Of Dreams and Rust (27 page)

I swipe tears from my cheeks, embarrassed to be crying in front of this woman who has lost her younger son. “I don't want to burden him.”

She takes me by the shoulders. “Do you love him,
cuz
? Be truthful.”

I look into her dark blue eyes, Sinan's eyes. “I love him.”

“Why do you think your love and comfort would be a burden to him?”

“Because I don't know if he feels the same, Anni. And I don't want to impose—”

She mutters something in Noor under her breath and shakes her head. “The two of you. He tries to be like an Itanyai for you, and if he had only been himself, or if you had understood us better, you would know exactly what he needs.”

I think back, over all the times lately he has avoided saying what is in his mind, and I wonder if she is right. Maybe he hasn't wanted to burden me, either. Maybe he hasn't wanted to push. And as a result he has denied himself things I would have happily given him. “Anni, what does
‘yorh zhasev'
mean? Melik said it to me in the hills, but he would not translate it for me.”

She presses her lips together as her face crumples under the weight of her sadness. Her eyes glitter with tears. “It means you are the only one who can reach him now,
cuz
.”

Hesitantly I reach up and smooth my fingertips over her cheeks, catching her tears. I would never do this to another Itanyai, but with Anni it feels necessary and right. It makes me feel strong. And so does the memory of Melik saying “
yorh zhasev
, Wen” so fiercely, like it was true whether he wanted it to be or not. I think I know what it means now. I think I understand.

“Then I will find him, Anni, and I will bring him back.”

Chapter

DAWN IS STILL a few hours away as I trek across the canyon and begin to ascend into the hills. Anni was not completely sure where Melik would go, but she had an idea and described the path to me in great detail, the shapes of the rocks, the subtle markings by the trailside that one would never see if one didn't already know they were there. But now I know, and so I drag my fingertips across the boulder with the creased face, continue past the group of jagged rocks that looks like a group of old women gossiping, walk along the stone that could be a wounded warrior lying down to die. I carry the satchel Anni packed, a lantern in my hand, and all the hope and determination my body can hold.

As I hike, my mind treads across memories of Bo and stretches to imagine where he might be right now. I hope that with every step he moves closer to peace of whatever kind he is capable of finding. I do not blame him for allowing Sinan to follow along, for taking joy in having a partner in his plan. For Bo, his deepest satisfaction has always come in his work. His quiet moments have been spent immersed in problems that needed to be solved. His greatest triumphs have been in machines well made, in watching them fulfill the purpose he assigned. It was about the power of his mind, the delight in having such a magnificent tool and weapon hidden within his skull.

In Sinan, Bo had found a kindred spirit, but unlike Sinan, Bo never had a family, not really, and so he did not think about what it would be like for Melik. Or maybe he did not care. I know, though, that his harsh words as he left me behind were poorly fashioned tourniquets—desperate attempts to stop the blood gushing from the soft spot in his heart. My fear is that his next step will be cauterization, burning away those parts of him until he is numb. Or worse, amputation.

I hurt for Bo. I wish for him to be safe. But he and I, we have made our choices, and we are walking in opposite directions.

My legs ache, and I have not slept in a very long time. I haven't eaten, either, but I have food and water in my satchel—packed by Anni for Melik and me. My breath is ragged and my feet hurt as I finally find the narrow chasm that marks the entrance to the cave. I hold the lantern up and examine the space, puzzling at how someone as big as Melik could possibly fit through a space this small. But then I see the slide of rocky dirt at my feet and know he must be here, that he wormed his way through on his belly because the opening is wider near the ground. “Melik?” I call.

I am greeted with silence. No matter. I will search until I find him. I edge through the space by sidestepping, my chest and back scraping against stone as I sink into the darkness. After a few steps there is a black opening in front of me, and I move forward, raising my lantern and following the rocky tunnel until it opens into a cave.

It is already lit from within by another lantern, and I set mine down, my throat tightening with sorrow.

Melik is on his knees, facing a large, relatively smooth breadth of rock covered in markings. He does not look at me when I come in; his attention is focused on the cave wall. “When the machines came all those years ago,” he says softly, “Anni brought us here. We were in this cave for over a week.” His large hands skim over the stony expanse, and I step behind him to see what he sees. “Sinan had so much energy. He did not want to be trapped in this small space. Anni was terrified that he would sneak out and fall or be seen by the soldiers. I wanted to help.”

The markings on the wall are drawings, made with chalky stone in a childlike hand. A dragon, or perhaps it is a lion, marches across the rocky terrain with a small person on his back. “We could hear the sounds of war from the village, and it echoed through the canyon,” he says, his eyes on the tiny hero astride the fearsome animal. “I didn't want him to be scared, so I made up a story.” His fingertips brush over the creature. “I told him there was a boy king, and he had made the world his playground, and while he was having playtime, it was safer for us to have our own playtime in here.”

He chuckles, but it is a pained slice of sound. “Sinan did not like this story. He wanted to have a winged lion of his own.” Melik's palm smooths over the primitive mural, the hills and trees and lakes and birds . . . and another boy atop an even bigger winged beast with a massive head and huge eyes. “So I made him one, and Anni and I made up stories about his adventures. He liked that. Even when he could barely walk, he was not satisfied with small dreams.”

