40°55'54.0"N 47°30'40.9"E

  O?uz, Azerbaijan

  18.05.2024- 13.00 UTC +04.00

  “

  I sighed, hoping my whisper found fertile soil in its contents, and the green light was not just the hazel trees’ green mirrored in it. And they were lush this time of the year, full of green stems ready to bear hazelnuts.

  I looked around me as I picked up the container. Lowly cherry bushes lined my path through the orchard, with fruit still yellow, too early to be tasted. I could even pick up a faint undertone of a creamy scent, undoubtedly from the persimmon trees, mixing with the smell of the soil after the rain, the only indicator that it had rained through the day, as the thirsty land had absorbed all moisture in a matter of hours. I knew more rain would follow later tonight, and although I could not spot the yellow persimmon flowers among the thick hazel trees that dominated the orchard, I kept my eyes open for them.

  What was I even thinking?

  Perhaps it was easier to think of flowers in spring, natural. Easier than thinking of storms brewing.

  The southern breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around me, and the rustling sound made my skin crawl. I stopped walking, calmly examining the trees around me. I knew the dangers that could lurk behind every single one of them. Every tree. I looked for leaves that did not match their shape, fruit that looked foreign, and roots that were larger than they meant to be. Or for trunks that could hide predators.

  It was only a precaution. No man of Adil should have reached this orchard. I was too far away from the action.

  “No Man of Adil is welcome here,” I said, with an admitted lack of bravery, but still spoke the words. I continued walking. But every time the southern breeze blew, I took it as a warning. A reminder of Gilavar, the southern wind from my times in the Caspian Sea.

  I followed the cherry path to the center of the orchard, and the trees thinned out to reveal a structure of wood and hope; hope that it would hold for one more night. A farmer’s cabin, in all its mundanity and otherwise unassuming size, was my outpost for the past few days, and most critically for tonight, assigned after careful planning of my coven. It barely had essentials like electricity or water, relying on a generator and rations. But it had to hold, and the sand I carried only added to that hope.

  I heard a bird flutter its wings, and the southern breeze shifted to a western wind, briefly, but just enough. I stood, waiting for his message.

  

  The message carried by the wind, a Whisper, was sent by Orxan. Every Whisper had to be signed at the end, to tell the voice by which it was whispered apart from foreign intentions. I channeled my Curse and whispered back, using his western wind to carry a long message as an answer.

  

  I smiled. His having taken a moment to look over me warmed my heart a bit. We both knew he would not have the energy or time to care for me tonight. It was a courtesy message to his mentor, the woman who taught him to be greater, in case things went wrong.

  

  “So be it,” I said, not responding to the whisper.

  My palms felt the heat from the glass vase, reminding me I still had work to do. Still scorching from the enchantments and empowered by the sun’s rays throughout the days, it was my only ally tonight. With Zaman gone, I would be alone that night, even if Zephyr decided to blow.

  ? ? ?

  The rain raged when the sun set, and it damned its force against the cabins’ walls and windows. I listened to it and the crackling audio from an old analog television, the only company and source of white noise around me. And I kept my eyes closed.

  “…reports speak of further clashes in the O?uz District. State forces recommend remaining within designated areas. Sanctioned wards have been established.”

  I opened my eyes again. I was far enough from whatever the news thought was happening in O?uz, at the far end of the district’s border. Smoke from dozens of by then long-gone cigarettes stood still inside the room, circling the roof like a murmuration of birds.

  “How fitting,” I said, lost in the haze of the aftermath of my Curses. I had to regain strength and focus. But all I could think of was the smoke swirling, like birds of prey. “Birds of pain,” I sighed.

  Regardless, its sight calmed my nerves, as a reminder of the rush of nicotine from the last pack of tobacco I had finished.

  I pressed on the television remote and turned the television off, only to find the noise of the old cabin creaking even more noticeable, as wind and rain forced themselves upon its walls. I tried to zone it out. Stressing about the storm would not calm me down.

  I wished Zaman were still here. That southerner had his quirks, but he was better company than my own mind, ruminating on my vulnerability as I sat alone in a dusty cabin.

  “Do you really think this plan of hers will end this fight?”

  He had asked me a day ago. We had been sitting across from each other at the same table. Only the sunshine was pouring in from outside, instead of rain and wind. He was a little bit older than me, and he had seen his fair share of bloodshed in the past years to know the answer.

  “It will speed it up, if anything,” I had said to him.

  “And then maybe we go back to the Isles. Maybe the Caspians won’t mind us then.”

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  “Or maybe there will be no Caspians left, if they decide to take a stance against her.”

  “Against us, then. Isn’t that how war works, sister?”

  “I hadn’t pinned you down as sentimental. Do you really miss those days at the Isles?”

  He had nodded decisively—more than I had ever seen him before.

  We all missed those days, and I felt that deep in my bones, sitting on my own. Zaman had gone to the north to fight alongside Starling and the rest of the coven.

  I was left behind, guarding the southern border of the district. I was supposed to report the second anything passed by my warded cabin. Send whispers to the breeze. And even though I was far from the center of the action, there was risk in my position.

  The sun and its light were gone, and my Curses craved light. The night had fallen hours ago. If any of Adil’s men were to approach, I was at my most vulnerable.

