Before the midwife jumps up and rushes to fill her bag with tools, Shay knows the situation has changed. She no longer has two moon quarters to prepare herself to be tested, because the next birth, the one that is to be her initiation into midwifery—is happening now.
3
Official Decree on Magic
Quarter Two of the Second Moon of Tending Season
Sun Cycle Five and Fifty, TOM
It is apparent through the natural decline of Shawafa that the gift of magic, hereby defined as the use of powers beyond the ordinary physical and intellectual capacity to influence the natural order of the world, has been revoked by the Creator Himself. Therefore, the use of Shawafa either induced by the mind-altering substance known as Snow or occurring in those born of hizoura blood—or accessed by any other means—is declared illegal in all four regions of Mekchaouen and beyond.
The creation, distribution, and usage of Snow and any equivalent substances is also declared illegal. Any woman or mutahawil with dormant Shawafa found guilty of engaging in such activities shall be sentenced to a minimum of five years in the dungeons or may opt to transfer their sentence to a male child or relative who will serve five years as a Moulay in service to the realm.
It must be clarified that miracles, hereby defined as extraordinary events that cannot be explained by natural laws and are thereby attributed to the divine hand, do not fall into the category of magic, but are rather to be considered proof of God's blessing and affirmation of His approval of the realm's current leadership.
THE ARM OF GOD HAS MIRACLES IN ITS FIST!
Acat's distant screech raises the fine hairs on Shay's neck as she waits before the arched blue door of the stable for someone to answer.
An unknown woman is in labor. Ghita's sense typically revealsboth where her service is needed and who needs it, but this time the mother's identity was unclear. None of her current clients are due. It would be unusual for a mother to carry a pregnancy to term without seeking preventive care, and Shay fears another scenario: one where the baby has come too soon.
She shivers, her thoughts taking a darker turn. Three times in as many solar cycles, they'd been called, not to a birth, but to an empty alley, a field, a barn—to discover the still body of a newborn delivered in secrecy, compromised by drug exposure and abandoned to die. The grim findings came as a blow to the midwife, who had never lost a baby and rarely a mother.
Rarely, as inonce. But notably, that once altered the course of Shay's life.
After a few rounds of knocking and waiting, Shay has resigned herself to seeking a different stable, when the door opens. A bleary man blinks out, the narrow hall behind him lost in a smear of shadow.
“Labas, Sidi.” Shay scoops a handful of luneers from the satchel at her waist. The man's tired eyes brighten. “I require your fastest donkey.”
“You have come to the right place, Lalla.” The man smiles crookedly, scratching his scruffy cheek. Shay follows him down the hall, where she's immersed in the reek of animal sweat and dung, like being dunked under foul water. “But renting Jarjeer will cost a tenner.”
Shay wants to rail against the price hike, but amusement wins her over. “Do you give all your donkey's names, Sidi?”
The central area is divided by rows and into stalls that hold either a sleeping donkey, a few goats, or some chickens. The man lights a lantern from the coals of a low fire burning in a corner hearth and beckons Shay toward a bigger stall, set apart from the others at the end of another short hallway.
“No, Lalla. I named this donkey, because he's special.” The donkey pushes to his feet at the stable master's voice. The man tilts his lantern toward the stall. Its light limns Jarjeer's coat, revealing it as smooth and shining with health. “Jarjeer is fed only the finest hay and vegetables and has never been whipped in his life.”
“But is he fast?” One look into Jarjeer's big, dewy eyes melts Shay's heart. But where most births occur within walking distance, tonight's destination lies outside the medina walls, and cuteness won't get them there in time.
“I guarantee it.” The man affectionately pats Jarjeer's rump.
Shay reluctantly hands him a leather note in place of the coins. Pushing back her shoulders, she hopes for the best. “Alright, Jarjeer. I'm counting on you.”
She rides the donkey home to a waiting Ghita. Together, they hook him to their small riding cart, stopping to exchange greetings with the lantern lighter as he makes his rounds. The streaming afternoon crowds of Sultan's Alley have tapered to a thin trickle with the settling of night. Jarjeer deftly swerves around sellers lugging home their carts, men and women on evening strolls, and boys sent by their mothers to grab a jar of honey, a jug of oil, or a tooth-cleaning stick from a late-night replenishments shop.
A few winding turns, and the street they're traveling is suddenly blocked by armed Moulays.
As early as one and ten cycles of age, Nezjar's boys are recruited as pages or soldiers, the latter dressed in red uniforms and given muskets twice their height to carry upon their backs. To Shay's exasperation, the roadblock forces them to seek an alternate route. They turn around, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing an older Moulay kick in someone's door.
Apprehension flashes over her. Ghita huffs, the shape of a scowl visible on her shadowed face. It's happening more frequently: citizens reporting neighbors for being members or supporters of the Citizens’ Naturalist Movement, Nezjar's arm of the resistance.
These raids on private residences, always taking place under the cloak of night, used to coincide with the spread of a new sickness or the onset of a failing crop, a sure symptom of insurrection. Once the rebels were rooted out, the problem quickly disappeared. But there have been no such crises in recent times. To Shay's memory, even the weather has remained consistently fair. Loyalty, it seems, protects the realm from ill fortune.
But several moons ago, Al-Mukhtar ruled that any citizen who reports a rebel will be relieved of their next round of quarterly taxes. A preventative measure, according to the decree posted in the square and marked with an official seal. Tonight's raid means that tomorrow there will be a hanging in thesame square. A practice Ghita, too outspoken for her own good, is unafraid to label as true evil.
Shay agrees, if more quietly. She has as much to fear from the CNM as she does from Al-Mukhtar. If the latter deem her suppressed magic a legal offense, the rebels’ view is no kinder. They accuse Al-Mukhtar of employing touched ones for magical favors and believe Snow and all other forms of magic must be eradicated along with the current leadership.
Shay understands how their ideology appeals to those who have lost sisters or daughters to addiction, but it's not her fault she was born with tainted blood. So extreme is their zeal that if they ever gained power, even those with small echoes of magic like Ghita would be in jeopardy. She isn't sure what eradication looks like in practice, but it sure sounds like something that involves killing off a whole lot of people.
