Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (22 page)

"A djinn?" Maryam asked, suspecting trickery in the sudden oasis.

"Nonsense. Fairy tales," Hasad snorted before pulling her forward to investigate.

As they neared the sound, light spread out and illuminated a dark cavern with holes in the walls from floor to ceiling, trapping them in what loosely resembled a beehive. The light glowed from behind a waterfall running along the back wall. Water pooled on the floor and disappeared into a crevasse in the rock beneath them, disappearing into the earth.

"Water!" Maryam called, letting go of Hasad and running over to put her hands into the flow. "Hasad, there's something… There's nothing on the other side!"

"Not a wall?"

"No."

He stepped up next to her and reached a hand into the stream, drenching his shirt. Open air greeted him. Groping blindly, Hasad found nothing in the space behind the wall of water.

"The light is coming from here," he muttered, kneeling down and feeling for solid ground. Stepping into this watery gate only to fall into some further cavern in the earth was not in his plan, although no plan of his had gone according to the agenda his entire life. Being here in the first place was proof of that.

Hasad pulled his hand back and looked up at Maryam. He nodded before standing, taking her hand, and stepping into the unknown.

The water fell fast and soaked their clothing. It filled their shoes and weighed down their clothes. Maryam pulled the soaked
hijab
off her head so it could dry. In her heart, Hasad had already become family; there could be no shame here.

On the other side a dim light filled another large cavern lined with carved holes. Obviously man-made, the openings were each identical in shape and size. Releasing Hasad's hand, Maryam went to investigate, leaning into the darkness of the nearest opening.

"What are you doing? Let's get out of here." Hasad said as he stepped toward the light, peering into the dim illumination, desperate to find something that would give him a sense of where they were.

"Hold on, I want to… I want to see what's in here." Maryam's curiosity outweighed her fear.

"Careful, spiders and scorpions love places like this."

"There are no bugs down here. Scorpions don't like places with no food. It's fine."

It was dark and dank within the opening. She reached in slowly with her hand until she found something to hold onto. Maryam pulled at it, heard a cracking sound and pulled back her hand, retrieving a gray bone. With a scream she threw the bone back into the hole and shuddered, looking around them. She backed away, falling against Hasad.

"This whole place… it's graves!"

He held her shoulders and scanned the cavern.

"Not graves. This is some kind of catacomb . . . but those are on the other side of the city, near the river." A voice spoke from deep in the darkness.

 "These are the ancient catacombs from before the Anatolians, before the ancient city of Hasankeyf. Very few people know what's down here, and now, today, you are my second visitors."

Stepping out into the room so his image was no longer obscured by the light behind him came Imam Al-Bashir.

"Darya!"

Her uncle's voice rang out from her main rooms, making her jump. Her afternoon cup of coffee slipped from her hands and fell over the railing, speeding down to smash into whatever it met in the street below.

She took a steadying breath and fought against the constriction in her chest that seemed to be trying to kill her with terror. She had been waiting for him to arrive, but the reality of his presence shook her confidence. Looking out into the desert she saw another flash of lightning, and reminded herself that pure power is afraid of nothing.

The oversized silhouette of the mayor greeted Darya when she walked back into her apartment, the lightning storm in the desert forgotten in the angry fire of his eyes. His jowly face twisted with contempt.

"Darya," he greeted curtly, the vein in his soft forehead bulging.

"Uncle."

She approached him with a straight back, holding his eyes with her own. She would not be cowed; this city was hers now.

"I sent your housekeeper home. We could use some privacy."

"Could we?" Darya raised an eyebrow in challenge. "I have nothing to say that can't be overheard."

"No?"

"No."

"Darya…" the mayor began, clenching his fists. He stood with a wide stance and despite his lack of training in recent years, his body was still strong beneath his layers of fat. He held his chest high and overwhelmed the room with his presence. Darya did not retreat.

"You've gone too far," he began through gritted teeth. "How long?"

"How long what, Mahmet? How long have I been stealing your money or how long have I been advancing my own interests through the RTK? I've been playing father against son, exposing you all for the worms you are, as weak as the weakest woman in your company. Either way, it's been just long enough to make sure you're out of time."

Darya's smile was slow and dangerous. She leaned against the desk, hoping its solid structure would support her shaking legs. There was no time for weakness now.

Mahmet Yilmaz stared at his niece. He moved slowly, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. He did not speak as he approached, and Darya did not look away. She held his eyes instead of bowing her head. She was done deferring to men just because they expected it. She stood before her uncle with her hair uncovered and wearing the designer jeans she had bought in a moment of rebellion.

The impact of his hand against her face was sudden. Darya cried out as she fell over the top of her desk, the corner digging painfully into her side. Papers scattered before the heavy-set man whose chest heaved with the exhilaration of violence.

