Wind from the south slammed a brutal storm into town that night, wrecking houses and ripping trees from the ground, just as Ensieh came into the world. It had arrived without a warning, as storms often do, and left behind irreparable damage. Houses were ruined, trees ripped from the ground. The noise didn't seem to bother Ensieh; her first minutes were quiet. Her initial cries began late. They were strained and broken. Her mother had described her as an easy child, seldom fussing or making messes. She said it was because she had seen enough chaos that first night to last a lifetime; her brothers swore it was due to all the prayers said that night. Ensieh preferred the second possibility. After all, who wouldn't want to be a gift from the gods?
Her brothers, much older than her, had already joined the army by the time Ensieh learned to count. She had learned to spell their names a month later. Their departure felt ceremonial, rather than frightening, with all polished boots and stiff smiles. They were twins and identical in every sense aside from their height, one towering over the other. She remembered them trying on their uniforms, the way one of them kept slipping on his trousers, while the other's exposed the skin above his ankles. Ensieh would receive letters from both of them for as long as she lived in her mother's house, always signed with their full names, dedicated to 'their darling sister'. She would often find them at her doorstep already yellowed from moisture, tied into clumps with rope. They were too expensive to send one at a time, and the border and battlefield were too far away.
Their mother busied herself with housework, often seen with a pot or rag in hand. Her presence was lively, and a trail followed her as she worked. She would fill her pockets with herbs and stones, often worrying them with her fingers during stressful moments. She lived faithful to her husband, an honorable man who was deployed months before the birth of their youngest child. His letters stopped coming two years after that.
Their house stood secluded from the rest, near a river, and the area was warm, so the water rarely froze. They never swam in it; the current was so strong it could carry them away. They had hens and sheep that roamed around freely. A forest surrounded them, isolating them and making for a perfect sanctuary, with a flower-covered hill nearby that Ensieh and her mother loved to climb. It offered them a clear view of the sky. That was the place where Ensieh had learned the names of the stars.
One winter, Ensieh was given a job and tasked with preparing food at the village and handing it out to visiting soldiers and refugees.
Sometimes she would only meet a handful of people a day, and sometimes they would storm the market in a stampede, making the streets crowded, impenetrable, and hot. Coins clanked against wood, sticky- handed children were pulled along by their sleeves, and everything was in motion, refusing to be still. She enjoyed listening in to their conversations as they walked past her, even the ones about missing post and relatives.
She baked breads, cakes, and tarts, wrapped them in cloth, tied them with red ribbon, and distributed them among the crush of passersby strolling through the market each day. Flour clung to her wrists no matter how many times she wiped them clean. For weeks, her eyes followed every man dressed in a brown uniform, listening to the rattling of their boots, waiting to recognise her brothers in the stream of people, but she never did. She learned that even hope, if stretched too thin, begins to tear.
When the weather got colder, she would brew colourful teas in large pots. On one such day, she heard huffing in a small alleyway used for storage behind her as she was crushing up dried spices. It reminded her of the breeze forcing its way through the trees near her home, something between a hiss and a whistle. A man in a green uniform climbed out from the back of a cargo wagon, his jacket streaked with red and brown. Ensieh kept mindful of not turning her head fully, so as not to acknowledge her awareness of him. He gave a poor attempt at a run, his injured leg dragging after him. Ensieh halted, thinking twice before moving. She didn't want to cause a scene.
If the crowd saw him, he wouldn't manage to get out of there alive. For a moment, Ensieh saw her brothers instead, how their uniforms had swallowed them whole, how their letters only grew shorter with time, the war rationing their words. She wondered briefly if someone like her had ever stood in front of them and hesitated. The soldier grunted. He bore no weapons, and his jacket wasn't adorned with medals or insignia. The only decoration was a faded patch on his sleeve. He seemed worn out; his presence oozed exhaustion. Ensieh surveyed him, puzzled. She looked about herself, checking if anyone was around, contemplating her actions. Soldiers are all equally hungry, she concluded, no matter if they're clad in green or brown.
She called to him as one would to a cat, the sound slipping through her teeth. 'Easy', she murmured, barely louder than the steam rising from the pot. He glanced over his shoulder tentatively, unsteady on his feet. 'You're bleeding', Ensieh stated plainly. He nodded once as if she had commented on the weather.
The colour of his attire brought out the green of his irises, sharp and piercing like a snake's. What a pity, Ensieh mused, that her country's soldiers wore such a dull colour. The air clouded in their faces. The soldier's cheeks were shallow, his skin raw and pale but still smooth around the eyes and lips. Even with all the smells of food being prepared around them, the stench he carried managed to reach Ensieh. His gaze bore into hers, his face void of emotion. Ensieh stared ahead, conflicted about what she should do. She stretched out her trembling arm, offering him the cup she held in her grasp. 'Slowly', she warned, though he didn't listen, instead drinking in big gulps, not caring if the liquid burned his tongue. Once he'd finished, the boy handed the cup back to Ensieh and a low 'Thank you ' left his lips. She instructed him to crouch under her stand so he couldn't be seen from the front. She took in his height, his sun-kissed skin, and the gash across his leg. His uniform presented another problem. If it were brown, he could easily pass through the streets unnoticed, blending into the crowd and the ground he walked on, unafraid of receiving diatribes from the townspeople, or worse. No one would glance his way, scared of potential daggers in his boots. When asked, he refused to give her his name, rather just shrugging and averting his gaze. A deserter, Ensieh thought, too afraid of the battle, bullets, and the blood. Instead, he sat in front of her, breathing, waiting. Silent.
Ensieh crouched, shielding him from view. She tore off a scrap of cloth and pressed it into his palm, wavering for only a moment.
