Anna drew her lips into an O and mimicked its mournful coo. Hearing the sound, the dove cocked its head and held Anna in the gaze of a single, focused eye. It did not, however, return the call.

Anna shook her head. She still could not speak to the creatures as well as Zahra once had. She would have to keep practicing.

Recalling the old woman made Anna’s heart feel heavy. She pressed her fingers to her chest until they found the outline of the medallion resting on her breastbone. She glanced quickly about then lifted the chain from her tunic. In the morning light, she could see the raised silhouette of a giant sycamore fig tree, hundreds of years old, its branches spreading voluptuously to the edges of the disk. On the other side, the copper was smooth, the metal worn to a sheen from years of contact with human skin.

At one point, Anna had been tempted to show the medallion to her mother. To ask if she knew where the disk had come from or why Zahra had given it to her. But, with the horrific memory of Zahra’s murder still before her eyes, and her final warning—“Tell no one!”—Anna did not dare. She was too afraid of the harm that might come.

The dove burst from the rock with a furious flap, startling Anna from her reverie. She glanced up at the sun and felt its heat beating down. Felt the dry air drawing the last of her strength. Wanting to complete her errand so that she could leave the desolate area, she stood and approached the cave. The grave’s entrance appeared less frightening than she remembered. At the time of her brother’s burial, it had seemed as deep and ragged as a camel’s mouth. Now it looked unremarkable, like a crack in dry leather. Kneeling, she untied the small pouch. Inside, she found a bit of cheese, two olives, and a dried date. Her stomach rolled on a swollen wave of hunger.

Shaking off the pain in her belly, she laid the food down before the grave.

When her brother had died, Anna had thought that he deserved it. After all, he had caused her mother terrible pain and had nearly killed her! But this morning, she could feel her anger transforming. In the face of her family’s ruin, she felt a fresh fury rising within her—this time the anger rose not because her brother had died, but because he had not possessed the courage to live. If he had, she found herself thinking, her grandfather would finally be satisfied and Zahra would not have been stoned. If he had lived, her mother would not be starving in her stomach and heart, and her father would still be a carpenter rather than a withered, discontented man.