The guardian, p.7
The Guardian, page 7
Iliya stood. A pit of determination seeded in her stomach. “You can forge your own path. You can refuse to accept the mysterious fate handed to you by an unknown God, and you can decide what kind of life you want to lead.”
“And what life is that?” asked Cassandra.
“I have a duty to my sister, my brother, and you. I will keep you all safe until you’re healthy again.”
“Oh, that will never happen.” Cassandra’s cheerful tone starkly contrasted with the gravity of her words.
Suddenly a lost little girl again, Iliya peered down at her in surprise. “It won’t?”
Cassandra shook her head. “No, I’m a mess.”
Hope rapidly draining out of her, Iliya sat back down.
“You have more to do in this life than just protect us,” said Cassandra. “And anyway, the best way to protect us is to follow the prophet’s path. Make the world a better place—so that when the destruction comes, we will all be saved, and we will not perish.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Cassandra turned to face her more fully, her hazel eyes wide and bright—the same color as Iliya’s. “Iliya, you bring the next hope of salvation. It failed the last time, but God is giving us another chance.”
Iliya peered back, but she could not share Cassandra’s visions. “Mother, I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.”
Cassandra put a hand on Iliya’s shoulder and gestured toward the children’s bedrooms. “There is so much more in this world than you know, Iliya. You have the power to shape the universe. What kind of world do you want them to live in? What kind of world do you want to create for them?”
“But . . . if I leave . . .” Pain and fear welling in her chest, Iliya gazed at her mother. “How can I trust you’ll be okay? How can I abandon you?”
“Don’t worry, dear. Father will take good care of us.”
The raw words stabbed Iliya. She could hardly breathe. The air seemed to tremble around her. “Father’s dead,” she whispered.
Cassandra shrugged and began rummaging for one of her activities. “I suppose.”
Iliya stood and backed slowly out of the room. Cassandra started humming placidly.
CHAPTER 9
The next day, one of the town’s leading doctors, Dr. Alexandria, came to see Iliya. Bald and olive-toned, he took over the small cottage entryway with his broad shoulders and big personality. He swept inside and gave Iliya a vigorous handshake, grasping her hand in two of his own.
“Iliya, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard truly incredible things. Your diagnostic prowess is unparalleled.” His voice bubbled over with false charm and superficial cheer, and his thick bushy mustache wiggled. “I must thank you for your help. I can attribute at least seven of my patients’ successes to your insights.”
Iliya managed to smile. “How can I help you, Doctor?”
“Well, since you seem so plugged in, I was wondering what your provision channels are. Where are you getting your resources?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, come now, don’t be furtive. We’re all on the same team here. I just want to help the town, same as you. No need to keep it all for yourself.”
“I’ve been given special powers by God.”
Dr. Alexandria scoffed, and Iliya had to admit, it did sound ridiculous. “All right, I promise I won’t blow your cover story. Just give me a cut. Are you getting diagnostic and preventative care technologies from one of the spoke towns? Do you have an arrangement with one of their hospitals to get their discarded or broken machines? Or their expired medicines? I’ve been trying for ages to get scraps, anything, even technologies that haven’t been used for decades. It still beats what we have here.”
Iliya’s mind spun. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. There are better technologies elsewhere?”
The doctor frowned at her. “I see. This is how you want to play it. Fine. But it’s good people you’re denying medical care. You can’t treat everyone by yourself. I could have helped, you know.”
He stormed out in a huff.
Iliya replayed his strange words in her mind: spoke towns, hospitals.
Cassandra murmured quietly from the den, “There is so much more in this world than you know, Iliya.”
Iliya did feel curious about what might exist beyond her village. If there were better technologies elsewhere for diagnosing and healing people, then she might exponentially increase the number of people she could save. If she could bring such technologies to villages like hers, perhaps it wouldn’t take a miracle to cure people of the flu, or parasites, or diabetes. How limited would she be if she remained only in this village relying only on their resources? How much of her life would she be required to give just to make a little progress?
Iliya greeted the queue of villagers eager for her attention.
She was surprised to see Mr. Careem Clemence at the front of the line. He looked much the same as she remembered him—the same kind brown eyes and receding brown hair. He gave her a broad smile with a hint of sheepishness, like he felt flustered seeing her in this context.
“Well, hello Iliya,” he stammered. “Hard to believe I had a miracle worker under my nose all that time. And to think, I had you do nothing but filing.”
“Mr. Clemence, please, come in.”
“You can call me Careem,” he urged, joining her at the small table in the entryway.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asked.
“They told me I was crazy to ask this of you.” His voice became so quiet she had to lean across the table to hear him. “But I thought, might as well try.”
She waited patiently.
“I was wondering if . . . you could bring Nadia back,” he mumbled, and his cheeks tinged pink.
“Your wife, Nadia? Bring her back to life?”
Careem nodded.
“I don’t think I can bring people back to life,” she said slowly. “But I suppose I can give it a try.”
She closed her eyes, meditated, and made the request. Please bring his wife, Nadia, back to life. Restore her soul to her body.