'Tie it tight', she instructed while miming the action, 'above the knee.' He did as told, wincing a little. She reached for the bread basket at her feet and took out a small loaf. She split it evenly, wrapped both halves in cloth, and tucked them into his pockets without asking for permission.
Footsteps passed in front of the stand, and a child's voice called out. Ensieh answered without rising. When the noise had moved on, Ensieh leaned in, closer to the soldier.
'Follow the river', she said. 'Keep away from the road. The trees will thin after the bend.' He opened his mouth to speak, but Ensieh interrupted him. Go, she mouthed whilst shaking her head. Her palms were clammy. He waited a second longer, then shifted, careful with his leg. He turned abruptly and fled where she told him to. Ensieh watched the space he left behind, looking much bigger now that he was gone. She rinsed the cups and set them back down where they belonged. She would soon learn that compassion, too, could become an act of treason.
The sun sank early that evening.
Ensieh folded all the rags, cleaned all the crumbs, and gave away what had remained of the tea. Somewhere far off, a horn sounded, then died. She told herself it belonged to the evening patrol, at least until a blast shattered the silence.
All around her, people were running and screaming.
The ground shook with the rhythmic stomping of boots worn by men, too many of them. Their uniforms were green. Ensieh first spotted them marching into the town square. Shouts rose in the distance. Smoke followed, black and intoxicating, enveloping the sky in thick clouds. Noise blared from all sides. It thundered, the stomping, clanking, and chiming. The people succumbed to madness. Ensieh considered her surroundings, searching for order in the disarray. A woman beside her fell to her knees, glancing at the sky, then at her hands. She muttered under her breath, clenching the dirty fabric of her once-white dress.
Run, Ensieh wanted to say. They still had enough time to get away. She kept calm and her mouth shut. At least she was praying early, later it wouldn't be of much use.
Ensieh remembered her mother, alone at home, unaware. Without thinking, she bolted. Her lungs throbbed, ribs digging into them like knives as she stumbled towards the river. She reached it quickly and followed it to the forest, determined to get to her house before the soldiers did. She arrived at the point where the path began to turn. Trees weren't as dense here. She could make out the sound of laughter somewhere down the path. A red ribbon was wrapped and tied around one of the branches, flapping in the wind. She couldn't go that way. She observed the river, black in the night. Its depth didn't seem so scary now.
The forest smelled wrong, bitter, and dry. The air shifted, warmer than it should have been for the season. Ensieh paused, noticing the stillness first, then the lack of laughter she had heard a minute ago. A wisp of smoke curled from the underbush. Flames blinked shyly, then boldly, singeing her face.
Heat pressed against her, seeping into her hair. Ensieh shifted away from the inferno. Still, she did not look away. The fire moved as if it were alive, chasing her. She ran, screaming until her voice thinned, calling out to her mother. The trees were everywhere around her, barely giving her enough room to pass. Branches clawed at her. In the distance, she heard high- pitched bleating, but couldn't pinpoint which direction it was coming from.
The fire crackled. A tree fell. She surveyed the sky, pleading, begging for it to guide her, but it was obscured by glowing treetops. Her eyes refused to focus. She moved blindly, feet slipping on ash and dirt. Her heart jabbed in sharp stabs against her chest, urging her faster. Each thump pounded louder than the last. She soon lost track of the river's path and of her own.
Water started pouring from the burning sky, choking the blaze.
Ensieh stopped once she was safe, unable to breathe. Her legs shook too badly to hold her up. She leaned against a tree, palms pressed to its bark, trying to keep herself steady. She inhaled deeply. Her skin prickled. She tried to swallow but coughed instead. She brought her hand up to her head, making sure it stayed on her shoulders. The wind moved through the forest, carrying with it the smell of scorched wood. Somewhere far off, something collapsed. Ensieh stayed in place, listening, breathing shallowly, afraid to move, afraid not to. The sky had finally become visible, but the stars looked different. They moved too fast and shone too brightly. A look at them made her eyes water. Shooting stars, she thought. Falling onto her home. The prayers said that day were not answered.
The world tilted, then vanished beneath her eyelids. When she opened them again, nothing was familiar. The forest reeked of char and wet wood; the trees were strangely shaped, at least what remained of them. Her throat burned, head spinning. Her hair was tangled, matted with dirt, ash, pieces of wood, and wilted flowers. She found shelter, a cold, damp cave gaping from the mountain. A weight pressed down on her chest, and she couldn't breathe it away. It weighed more than any medal her brothers would ever get. It engraved itself into her mind, the passage by the river that had been only hers, her favorite secret. Water dripped inside the cave's jaws. Ensieh's shoes were wet, and so were her eyes. She sat there, staring at the orange horizon through her tears and the trees. She called out from time to time. She didn't know which she dreaded more: an answer or the echo of her voice. Time did not pass; it pooled under her eyes, making them heavy and dark. Looking at stars hurt like hot iron. She stood on no man's land, and she could feel its worth.
Ensieh pressed her forehead to the cool stone, picking at the remains of flour under her fingernails. She could hear the river in the distance and the rainfall outside. She thought about who would feed her mother's sheep and water her garden. In that silence, Ensieh felt it: how small a single life was, how fragile hope could be, and how quickly the world forgot both. She fell asleep on the floor of the cave, the smooth, cold stone she lay on soothing her hot skin. The stars still glowed, the town was deluged by the rain and smoke, and she was only one soul, lost among them all.
As dawn clawed through the smoke, Ensieh emerged from the cave to find the river choked with bodies, brown and green uniforms tangled like tree roots. The forest around her pulsed like a second heart, whispering her brother's names in the enemy's voice. It breathed, slow, and barely awake.
It started to snow, then turned to rain, falling in warm, grey droplets, come to claim the treacherous girl who fed the enemy and called down the stars.