Four days ago . . .
The town was barely that—just a desperate cluster of a few tents, mud buildings, and the open mouth of a cave inside of which was the local bazaar.
Finn O’Leary barely remembered coming here. There were tattered memories of a goatherd and his wife taking him in, cleaning him, washing his body, forcing mutton stew down his throat. Praying over him. Or maybe near him; Finn couldn’t be sure.
When he could speak—sometime during the second day—Finn croaked, “Where am I?”
They told him. A place called Haykal. He’d never heard of it.
“My sons found you walking on the road,” said the father, then he hesitated. He was a stick of a man with light brown eyes filled with shadows. Living as a simple farmer in a country that hadn’t known peace in his lifetime probably aged him beyond his years. He said, “You were in a fight, yes? A battle?”
Finn didn’t ask how the man knew. Finn was aware enough to remember that his clothes had been covered in blood.
Even so, he didn’t answer. Soldiers don’t answer those questions, and the little farmer didn’t push it.
“You are not injured,” the farmer said.
“Yes,” said Finn, “I am.”
He opened his shirt to show this old man the hand-shaped burn on his chest.
The man did not look at it. He turned his head, closed his eyes, and began to pray very quickly and fervently.
Finn pulled his shirt closed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, though he didn’t quite understand what he was apologizing for.
Without turning to face him, the old man said, “The person you need to talk to is here.”
“What person? What are you talking about?”
“He is a black marketer,” said the man, still not looking at him. “A criminal. A bad man who has forgotten the name of God.”
Finn said nothing.
“His name is Aziz. He knows about such things.” The old man stood up. “When you are well, I will take you to him. He can be found in a very bad place, a place where criminals meet. I cannot ask such a man into this house. I am poor and worthless, but we live according to the teachings of the Prophet, and we cannot have such a person here.”
“You brought me in here.”
The man finally turned. “You were hurt and God requires mercy of us.”
Finn nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
The man nodded but said nothing.
Finn touched his chest. “Do you know what this is?”
The man looked away.
“Look, I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know how I got this. I was attacked and I’ve been out of my head for days. If you know something, then you have to tell me.”
It took the old man a long time to answer. Finally he said, “There are things in the desert older even than Islam. Older than Christianity. Older than the Jews.” The man made a sign against evil. “There are things older than the world. These things are evil. They are demons who trick and seduce. But . . . no man’s heart is ever corrupted by them if his faith is strong, if his faith is real.” He shook his head. “I will pray for you.”
And that was all he would say.