25°50'52.6"N 15°09'02.2"E

  Majdul, Libya

  20.05.2024 - 21.30 UTC +02.00

  “Hey sis, wake up,” my brother said, “we are here.” My eyelids popped open, only to close again, still heavy. “Come on.”

  I sat up, pushing away the desire to complain, and hoping for a more comfortable bed than the car seats. Qadir, who had already changed from his travelling jeans to more formal outerwear, stood outside the car and looked at me with anticipation, holding the door. Perhaps he was expecting us to spend time at a tavern. Or even just to have a stroll. I could not match his enthusiasm, but I made a bit of an effort to straighten my dress.

  Behind him, the sun was setting prematurely on a hill to our west. Minor stars started to appear overhead, and still in the haze of sleep, they reminded me of the night I heard the Calling.

  I stepped out, and Waw al Kabir revealed itself behind the parked cars of the Banadiq. Right at the center of the scene, a small town sprawled between the sand hills. An oasis, where water would not all but dry up, protected by a microclimate of an early-setting sun. The first dark brown buildings, with roofs sprinkled with sand, were only a few meters away.

  “We have found rooms in a nearby hotel. Well, hostel. Shared bathrooms. Well, one bathroom,” Qadir explained.

  “It will be fine, I am sure,” I said.

  “We can rest there and buy more fuel tomorrow morning,” he added.

  I nodded. I had to push the sleepiness away from my eyelids, just long enough to get to bed.

  The Banadiq, fifteen men including Walid, with shoulders wide enough to justify their occupation, followed us as we walked past the sign of the town:

  ??? ??????

  “Apparently, way down south-east from here, there is a volcano,” Qadir said, as he walked next to me. I could not help but chuckle. If treating this like a touristic escapade helped him stay motivated, I was willing to play along. “Maybe tomorrow we'll see it on our way to Chad.”

  “Sure. Maybe we get to the top and see some lava boiling,” I added.

  “You think?” His eyes opened wide; his innocent excitement should have been infectious. But I could not feel anything remotely like that.

  As we reached the first houses of the settlement, we faced the emptiness of it. Most of the locals were behind shut doors and windows, and the only indication it was not a ghost town was the electric lamp posts, scarcely placed along the main street. This was not an area that expected or hosted tourists, and probably prone to bandits and people looking for trouble during the night. I inched closer to my brother, somehow disturbed by the silence. Then, I reminded myself that we were the trouble that night.

  “Miss, some of the men mentioned a tavern near our hostel. Maybe we could all have a moment to eat,” Walid said. He was pacing behind us, keeping a respectable distance from my brother and me. He pointed to the street on our right. I could hear faint music, and many hearts pumping warmth.

  It seemed like a good option to calm the nerves. I saw Qadir’s eyes blink, ready to seek my approval.

  “I am not hungry,” I said.

  “No, we have skipped two meals; you need to eat,” he said. His warning words lingered in the background as I turned away from him, my attention already drifting away from him.

  I looked dead ahead in the center of the main street, further west into the town. There was no municipal lighting in that direction, and in the absence of sun, you could not see where the street ended. The brown houses that looked black under the night’s veil seemed even darker there. Straight ahead, a welcoming pull called me.

  “No. There is somewhere I need to go first,” I said.

  I left my brother’s side and walked with an intoxicating resolve.

  “Khalida!”

  I did not look back at him; there was no point. This was the Calling. All I could do was let go. I watched like a passenger and not a driver of my body, as it walked confidently past one street and then the next one. The mystery of each unknown corner was more alluring than the last one. And the fact that I was not responsible for my recklessness lifted a weight off my shoulders, step by step, as the alleys got darker.

  “Khalida, wait for us!” I heard Quadir shout, somewhere behind me. He did not initially run; maybe he had not realized that I would not stop. As I turned right onto the next street, completely alone, I heard him shouting at the Banadiq. “Walid! Hurry up!” I heard them sprinting to catch up.

  A small bird sprang up and flew as I accidentally kicked a plastic bottle, a piece of inconsequential trash on my way that the Calling had not thought of dodging. But the sound of plastic startled me as much as the sound of the bird’s wings. I thought about disobeying my Calling for a moment as I paused and watched the bird fly away. It was a tiny crow, or it looked tiny as it scurried away in the sky.

  A hearty meal and a full stomach were definitely well-earned after a day’s ride in the desert. Yet, the idea of disobeying the urge of the Calling filled me with disgust. It was pushing me to act, and I had to follow before I would lose its trace. It was beckoning me to walk through the town at that exact moment.

  A man carrying a large bag, wrapped in white and orange clothing, appeared from a corner nearby, prompting me to continue walking as per my Calling’s command. His gaze said it all: Who are you, stranger? Why are you wandering in these dark streets at this hour?

  Qadir, Walid, and three more of the Banadiq reached my side, and the man looked away, walking faster to go where he was heading before crossing my path. I wondered how long it would take for news of a strange girl and an entourage of mercenaries to circulate in a town this size.

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  I second-guessed my Calling once more. Was it really wise to bring myself around town so conspicuously? Ridiculous notion. The Calling knew best.

  I turned left into the next alleyway, and I stopped. The Calling wanted me to take a moment. To examine the street.

  “Khalida, these streets look ghostly,” my brother said quietly. He had finally caught up to me. “What are we doing here?”

  I pointed forward to a destination unclear to me, as it was to Qadir. The alleyway ended at a dead end. A lamppost, covered in dust and sand, flickered at its end, somehow succeeding in illuminating the street.

  “Is this the Calling?” Qadir asked. I nodded, unsure if that would calm his nerves or agitate him even more. He nodded back and commanded the Banadiq, “Walid, arms out.”