She received a complex response—one she didn’t quite understand at first. She knew Careem was likely waiting in cruel anticipation, but she let that thought go and pursued this unresolved miracle.
She felt herself rising out of her body, and she realized this type of miracle must require astral projection.
Floating in the entryway, she could see her physical body quietly meditating, but Careem had vanished; his chair now appeared empty. She looked around, but everything else looked the same as it did in the mortal world—the kitchen to her left, the den to her right, the hallway to the bedrooms behind her.
She opened the front door and walked outside.
“Nadia,” she called. “Nadia Clemence, can you hear me?”
Nothing but silence. Iliya sought her guardian and found him some distance away fiddling with a leaf that had fallen from a nearby tree.
“I suppose you know how I can bring people back from the dead?” she queried.
He nodded wordlessly.
“But you told me I couldn’t bring back my father.”
“You can’t.”
She put her hands on her hips. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I don’t think God ever promised to be fair.”
“Then he should have.” Iliya paused, considering her next step. “I can bring back Nadia, but not my father?”
The guardian shrugged. “If it is God’s will.”
“Humph.” She breathed in the cool morning air and looked around. “Where can I find this Nadia?”
“Humans come to the spirit world when they die,” said the guardian absently. “She’s probably here somewhere.”
Iliya froze, her breath catching in her throat, and her hands began to shake. “Does that mean . . . my father . . . is here somewhere?”
The guardian turned back to look at her, and his expression changed—perhaps alarmed, even fearful.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t go down that road, Iliya.”
“Well, why not? Why can I only do miracles for others and not myself? Or for my family?” Heat rose in her chest. “Why can’t I cure my mother and bring back my father?”
“If you don’t believe me, search for the answers yourself,” said the guardian, his voice pained. “The price would be . . . too great.”
She searched and found it instantly—the price, for either miracle, would be her life. Her whole life. And even then, it might not be enough to cure them. She could not see beyond the ultimate, the only price she had to offer.
The decision was swift—she would do it, even for just the possibility that she might revive her father or heal her mother.
“No,” cried the guardian with evident panic. “Iliya, you mustn’t!”
“Why not?” she shouted, tears welling in her eyes. “You can’t control me. If this is what I want—”
“Just think about what you’re saying. Would your parents want you to die in their place?” He paused, letting the question sink in.
She felt it settle somewhere in the bottom of her stomach.
“Well? Would they?” he prompted.
Iliya knelt to the ground. Tears freely flowed down her cheeks.
“Your father died in his time,” the guardian explained firmly, “which is why you cannot bring him back. And your mother has her fate as a seer.”
Covered by saltwater, the leaves and dirt blurred beneath her.
“God has granted you a rare gift—use it, but do not sacrifice yourself for nothing.”
“It’s not for nothing,” she whispered.
The bushes rustled nearby. A woman in a long, glimmering white gown strode into the open clearing. Her black hair was tied back in a long ponytail that reached her hips, and her skin was an olive-beige color.
“I heard someone calling for me,” she murmured in a musical, lilting voice. Her brown eyes were large compared to the rest of her features, giving her the appearance of perpetual doe-eyed surprise. “Is it time to go?”
“Nadia died before her time so that you might meet Mr. Clemence,” explained the guardian in a quiet voice, “and so that he might provide for you in your time of need. But God does not forget those who provide for his prophets. He will demonstrate his power now, through you, by bringing her back. She has been waiting here in the spirit world for you to call her home.”
Nadia bent down and took Iliya’s cheeks in her cool hands; she placed a soft kiss on each cheek. “Thank you so much. I am looking forward to seeing my husband again.”
Iliya clambered up and took Nadia’s hand. Nadia’s fingers were thin, graceful, and her grasp was tender, almost maternal. They walked back inside the house together where Iliya knew the invisible Careem was waiting.
As Iliya alone reentered her body and reincorporated into the physical world, she made sure to keep a connection with Nadia, who remained in the spiritual world. She clutched Nadia’s fingers tightly.
Iliya opened her eyes. Careem watched her, holding his breath, his eyes wide.
After gathering her strength, Iliya said, “Because you provided for me when I had nothing, God has granted your wish.” Her voice sounded flat and toneless to her own ears. “I am holding Nadia’s hand. It has been too long since she died for her to reenter her old body. God must grant her a new body. It will take a moment.”
Careem nodded, his face pale.
Iliya closed her eyes again and wished for the miracle that was already, at this point, on the tip of her tongue.
Nadia materialized in the mortal realm, her spirit rooting to the Earth and becoming visible to them.
Careem cried out in pure primal joy and rushed toward Nadia. They collided in a heated embrace, and Iliya turned away, allowing them their moment of privacy.
“I missed you so much,” Careem choked.
“I missed you too,” Nadia whispered in return.
After a series of weighty moments, they turned to Iliya.
“Please,” said Careem in a coarse voice. “We owe you more than we can ever repay. Please tell us what we can do to say some small thanks.”
