Page 12 of Salute, To Bravery
Harper
I t takes us another day and night to reach Al-Bustan in the Jeep. The terrain is difficult to traverse, and we have to take frequent detours to avoid being spotted.
According to Rehan, the inhabitants of Al-Bustan offer sanctuary to anyone who asks, and English is the universal language. The village is nestled in the forgotten fold of a valley, where the whispers of the past mingle with the rustle of the wind through the leaves of the surrounding trees.
Since leaving behind the wastelands of the desert terrain and entering the luscious landscape that reminds me of home, the air has changed. The valley has a microclimate of its own.
As Rehan and I approach Al-Bustan, the scent of wood smoke drifts toward us, carrying the faint aroma of baking bread and the tang of smoked meat.
The houses—a collection of stone and timber-framed structures—have stood the test of time, their roofs thatched with golden straw that glows under the afternoon sun.
The villagers, wary of strangers, watch us from a distance. Their eyes are alert and their bodies tense like bows drawn tight, ready to spring into action.
Leaving the confines of our vehicle, I keep my demeanor non-threatening and my hands clearly visible and away from the firearm tucked discreetly at my side.
“We need to stay close to each other. You know this place, so I want you to take the lead. We need somewhere safe to stay for the time being,” I whisper to Rehan, my eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of threat.
An old man, his beard more salt than pepper, steps forward. His gait is steady, and his back’s surprisingly straight for his age.
“What brings you to Al-Bustan?” he asks, his voice carrying the authority of someone who’s used to being listened to and obeyed.
“We seek shelter,” Rehan responds.
Keeping my tone respectful, I add, “We mean you no harm.”
The old man takes one look at Rehan, and I can see the moment a look of recognition appears on his face. This isn’t the first time Rehan’s been here.
The man eyes us for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Amira, show them to the old weaver’s house. It’s been empty since last winter.”
A middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair nods and gestures for us to follow.
As we walk through the village, I note the well-tended gardens bursting with late summer’s bounty and the neat stacks of firewood prepared for winter.
Despite its isolation, the village pulses with life, speaking of a community that thrives in seclusion.
The weaver’s house is on the outskirts of the village. Its small front garden is overgrown with wildflowers. Inside, the air is cool, and the stone walls are thick and reassuringly solid.
“Thank you,” I say, offering Amira a grateful smile.
She nods and leaves without a word, pulling the door shut behind her.
Once alone, Rehan and I explore the modest accommodation, consisting of a single bedroom, a living area with a cold hearth, and a small kitchen. It’s a humble dwelling but perfect for our needs.
“We’ll have to keep watch tonight,” I say as I check the windows, ensuring we have a clear view of anyone approaching. “We can take shifts.”
I sit down at the small wooden table, its surface worn smooth by years of use.
“We have to wait here. They will come for us when it’s safe. I have to trust that my battalion will win the battle against the enemy. But if no one arrives…?”
“Then we’ll head for the border,” Rehan responds while pulling a chair up beside me. “Once we’re out of the reach of government forces, we’ll be able to get a message through safely.”
The reality of our situation settles over us like the evening mist outside. Our shared destiny is as uncertain as it is dangerous.
Yet, as I look around the simple room, which is to be our sanctuary, at least for tonight, I feel a surge of hope. In the quiet village of Al-Bustan, with its welcoming residents and tranquil scenery, we’ve found a brief respite from the storm that is our lives.
Walking away from a fight and leaving behind those I care for was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I have to believe they’ve repelled the attack and will come for us as soon as they can.
It’s my duty to follow orders, and at the moment, my orders are to keep Rehan safe.
“For the time being, we need to lie low. Tomorrow’s worries can wait until the morning,” I finally say, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
He squeezes back, a smile touching his lips, and for a moment, all feels right in our small, secluded world.