men’s hearts, can you see whether they intend to do evil?”
What are the limits of your abilities, dear horseman?
War’s brow furrows at the change of subject. “Not even I can see the future, Miriam—nor can I read men’s minds. I can only understand their basic essence. And even that can alter with time and intent.”
I trace one of War’s crimson tattoos; the markings look like spilled blood on his chest.
“Do you know my heart?” I ask carefully.
“I do,” he says.
“Is it good?”
“It’s good enough.” For me, the silence seems to add.
It’s good enough.
Good enough for the horseman to believe I truly surrendered to him back in Port Said, which is all he ever really wanted from me, anyway.
The thing is, a good enough heart is not the same as a good one. And that’s unfortunate for War, because a good heart might always tell the truth, but a good enough one won’t.
When I told him I surrendered, well—I lied.
I’ve given up nothing.
The explosion roars through my ears, the force of it knocking me into the water.
Darkness. Nothing. Then—
I gasp in a breath. There’s water and fire and … and … and God the pain—the pain, the pain, the pain. The sharp bite of it nearly steals my breath.
“Mom, Mom, Mom!”
Can’t see her. Can’t see anyone.
“Mom!”
“Miriam!”
I gasp awake, clutching my throat.
War stares down at me, his eyes like onyx. A line forms between his brows. “You were having a nightmare.”
I take several deep gulps of air.
A nightmare. Right.
I wet my lips, sitting up, and the horseman moves back a little, giving me space. My skin is damp with sweat, and strands of my hair are plastered to my cheeks.
It’s been weeks since I last had this nightmare. I had almost forgotten that before War, this particular memory had all too frequently haunted my dreams. I don’t know why it’s decided to take a backseat until now. Maybe lately my mind has just been haunted by newer and more grotesque images.
“What were you dreaming of?” War asks. Just the way he says it makes me think that the horseman doesn’t dream—or that if he does, it’s a very different experience from my own.
My finger traces the scar at my throat. “It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.”
The water rushes in—
“Of what?” War’s voice is hard as flint, like he wants to do battle with something as insubstantial as a memory.
I swallow.
Might as well tell him.
“Seven years ago Jerusalem was getting overtaken,” I say. Rebels and zealots had fronted an attack on my city. “My mother, sister, and I were escaping. No one was safe in the city, particularly not a half-Jewish, half-Muslim family.”
Those days of tolerance and progress that my parents once spoke of had been snuffed out like a candle.
“My family made it to the coast.” I can still see the shuffle of bodies on the beach. There were so many other families just like ours, desperate to escape war-torn Israel for another place—any place.
“We piled into a motor boat. By then, most engines in Israel had stopped working, and the ones that were still in operation were unreliable at best.”
That was seven years ago. Since then, all engines had stopped running.
“My mother knew it was dangerous, that something could go wrong, but it was our only option.”
Europe had closed its borders. They didn’t want foreigners—particularly not ones from the east and south. In their minds we’d steal their jobs and eat their food and overwhelm their precarious economies.
If we wanted to get through their borders, we were going to have to do it illegally, and this treacherous boat ride was the only way to do that.
“The boats were … bad. They were narrow and rickety, but worst of all, they relied on motors for propulsion.
“I didn’t want to get in ours. I was so afraid the motor was going to give out right in the middle of the open ocean. I was afraid I’d die at sea.”
War listens, rapt, his eyes searching my face as I speak.
“In the end, my mother and sister shamed me into stepping into the boat. They knew I didn’t really want to leave Israel—or New Palestine as it was starting to be called.” That was where my father died, where I grew up. It held all my memories. I knew we needed to leave, but I didn’t want to. It seemed cruel that I had to give this up too. We’d already lost everything else.
“We made it off the beach. The engine was making