Iliya shrugged. “My family is quite comfortable these days.”
Nadia leaned down and grasped Iliya’s hands. It felt much the same as it had in the spirit world, though her hands were warmer now. “If you ever need anything, large or small, I hope you will call on us.” Her dark eyes were vibrant, intent.
Iliya nodded, her throat thick.
Careem and Nadia walked out hand-in-hand. Iliya told the next person in line to wait—she needed time to recuperate.
Alone in the entryway, Iliya hugged her knees to her chest and sat in silence.
Eventually she composed herself and agreed to do more miracles that day.
In the early evening, minutes before Baq and Pamela were due back from school, Iliya stepped outside to survey the crowd and determine how many more she could heal that day.
A voice called from the back of the line, “I hear you brought Nadia Clemence back from the dead.”
Everyone turned to locate the source. Iliya squinted into the setting sun’s haze, and her stomach sank as she recognized the shouter.
“Trista,” Iliya greeted glumly.
“Is it true?” Trista skirted the line and rushed toward Iliya. Her wiry brown hair was untied this time, and her jaw was clenched into an especially brutal expression.
A queued villager shouted at Trista, “Hey, don’t cut the line.”
“I waited my turn already,” Trista shouted back, not breaking her stride. “The other day, I had waited all night so I would be the first in line. And what did Iliya Rusul do? She turned me away. She’s letting my father die.”
Cold dread shot down Iliya’s spine as the villagers started murmuring, asking each other if this could be true, whispering their own stories about friends and neighbors who were also turned away.
Iliya tried to speak through the tightness in her throat. “I . . . can’t save everyone.”
“But that makes no sense, does it?” Trista glanced around at the other villagers as if willing them to join her outrage. “If she’s powerful enough to raise someone from the dead, how can she be powerless to stop a man from dying in the first place? How can she be powerless to cure an illness?”
“She refused to heal my son’s face,” another woman in line shouted. “His disfigurement has made him a laughingstock at school.”
“He just had acne,” Iliya muttered in exasperation. “It posed no serious threat to his health.”
“Do you see?” Trista prompted. “Do you see how she judges us? She’s the one who decides whether we deserve to be healed.”
The murmuring turned to shouting, and the villagers in line grew restless. More villagers surfaced behind them—perhaps a crowd Trista had summoned to support her.
Panic fluttered in Iliya’s chest. Baq and Pamela would return any minute. “Please, if you’re not here for a healing, make room for those—”
“I say we make her treat us with respect,” Trista yelled. “Are you with me?”
Angry shouts confirmed their hostile solidarity.
Someone grabbed a torch—Iliya had no idea where they had gotten it—and ran toward the house, pointing the fiery tip toward the wooden door.
Just then, Baq and Pamela arrived at the back of the crowd. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as their frightened faces scanned the lawn.
“Grab her kids,” someone shouted.
Hands seized Baq and Pamela.
“No!” Iliya screamed.
Flames licked the door, gaining momentum and spitting embers toward Iliya. She stumbled away reflexively.
“Guardian,” she gasped, coughing from the rising smoke.
But she knew what he would tell her to do.
Brushing the residual embers off her clothes, she sprinted toward her siblings, but the crowd blocked her path. Villagers grabbed her arms and her shoulders to bind her, and they pummeled her, shouting in her face. She struggled for meditative calm.
Iliya cried her miracle to the universe, “Save my siblings, my mother, my house.”
The price is vast, the universe warned.
The truth hit her like swallowing a stone. Was this her punishment for resisting God’s path? Would he endanger her family until she consented to leave?
When she opened her eyes, the angry villagers had released her. All their blights were healed. Miraculously, the entire village was saved—the adolescent with acne, even Trista’s father.
God’s power was truly overwhelming.
With all their complaints abruptly addressed, the villagers’ anger evaporated. Smiling, laughing, and celebrating, they admired their newly strengthened limbs, their clear skin, and their easy breaths. They sauntered off into the deepening twilight with palpable glee.
Their faces pallid, Baq and Pamela staggered toward Iliya. Choking through tears and the smell of smoke still thick in her nostrils, Iliya gathered the two in her arms and held their small bodies tight against hers.
The smoke itself had vanished, of course, along with the fire. The house seemed relatively unharmed, save for some scarring along the door’s outer edge.
Cassandra sat calmly on the couch—had she been aware of the commotion? Iliya led Baq and Pamela inside, sat them beside their mother, and went to prepare them some hot tea in the kitchen.
Out the window, she watched the crowd dwindle until there was no one left.
Would the villagers come back when new ailments inevitably struck them? Would they demand retribution? She had presumed her family would be unsafe without her—but perhaps they would actually be safer without her.
God’s will had prevailed. She would leave her village and spread God’s gift elsewhere.
CHAPTER 10
The next day, Iliya set all the preparations in motion. She asked Mrs. Sonia about options for more after-school activities. She stocked up on money, nonperishable food, medicine, and anything else she thought her family might need.
She also tracked down Careem and Nadia Clemence to ask them the biggest favor of all.