"You've gone too far," he repeated as she righted herself before him.

"You've lost," Darya seethed. "You have nothing, you are nothing. You can hit me if you want, but you'll never get any of it back."

Mahmet loomed over her, his breath reeking of cigarettes and corruption.

"Your father would be so ashamed," was the last thing he said before raising his hand again.

The first strike had been open-handed, a slap to remind a woman of her place. Now he struck with a closed fist. Darya's head jerked back, her body following the movement until she lay upon the ground. Mahmet's face was red as he panted before delivering the first kick to her abdomen. With powerful legs he repeatedly kicked her in the stomach.

She swallowed a scream as the impact ripped through her. She would not show him weakness. Fury battled with the trained child inside that told her to apologize, to give in to him. Her body begged for the beating to end, but pride would not concede.

"Uncle!" she panted, unable to stay silent as he kicked her again in the thigh before reaching down and wrenching her body up before him.

"You think you're a man? You think you can tell me what to do? Who's in charge? You are nothing. You are a deceiver, a whore! You are nothing!" Mahmet spat the words out, shaking her.

"No…" she keened, blood dripping from her nose and lip, the pain in her abdomen overwhelming. She had been vain. She thought she could win. Nothing in this world had ever given her reason to believe it was possible for her to have something of her own. It was impossible to think she would ever own anything without a man's name attached to it or be regarded as someone worthy of respect, and still she had fought for a life she controlled. She should have known better.

Mahmet threw Darya back against the glass doors leading out to the balcony. The curtains parted as she collided, allowing in a sparking flash of lightning. Darya fell to the floor, her body screaming for reprieve from the abuse. Mahmet approached his niece with a sneer and the glint of evil in his eye. "You're just a woman acting like a man. Give me a reason why I shouldn't have you dismembered and left in the desert for vultures to eat."

Placing his swollen hand on his belt, Mahmet unzipped his pants.

Darya scrambled away from him, pushing her burning muscles to help her escape. The voice inside her, where she thought of this man as a father, screamed, but her lips remained sealed shut. Wide-eyed and full of horror, she shook her head no.

Mahmet rounded the desk, cutting off any escape for Darya's crawling figure. He pulled back his leg and delivered a cracking blow to her face. Screams filled the air as her bones shattered and Darya's body flew against the wall before sliding limply to the floor.

Through a bloody veil of pain, Darya accepted the horror of her position. Mahmet intended to show her her place one way or another. Bile rose in her mouth and she gagged. Leaning over, Darya vomited onto the floor what little food she had in her system.

Mahmet's laugh was full of madness and hatred. It was the sound of pure evil.

"Stay down."

Mahmet spat his words so violently Darya expected them to have a physical impact.

"No."

"You've learned nothing."

Lifting his leg he lashed out at her again, but Darya's fear and devastation turned to fury. Despite the pain that coursed through her entire body she slid out of his range, making him stumble into the wall.

"Bitch."

He reached out and grabbed her hair, pulling her up to her knees while yanking some of her silky locks free from her skull.

"I gave you everything, I gave you this home," he pulled her by the hair to slam her face into the wall. "I gave you work."

He yanked hard again, pulling her on her side as he stormed toward her desk. Darya frantically crawled and pushed off with her feet in an attempt to keep up with his pace, the pain from her scalp slicing deep within her. When he reached the desk he lifted her up to her feet and scowled directly into her overflowing eyes.

"You have no understanding of your role. Today you'll learn."

Mahmet released his niece's hair before turning her violently and slamming her face down onto the keyboard of her computer. He pushed her forward, knocking the monitor off the desk with her head. Her hipbones cried out from the impact of the desk's edge. Darya tried to push up and stand, screaming. But every time she did, Mahmet would use his fist, his hand, his elbow to punish the back of her head.

"Be still and learn your lesson. You're no pure virgin, you'll never marry. You might as well be good for something," he growled into her neck, leaning over so his massive bulk pinned her against the desk.

Her hands clawed at the desk and her feet sought leverage to help catapult her out of her uncle's grasp.

"Always in pants. Always so strong, so opinionated. You flaunt your disobedience."

"No!"

Flailing, Darya knocked over the remaining items on her desk, searched for something to hold on to, to help her get away. The scissors in her right top drawer were too far away to reach.

Mahmet's sweat dripped down from him, landing on Darya's back as he gripped the back of her neck, pushing her face harder against the desk. When she stopped struggling he released his hold slightly and leaned over her, forcing his oversized paw beneath her until he held her breast.

"Mahmet, please!"

"Yes, please. Yes, beg for forgiveness, for leniency. That is how a woman wins a fight, by submitting to her superior. Hell is full of women who forget their place!"