The Bruising of Qilwa

by Naseem Jamnia

The shape, a ward. The runes, a prayer.

The blooming rot of a corpse.

Still, the bone whispered its life, its desire to create.

The lie was so foul, Firuz could smell it from the slums.

The sick healing the sick, instead of sewing the burial shroud, creating a lifeline where before there was only cut rope.

Kofi spent a long moment looking at Firuz, a moment Firuz thought would stretch past the two of them and spin out into the universe.

Firuz didn’t believe in the Shahbaaz’s blessing, didn’t believe in a god that hadn’t kept their people safe. But Firuz did believe in the science that was magic, and that would have to be enough.