I bite my lip and move close to my red Noor, laying my hands on his shoulders. I bow my head and kiss his hair, thinking of the devotion of an eight-year-old boy for his baby brother, a powerful love for a child to carry. My heart beats a hard rhythm against my breast as I brace for Melik to flinch away from me, but he does not. Strands of his hair tickle my lips as I search for my words. “You will always carry him inside you, Melik. I know it is not enough, but it is not nothing.”

“It is nowhere near enough,” he says in a choked whisper.

My arms encircle his shoulders. “I know. I know, and I ache for you.”

“From the moment he was born, my father told me to watch over him,” he says, voice cracking over the words. “And from that moment until this afternoon I did. Not well, but I did.” His body trembles and his mouth stretches into a grimace. “As he was dying, he looked at me like I could save him. Like he believed I could.” Melik sinks to the floor, and I coil my arms around him as we descend, unwilling to let him go unless he orders me to, and perhaps not even then. He is shaking with grief, his mouth open in a silent scream of agony.

“I'm here,” I whisper, stroking his hair and pulling him back against me. “I will not leave you. You can cry an ocean if you need to. I will not let you drown.”

Melik turns so that his head is in my lap. His arms coil around my waist and I bow my head over him, providing him shelter. His knees are pulled up like a child's, but his legs are so long that his body is curled around mine, my back resting on his thighs. We are a knot of sorrow. I touch his face and feel the tears, and for the first time in my entire life I am relieved to know someone is crying. I think it is bad for Melik not to cry. The sight of his blank expression as he walked away from the grave was far scarier than his wracked sobs now. His shoulders heave as he weeps for what he has lost, and my eyes sting and tear as I feel his pain in my own body. He squeezes me tight, hanging on like the current is tugging at him. “I have you,” I murmur in his ear. “I will not let you go.”

I will never let him go.

I am not strong. I cannot shoot a gun or wield a knife. I am no soldier, no fighter. But as it turns out, I can do this. With my voice and my hands and my warmth, with everything that's in me, I hold Melik to the earth, refusing to relinquish him to the rising tide of his grief. He fists his hands in my tunic and buries his face in my side. I feel every tear and every sob, every time a memory hits him, every time the reality sweeps over him, every time his future without his brother sucks him down.

I have no idea how much time passes before Melik falls silent, before his breath becomes steady again, but as I drift in my thoughts, his voice reaches me. “Did my mother ask you to come?”

I lean back and find him looking up at me. “She did.”

He swipes his sleeve across his face and sits up. “It was kind of you,” he says quietly, turning his face away and wiping it once more.

He is pulling inside of himself again, and my first instinct is to do the same. To believe that he does not want me close. But if Anni is right, that is not what is happening here at all. “I did not come to be kind, Melik. Or out of a sense of obligation.
Yorh zhasev
,” I whisper, reaching to touch the side of his face.

He lets out a raspy laugh. “Do you even know what that means?”

I rise to my knees and climb into his lap so that my legs are on either side of his. I take his face in my hands. Never have I been so bold, but I don't care. “I will tell you what it means to me, and you can tell me if I understand it.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “It means I ache when you ache, and I am happy when you are happy. It means that I cheer when you have victory, and I stand beside you when you fight. It means my whole self is yours as a haven, a place to rest, a place to grow strong again.” My voice shakes as I say, “It means I adore you.” I kiss his mouth, and at first he seems too stunned to do anything but let me. “It means you have my heart.”

His lips meet mine again, warm and salty. My hands slide into his hair as his spread across my back. I breathe him in as my mouth fills with the taste of him. Melik takes my chin between his fingers and breaks our kiss. “You do not have to do this, Wen—”

“Did you need me to find you tonight?”

He looks up at me. “I needed it more than anything else.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“That is the last thing I want.”

“Do you feel the same?”

His eyes close and my heart stops. “For me it is different.” His arm loops around my back as I stiffen. “Different, but not less,” he says softly, opening his eyes. “To me,
‘yorh zhasev'
 . . . Wen, you are so mysterious to me. You are the smoothest dark waters, beneath which there is an entire world that I cannot see or understand. Yet I know it is there, and I know it is beautiful.” His fingertips trace along my brow. “I could spend a lifetime looking at this surface and wondering.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “And perhaps exploring.”

He watches his hand slide up my sleeve to my shoulder, where he plays with the collar of my tunic. “I want to memorize every flash of your eyes and every smile. You have so many different smiles, and all of them mean something different.” He skims a finger over my bottom lip, making my stomach flutter. “The slope of your neck, the furrow in your brow, the way you watch and watch and watch but rarely share what is inside you. I want to know all of it.” His eyes meet mine. “And I admit: I want to be the only one who knows all these secrets about you. Unless . . .” He sighs.

“Unless what?”

“Unless someone else already does,” he murmurs, his eyes straying to the wall of drawings behind me.

“You are speaking about Bo.” When I say his name, Melik tenses beneath me. “I will not lie to you and say that Bo is not important to me, and I will not pretend that I do not think of him, even now.” I think of how he has decided to kill his soft, human side, how he will die a machine, and it fills me with sorrow so deep that it is its own kind of grave, one from which I must walk away. I lean my forehead on Melik's. “But I spent the last year dreaming of you, Melik.” I poke him gently in the nose. “And saying your name in my sleep.”