Karen L. McKee - Ashes and Light

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"Ashes and Lights," Copyright 2010 Karen L.McKee

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Table of Contents

Prologue

August 2001, Bamiyan, CentralAfghanistan

The night ran thick with screams, just likeso many other nights.

Michael Bellis willed himself motionless ashe peered out into the half-lit carnage. Behind him, Yaqub quietlycrouched in the collapsed mud house, working his healing wonders ashe methodically triaged the injured.

Yaqub had the almost supernatural talent toignore the madness, the sounds, the gunfire, and work calmly overhis patients. Michael vibrated with the need to move, to protectthe Hazzara villagers, even though he and Yaqub were woefullyunprepared for the large force of Taliban soldiers that had takenthe town.

Another rocket seared the night. It slammedinto a stately, mud-daub tower and exploded in hellish flame no onecould have survived. The concussion ran up his legs as mud brickand dust rained down.

One of the women shriekedher voice ululatinglike the cries in the streets and the buildings around them.

Silence! he ordered.

Fire glared off the rugged cliffs and theyawning alcoves where the Taliban had destroyed the giant,awe-inspiring Buddha figures.

Panicked quiet filled the little group behindhim. The women and children huddled together, masking the vocalwomans sobs with desperate hands.

To comfort them would be the right thing todo, but right now all his attention was on survivaltheirs andhis. They would live or die together depending on the womensobedience. At least that was part of Afghan culturealong with thepride and stubbornness that had kept Yaqub and the others fightingthe Russians and now the Taliban.

He leaned back to his observations post,automatically inventoried the changes the explosion had caused tothe ruined townscape. The knowledge would help their retreat fromthis shelter that would surely soon be discovered.

We need to move, he whispered back.

Yaqub crawled forward just in time to seeanother woman dart towards their meager safety from across theruined street. A sniper bullet spun her around and dropped her.

The devil lives here, and his name isHashemi, Yaqub muttered through his black beard. He was clothed,as Michael was, and as every other Afghani male, in the baggytrousers and long tunic and the black-and-white striped turban theTaliban required. Praise Allah, Khadija is safe in London. Thesedevils kill the women or they rape them and leave them for dead. Wehave to get them out.

He lifted his hairy chin at the cluster ofbombed out structures across the street where more woman huddledhidden.

Not easy. Michael muttered. In Afghanistannothing came easy. In fact, all of Central Asia was a bomb waitingto explode into the flank of the West and the Taliban were lookingto ignite it.

When did Allah ever provide easy tasks?

Michael grinned through his matching beard,then yanked Yaqub down as a jeep whined past bristling withHashemis armed men. The vehicle bumped over the womans body, butdidnt pause.

Michael held Yaqubs gaze.

You know youre my brother in all but blood,and I would do anything for you, but to try to save the womentrapped in those ruins is suicide. If we dont leave now, we wontbe leaving at all.

Then take them. Yaqub motioned to thefrightened children and their mothers theyd managed to rescue.Ill get the others.

Like hell. Youre too valuable.

Then Ill just have to live, wont I? Yaqubhalf-stood. Ill see you in Kaabul, if not sooner.

Michael yanked him down.

Damn you, Yaqub, Im not kidding. A doctorsworth a damn-sight more than an agent. We came to bring messages.Not run a rescue mission. That was the trouble with Yaqub. Hemight be calm in the face of crisis, but he was no agent.

Except when he was providing medical care, healways ran head-long to do the right thing, leaving Michael feelingslow, stodgy and a trifle dishonorable when he proposed a morecautious approach. But caution had helped him live this long in alandscape where nothing lived out its natural lifespan.

Michael looked out at the flame-lit street,assessing each door, window, and slab of darkness in the ruins.Where the hell was that sniper?

I swore a Hippocratic Oath to preservelife.

Michael glanced back at his friend and knewthat look. Knew that tone of voice, too, and knew he wasdefeated.

Again.

Yaqubs expression was the same stubborn,passionate look Yaqubs father got when hed decided on a mission.Or when he treated one of Hashemis victims. The determined lookmeant nothing would dare to block his purpose. A typical Afghanexpression when you discussed the fate of Afghanistan. There wasnothing these people were more passionate about.

Getting in Yaqubs way when he was like thiswas like trying to stop one of Afghanistans earthquakes. You onlygot crushed.

Damn you, Yaqub. What is it about all youSiddiqui?

A palm trees explosion illuminated the lastmud tower of the city.

Khpel amal da lari mal, Yaqub said.What you do, will come back to you. His dark gaze was determined.Then he grinned, knowing hed played the trump card between them.Michael owed Yaqub and his father so much.

There might be a way. There might. Yaqub withhis beard and turban could probably pass for Taliban. He might havea chance to talk his and the womens way free even if he wasspotted.

Look, Ill go for the others, Michael said.You take these women. There shouldnt be any problem once you getto the hills.

Yaqub caught his arm. You sure?

Inshallah, Ill live to drink yourfathers tea and beat you at chess again. Now go.

Yaqub grinned and turned to the women,speaking in swift Pashto of the plan. He led the small group outthe rear of the ruin and into darkness. Michael sent a prayer afterthem and stepped beyond the shattered wall, rifle ready.

He eased sideways through shadows.

Farther east the last tower in Bamiyan laid ashadow across the street. If he could cross there and find his wayto the women, he mightjust mightbe able to lead them tosafety.

Well-honed skills settled over him and thenight reduced to him gliding silent as a shadow over fallen brickand mortar. He glided across the street and ducked into an emptydoorway as one of the patrols passed.

Yaqubs need to help the women wasunderstandable. The damned Taliban hunted Shiite female flesh. Intheir warped belief, theyd been married by the Imams in themadrasas of Pakistan. It gave them permission to rape anywoman they found. Many of the victims in this honor-bound countrytook their own lives out of shame.

In Afghanistan the chasm that now separatedthe Sunni and Shiite branches of Islam was as bad as the schismbetween Islam and the West.

He slunk through another shadow and stopped.Ahead, the low walls held only half a roof and he ducked under tofind five women cowering in fear.

You must be very silent and very brave.Understand? he whispered in Pashto.

The grandmother of the groupall ofthirty-five by his estimatenodded and clutched the hand of herdaughters daughter. The girl could be no more than eleven by thelook of her, but shed been found by the Taliban. The poor childwhimpered into the womans shoulder.