  Not sure what their use would be. As I stood there, my eyes trailed the flickering light of the lamp and the green lacewings circling it. Not zooming in, but still trapped by its light. And then I caught a glimpse of a movement at the house behind it. A shadow moving behind a window, someone watching perhaps, from the house with no lights on at the end of the alleyway.

  Suddenly, the street felt squeezed by the plinth houses from the left and the right, and all led to a dead end. There. The two-story building at the end of the street, that’s where I needed to be.

  “There is someone there waiting for me,” I said.

  “Sister, use your senses. These houses are abandoned.”

  “This one is not,” I responded contrary to my Hearing of the Nabd. Indeed, I was picking up no pulse, no blood pumping there. But I knew I was right – the Calling could see through whatever was blocking my Hearing.

  I stepped forward, and a candle lit, almost as a warning, near the open window where I had spotted movement before.

  I heard the Banadiq shifting position, pointing their semi-automatic handguns in the direction of the light. Qadir drew his Glock as well.

  “Khalida, whatever is in there, it does not have a pulse. Please-”

  I turned to him.

  “If we are to follow my Calling, decisions will not make sense. Your role is not to doubt me, but to escort me.”

  WELL SAID, WITCHLING

  A voice deprived of water, worn out by the years of spelling all the sacrilegious incantations that could unnaturally tire the vocal cords, echoed in my head.

  “Shit, did you hear her?” Qadir said. He turned to the roof of the house next to us. “Look!”

  There were three crows, all appearing ruffled and old, missing feathers. One even missed an eye, but all three of them were locked onto us and sat perched on the side of the roof, watching us, completely unmoving, with an unnatural resolve. As Qadir spotted them, the four of the Banadiq turned their weapons to the three crows.

  The crow to the right end of the perched trio, the one with the missing eye, opened its beak and kept it still, as the other two looked right in my direction.

  TELL YOUR MEN TO STAND DOWN

  The same voice. She was not my Calling, but she was also not a threat to it, because it asked me to comply. I raised my hand and showed I agreed. The men lowered their weapons, while Qadir hesitated. With just one glance from me at him, he followed suit.

  THEY CAN WAIT OUTSIDE

  “Stay here. If I don’t return in fifteen minutes, come after me guns blazing,” I said without taking my eyes off the three birds, loudly enough so that I make sure they can hear me.

  One by one, the crows took flight and landed through the candle-lit window of the house at the end of the road. I followed.

  “Be careful,” was all that Qadir said, finally understanding he was in no place to doubt me.

  As I opened the door to the house, I found myself in a dark hallway. I did not need to hesitate; I walked directly through the door to the right of the entrance. I walked confidently as if I knew the layout of the house, from the hallway to what looked like a kitchen.

  “Peculiar,” an old woman said, right as I stepped in, “how could you possibly find me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I responded, examining the room. Stuffed with vases containing spices, herbs, and tea leaves, a fire stove, and a table too big for just one person. The woman looked directly at me, and I examined her, sitting at the far end of the table. Covered entirely in robes with woven symbols I could not recognize, only her eyes and the front of her face were visible. Judging from the wrinkles and the way her nose skin sagged just above her lips, she could easily be older than eighty years old.

  She did not move, but her eyes did. Scanning me. Searching for something. I had nothing to hide.

  “I have warded the house,” she spoke eventually, “with my strongest hexes. No mere witchling’s heart like yours could withstand the sense of miasma. Your men, stronger than most, yet still, they did not follow you.”

  She spoke slowly, picking each of her words carefully. Not in a rehearsed manner. She was being delicate. Was she scared of me?

  “I am guided by a Calling,” I said. I took a step inside her kitchen, and the floor creaked under my weight. She continued observing me. “I think… I think I am supposed to ask you something.”

  She did not react, except for her eyes. They locked into mine. No, rather, they locked in right below, at my lips. She was waiting for me to utter something, but I found myself twisting my wrists awkwardly. My request was at the tip of my tongue, suggested by my Calling, but still elusive.

  “Aywah,” she said, “yes?”

  The Calling was not always a cry or a shout. Sometimes it was subtler than a whisper. And even though it had brought me there determined to meet this old woman, since my entering that room, it had chosen a subtler nudge. I knew what it meant, but I could not verbalize it.

  I moved ahead towards the table and approached a chair. As the woman nodded and permitted me, I sat across her.

  “I do not know,” I said eventually, looking for the words. I avoided her gaze. I instead looked at the window behind her, at the roofs of the buildings around her house. Covered with sand carried by the wind. I was another speck of sand. “I really don’t. The moment I stepped into the room, the Calling left me. The stop in this town was not even part of the initial plan. But once in the streets of the village, the Calling pushed me. It felt like you would answer my question, so I followed.”

  “Young one, I have answers to many questions; you need to be specific.”

  I felt ashamed and patronized – but rightfully so. I had barged into this presumably powerful Cursed person’s house, and I did not even know why. And maybe, that was the point.

  “Why do I not understand my Calling?” I asked her a question I had not dared ask anybody so far. I had not even asked my mother. “I know Callings are supposed to be secret, but I have absolutely no clue why I am heading where I am heading. Is this how it is supposed to work?”

  “So, you are lost,” she said. She pushed her way up the table, her joints creaking as she stood up. The veil she wore shifted, revealing even more sigils woven into its fabric. When she rose from her seat, she revealed an unexpected height. Perhaps one or two heads taller than I was, even at her age. Her eyes trailed away from me. “I might have something for you.”

  She walked towards the kitchen drawers behind her and, one by one, rearranged the items, even dropping them on the floor: from books to cooking utensils, some ugly handmade talismans, and even loose animal fur. A tiny mirror. Feathers of birds, legumes, and nuts in small glass containers. She hurled things around, seemingly knowing precisely what she was looking for within her otherwise disorganized collection.