the country illegally, with no documents. You could