  But I had to remind myself that the bet was exactly that: none of them would ever think to head so far away from the action to look for lost whispers. And that’s all I did there. Pass on whispers. Gaze into the night sky. Stay inside. I had nothing to worry about.

  I reached for the remote control and turned the television on again. Its weak signal flickered the image in black and white. A man dressed in a tuxedo with a loose tie and protective gear was standing in front of the town hall of O?uz. His helmet added a comical relief to the image, mostly because it would be useless if he were ever in danger from what he feared.

  “And we are indeed safe. Do not let this rainy night shake you. There are no Qar???l? in O?uz. Reports of skirmishes and fights have reached ?mi?li, but have already stopped there. Sleep tight.” He said, adding dramatic flair just before his sound faded out and a round of commercials took over the transmission.

  Qar???l?. That was how they called us. Cursed. Every language had its own word, but this was the one assigned to us in this land. We had no choice in it. The word was placed upon us, but we had accepted it as our own. And now, they feared us.

  “There are no Cursed, huh?” I said to myself. “I bet.”

  Even though all windows were shut, the curtains of the northern-facing window shifted. A light breeze reached me, carrying the faint smell of persimmon, as whispers from far away, warnings of my coven from around O?uz, tickled my ears. The first was a command, not meant for me, but meant for all.

  

  As the whisper sang, I repeated it and passed it along. A whisper from Starling had to be heard across the coven.

  

  Every whisper was a duty. I glanced over at my feather robe, hanging at the entrance of the cabin.

  

  The second whisper was a response, undoubtedly meant to confirm they were close to reaching the objective.

  “Hokum?. You are happy with all this, aren’t you?” She was one of the witches-in-lead for the coven. I was not a fan of her and her ways, but Starling was.

  

  I passed the whisper along. Part of me hoped that I would get an update from Orxan. That was selfish of me. I had chosen to reject a strategic position, and he did not, and yet I craved learning what he knew. And I knew nothing. For the first time in my years in O?uz, I was in the dark about today’s purpose, except for it being grand. A coveted object would finally be obtained, a weapon of sorts. The bow. Whatever that was, I assumed it was not just a bow. I gazed out the window at the orchard. A thunderstorm was brewing in Agdash as well, judging by the occasional lightning visible even through the transparent curtains. I did not look further and turned my attention back to the patches of tobacco on the table. I had enough to worry about our own storms to worry about the front in Agdash.

  

  A single raspy whisper flew in. I did not recognize the voice, and it was unsigned. But the South was where I was. I froze for a moment and then leaned over the table in front of me. I spat some of the tobacco I had just started chewing. I closed my eyes and let my Farsight wander about the orchards.

  I saw roots, leaves, and trees. I saw fur and tails of rodents and jackals. I saw humans, mortals without Curses, scurrying off and huddling in groups in communal buildings. But I saw no Shadow.

  It was my turn to send a whisper:

  

  My eyes swelled and cried as I whispered. Whispering for so many hours, through day and night, especially at night for me, took a toll, but I was confident my senses were intact. I had sensed nothing nearby, especially not Shadows. I stood up from my chair and I repeated, sending my whisper out to whoever could hear me:

  

  I waited patiently for no response. That made me uneasy. So many of Starling’s around – and no one else had heard the exchange?

  “Shadows here? So far from Bak??” I wondered out loud. I raised my hand and brought my hand to caress my throat – the strain from all the whispering was hurting my vocal cords.

  “Why would shadows be here?” I said to myself, approaching the nearby window and looking, shifting the curtains to see outside. It was facing the north – the lights of the houses of the village of Daymadere decorated the horizon past the orchard.

  Fine grains of sand I had picked up earlier during the day were carefully, and still wholly undisturbed, lining the window’s edge. They were meant to enhance my ward’s protection during the night.

  I closed my Cursed eyes once more to scan again past the hazelnut orchard. Agricultural and industrial fields expanded until my sight reached Daymadere. Clouds had covered the sky, with only a few of the brightest stars being periodically visible. The moon, a waxing gibbous, was hidden behind dark, ominously welcome for Curses clouds. Whispers flew past my eyes:

  

  

  More whispers from the north. My allies were exchanging them; none of them referred to shadows. I added to the whispers, before opening my eyes once more.

  

  In theory, I was trained to sense them – or at least I should be able to do so if they approached the ward. But there was no sign, no omen.

  Did Zephyr not already confirm earlier that Shadows had retreated to the East? Back to Bak??

  Who spoke of shadows? Nisy. I whispered again, looking out the window.

  Rain fell silently on the ground and on the hazelnut trees' leaves, shuffling them imperceptibly.

  “Why are they not coming back to me?”

  Whispering in a coven of Cursed sometimes felt like talking through a broken radio: voices were not clear, nor direction or intention.

  

  I extended my last whisper again to the entire coven. I headed back to the table and held on to it as a fit of dizziness disoriented me. Only Starling came back:

  

  The head of the coven had picked up my worried whispers and posed a question I could not answer. I had spent hours whispering far away, but this secretive warning was the very first to reach me.

  Rain droplets landed on the south-facing window. I watched them as clouds gathered faster; a storm was approaching the fields down the hill.