11
There was a low humming that in his disordered state he imagined was a fly. He listened to it for a while, and it grew steadily louder. Then it stopped, and he wondered if it had landed nearby. But then there were other noises: a soft thud, the whisper of footsteps in the sand, and with the last of his strength, he raised his head and peeled open his eyelids. It was night. Something moved, but he couldn’t tell what it was.
“Zahir,” he croaked. He was no longer afraid.
But it was another voice that replied: lighter, higher, more musical. His bonds were snipped away and the nails dragged from his fingers. Released, he tried to stand, thinking to run, but he toppled forward in the sand. Someone ripped away his shirt. Then darkness poured across him like a wave.
He woke twice on the jou
