Tombstones.

I blink as I register what the shapes around me are. They are tombstones. More than a dozen of them scattered all around me. My heart begins to thud and I stumble in fear, almost falling on one of them. I realise I have unknowingly run to the cemetery.

I cannot see well in the dark night, but the tiny sliver of moonlight helps me see that there are markers on the ones next to me.

My heart does not stop beating hard and I feel goosebumps begin to rise on my body. I know that I have to get out of here as soon as I can. I turn around to break into a run when I see a quick movement and a flash of red from out the corner of my eye. I freeze. I am not alone.

If I thought my heart was thudding hard before, now it is ready to burst out of my chest. I am scared shitless. I know exactly what that flash of red means. I hear a sound... of rustling leaves or maybe something else and that gives me the courage I need to run.

Without looking back, I start to run and I think I am getting away until I stumble on something and actually fall this time. My body thuds heavily to the ground and I groan in pain, knowing I'd be having several scratches, but that is the least of my problems because when I look up, I almost scream in terror.

They are here. All of them, standing in a semi circle above me, just watching me. I should feel pride or a certain level of accomplishment, that they had to send the entire clan guard for me, but I do not. The one directly in front of me squats slowly to be in the same level with my face and smiles.

I start to cry. I want to be brave and look them back in the eye, but I cannot. I know I am not getting away this time.

Four hours before:

Tears pour down my eyes as I sponge my brother with a damp cloth to lessen his alarmingly rising temperature. He is barely responsive, just laying there limp— the same way he has done for years. I spy Mother curled up in a corner. I know she is watching, know she can see it all but does not care enough to come help her son, because she is exhausted.

Mother has given up. I know it. She is now just waiting for Ilà to die. I loathe her, despise her very being and the relative ease with which she has given up on her own son. We have no one else. Father left us long before we got to know him so Mother is all we have. And yet...

I realise I am squeezing the cloth too hard with rage and pull back, sharply, scared I may have hurt my brother. He starts to toss and turn, mumbling deliriously. The water in the bowl I have been squeezing the cloth in is now uncomfortably warm and Ilà's temperature only keeps rising.

I sit back in despair. This is hopeless. Sponging him, feeding him herbs that he cannot keep down—none of this would do any good. We both know, Mother and I, the only way he can be healed. And I am being avoidant. I do not want to think about it at all, because it is way too scary—crazy even, to fathom. If I am caught, I would die.

Suddenly, letting my brother slip into death does not seem so terrible an idea. He has been sick so long. I have lost track of how long, in fact. I just know it has been several years and that nothing is working. Wouldn't it be better to just let him rest? All the physicians do not bother to come anymore. They have no explanation for his illness. They say it makes no sense, that it is spiritual. Nothing works.

The idea of finding a cure for my brother had come when the last healer was shaking his head and packing up his things to leave, last year.

'None of this will work. The only antidote is the Dalè.'

My eyes had turned to saucers. 'But—' I had began.

'Exactly, Jadè.' he had said, fixing me with his deep black eyes. 'It'll be suicide,' and he had gone. Mother had lain in her corner, staring listlessly into the fire, but she had heard. I know she had.

I turn to look at her now, still lying there and that makes up my mind for me.

I will NOT be my mother. I will not give up on my brother. Even if it means I'd die in the process then so be it.

*

I hear mother stirring. I tense, as I have done for the past years whenever my mother awakens around me. She clears her throat. I pretend not to hear her until she says my name.

'Jadè.' she says, faintly. I turn to her, finally.

'Yes, mother.'

She flinches at the steel in my voice. I glare on, satisfied she can see exactly how I feel.

'Jadè,' she starts again. 'Won't you sleep?'

I cannot hide the irritation etched on my face and in my voice. 'Sleep?' I ask, incredulously. 'And neglect Ilà like you?'

She flinches again. I feel slightly bad this time, but it is too late now.

'I want to help, Jadè.' she says, beseechingly. I shake my head and bark out a cold, bitter laugh.

'Help, mother?' I cock my head at her. 'Laying down uselessly and ignoring your sick son has gotten too heavy a task for you to do?'

Mother looks at me, quietly. Then she says, 'I'm still your mother, Jadè. I may not be the best but I'm still your mother.' She draws in a sharp breath. 'And I just want to help—'

'Do not speak of help, mother!' I cut in with a snarl. 'Years you have let your son fester into what he's become. And now, you speak of help?' I curl my lips at her now in disgust. 'Are you suddenly feeling guilt because he's about to die? A death you could have prevented but chose not to because you're a terrible mother!'

I am so blinded by rage now that I do not see that she has gotten off her mat and towards me until she gives me a heavy, stinging slap.

That quietens me and I mutely watch as she leaves the house, and walks out into the night.

*

My cheeks are burning as I sponge Ilà once more and notice that there's something different about the way he feels, something very final in the way his breath comes. He's slipping.

I know exactly what I have to do and if I do not want my only brother to die, I'd have to get to doing it immediately. Mother will not meet me when she returns.

I push aside the feeling of apprehension I can feel building up and take a deep breath. It is now or never.

A tear rolls down my eye and onto my cheek as I glance at my brother one last time and turn to go. I'll find the cure, if it's the last thing I ever do.

