The Eye considers the three of them, then tells the girl, “You have the look and the stink of your American father about you.”
“Leave her alone,” the father says, daring a tone of defiance. “We don’t know why she can do what she does, but it’s not evil. It’s not—”
“I know that, infidel.” The Eye grins, and taps his jeweled eye patch. “She is a gift from Allah. A gift I was meant to find. And use.”
“No, please—” the mother starts, and tries to pull her daughter back.
At a motion from the Eye, one of his men yanks the woman away. He pushes her to her knees and pulls out the same bloody scimitar that had just seen action.
“No!” her husband yells, but he too is restrained, dragged away from the girl until she stands there, arms splayed, hands empty.
“You’re my gift,” the Eye says. “But you must understand that I have to ensure your compliance. I leave the choice to you, Hummingbird. Your mother or your father. Which would you have stay in this world?”
She turns to him, and now meets his cold one-eyed stare.
“No,” the father yells. “You can’t make her choose. Take me, kill me.” He struggles, almost frees himself but then the butt of a rifle slams into his back and pins him to the rocky sand.
“Choose,” the Eye repeats, stepping closer so his hulking shadow envelops the girl. His robes flow and whip in the rising winds and sand devils blow around them both.
“Please don’t…” the mother whimpers.
The girl looks over to her, a cry on her lips. “Mother—”
“Good enough for me,” the Eye says, and nods to his man. The woman’s head scarf is tugged back. Her neck exposed and then torn in a jagged, swift cut as the blade digs deep. Flesh and muscle parting, blood escaping. Her eyes go cold with surprise and then… acceptance.
The Hummingbird turns away, an unvoiced cry in her throat.
The father whimpers his breath into the rocks.
And the girl focuses not on the object of her hatred, but on a lone boy standing in the crowd. A grime-faced curly-haired boy her own age. A boy trembling with fear, but whose eyes hold such emotion. He struggles against the clutches of his parents, who hold him back from running to the girl…
-His one friend.
The Hummingbird shakes her head slightly at him as if to say, ‘not now’.
“It is done,” the Eye says matter-of-factly. He points to the girl’s father. “Break his legs, bind him and bring him with us.” Then he kneels down, takes the girl’s chin in his hands and uses a dirty thumb to wipe a tear from her eyes. “You’ll do as I say from now on. You keep us safe, and your father lives. These villagers live. Fail me, and they all join your mother.”
With a flourish, his black robes whipping around, he scoops up the Hummingbird, sets her on his horse and climbs in the saddle behind her. With a joyous shout, he races toward the cliffs.
“And now, my sweet. You will help us navigate the tunnels, and when we have found a place of safety deep within the mountains, my brethren will join us, and our work can truly begin.”
Into the cavern, darkness covering them. A seeping of blue forms around the edges of the vision. Closing over the sparkling reality of everything in the center. The white of the horse’s mane, the thickness of the leather harness, the saddle, and the shaking little hands that hug the horse’s neck, drawing comfort from petting the magnificent beast.
“You will sleep,” the Eye says, “only when I let you. When I am in slumber you must cloud our presence—in the past, the present and the future—as I know you can do. Just as you hid yourself and your parents from me for months. You will do all this, and your father will live.” He strokes her hair as the veil of blue encircles the entirety of the vision. And his last words follow Phoebe out of it…
“The Eye and the Hummingbird. You and I, child. We will be unstoppable.”
Complete BLUE.
Phoebe pulled back. Twitching, eyelids fluttering. Dimly aware of the plane descending, the pressure tightening in her eyes. Stay in it, she thought. Focus… retreat, find something…
Back in the clearing. The villagers disbanding, returning to the fields. Tending to the dead. Saying prayers and moving on.
Except for one.
The curly-haired boy.
He slips away from his parents as they go to mourn and prepare the funerals. Scrambles toward the wall of caves, the place that holds such mystery for him, even though for others the caves are used merely for shelter, for makeshift homes.
He follows the tracks of the one-eyed man. Enters the cavern and quickly makes his way after them. Descending deep into the mountainside. Coming to a branching trail, narrowing passageways.
He follows the light ahead, dimming. But he sticks to the shadows and creeps along.
Blinking, Phoebe stirred and opened her eyes. Yawned and popped her ears.
Gotcha, she thought. The boy is the key.
And then she noticed Orlando, eyelids moving rapidly. His hand, wielding the pencil, was a blur of motion, creating a series of lines and diagrams, twisting trails through a maze.
“You’re seeing it too,” she whispered, but Orlando kept drawing. His lips were dry, cracked, and his face slick with sweat. Phoebe couldn’t help but smile. His face, so scrunched up tight, muscles in his neck taught. His curly unkempt hair falling over his face. Before she knew it, she found herself touching his hair, brushing it with her fingers as he dreamt.
“Sweet and productive dreams, my prince.”
Orlando zeroed in on the boy at once. At first he was but a shadow, a darker silhouette, like a jellyfish bobbing in the blue depths. But the motion was there, pulling at the remote-vision.
Ask the right question, get the right answer. Orlando smiled as he dropped deeper into the trance, willing himself to see it—to follow someone outside of the shield, someone else who tracked the girl. Come on, come to focus. Ah, there you are.
The boy, returning to the caves at night. With a knapsack full of an assortment of dried meats and a few nuts, a dirty bottle of water, an oil lamp, and a blanket. He stopped before the great sandstone cliff and gazed up at the hollow niche. He had been born after the statues’ destruction, but he often came here in the starlight and used his imagination, dreaming up a magnificent protector, a wise and living god to care for the village. And especially for Nadjee, the one they called the Hummingbird.
He moved forward into the cave and retraced his steps from earlier. He had played in these caves all his life, searching out their deepest regions, following miles of twisting passageways, until the rebel Taliban took up residence in some of the outlying tunnels and set up traps and mines. His older cousin, Jalik, had lost a foot in one of the subterranean passages last winter and then his parents had forbade any further play or exploration within the sacred mountain.
But this was different.
He scampered inside