*

I cut the path to the temple as quietly as I can, gasping as a sharp object grinds into the sole of my foot. I have chosen to go without footwear because I know I need to be extremely quiet. I know the path considerably well. After all, I have visited this place countless times, plotting. I try to guess the time by the darkness of the sky, but I have never been very good at doing that, so I give up and walk on.

My hair is hanging loose on my neck and I find myself wondering when last I had washed it. Since Ilà got sick, I stopped paying attention to what I consider to be unimportant things. Nothing is of interest to me anymore as long as my brother lay helpless day after day. Flashes of what our life had been like before his illness start to pour through my mind and I feel a tear slide down one cheek.

I'm pulled from my reverie, however, as I feel a sharp thorn pierce the back of my upper arm. I rub my hand against it and feel a warm, wet liquid.

I am near now and I feel my heart thudding hard against my chest. A short while later, I'm there— the Arò (Temple.) And I see to my surprise that it is empty. None of the Jìra are there.

What? I think to myself. The clan guards are always here.

I should be thankful, but something about their absence leaves me feeling deeply unsettled. This is too easy.

I edge, cautiously into the temple, grateful for the gigantic, bare windows that help moonlight creep in, aiding my steps. I know exactly where I am to go. I've had this crammed into my head for months.

The high priest's room is just by the corner. It is the only room here that has a door. Thankfully, it is not locked. I kick it open, as quietly as I can and peer in, cautiously. I move in.

And then, I see it. Just there on the shelf, in its little, brown container. I stifle a gasp and reach out to grab it, then I pinch myself to be sure I'm not imagining any of this. As I race back out the hallway, I am filled with that same haunting feeling that this has been all too easy.

I am out of the temple in no time and back onto the path home and I start to feel it— that feeling at the back of my neck like I'm being watched. I turn one last time to look at the Arò when I see them. The Jìra.

There are three of them. One is at the left window, the other at the right and one in the centre. And they are all staring at me, quietly watching me run, their red cloaks billowing in the breeze.

They had been there the whole time! They had been there and they had let me steal the Dalè. Why?

My heart in my mouth, I turn sharply, running wildly. I am well aware that if they begin to chase after me, I'd be dead before long because they are sprinters. No one can outrun a Jìra. I have to try, nevertheless. I have to ensure that I am not caught before I get to my brother.

Weirdly enough, I do not sense them behind me. I hazard one last glance to the back and see that they are still right where I left them.

'What on earth is going on?' I wonder. 'Why aren't they chasing yet?'

*

I burst into the house, breathless. Mother, who had been lying down in her usual spot, jumps sharply.

"Jadè!" she almost shouts. "Where were you?"

I ignore her completely and run to my brother. If she truly cares, she would not have been lying in her silly little corner. She would be out looking for me. Besides, I do not have time. I am sure the Jìra are after me now. I can feel them on the back of my neck.

I take out the little brown container from where I've hidden it in my dress. The content is so little— almost too little for all the trouble it is about to cost me. It is a slightly yellowish cream like thing— or is that the light? It feels slightly hard to the touch at first but then starts softening and even melting as I hold it in my hand. I hurriedly break off some and push it forcefully into Ilà's mouth. Then I raise his head slightly and pour in little sips of water until I am sure everything is down. Then I strip him and rub every last bit onto his skin, kneading it to ensure it gets into his pores. The smell fills the room. It is sickeningly sweet. I retch.

I can feel mother's gaze boring into my back.

'Jadè', she begins in a haunted voice. 'W...what's that?'

I continue to ignore her as I hurriedly dress my brother up. I know I need to get out of here as soon as I can. I cannot wait to see if it is working. There is no time. I get up and dash out the door, into the night once again, paying no heed to my mother's hysterical voice calling after me. I must be gone, immediately.

Now:

I am barely conscious, but I can feel that I'm being dragged across a path. I barely register the pain, as rocks of every shape and size dig into my skin. After what seems like an eternity, we stop. It is not till I see Mother that I register that I have been brought to the front of our house. It is the final message from the Jìra. A mockery. They will burn me here.

She is whimpering— something that vaguely sounds like my name. I angle my head to gaze at her, possibly for one last time and I gasp when I hear a masculine voice say my name.

It is my brother. My beautiful, brilliant brother. He has gotten up for the first time in years and he is standing behind mother, watching me sprawled helplessly on the ground, in horror.

I begin to weep, but this time, they are tears of joy. My brother is well again. The prospect of dying does not seem so terrible anymore. It is worth it. All of it. Ilà is alright again. The Dalè worked! He's been cured! My tears keep pouring.

Mother sinks to her knees and begins to beg them in our local dialect. I give a low, slightly demented laugh.

Why does she bother? I think to myself. With these people, it is pointless. I will be dead before morning.

I strain to look at her.

'Mother!' I call, as sternly as I can. 'Take care of Ilà!'

She is shrieking hysterically now as several weighty tyres are placed on my back. I feel some warm liquid drop on my face. I perceive the strong smell of petrol.

People are starting to creep out of their houses to watch.

Nosey neighbours. I think scornfully. Shouldn't they be asleep?

My brother is crying too, I can hear him. I manage to turn my face to him, and I smile, with my last strength as I feel the flames starting to lick my skin.

'Don't cry, Ilà', my eyes say, 'It worked. It is worth it. You're not dying anymore'.

The last thing I hear is the scream of my name by my mother and Ilà. Darkness settles on me quickly and l'm grateful for it.