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moisture left in her body. Instead she grieved with hot, gritty eyes, trembling there in the growing darkness with her father's inert form lying a few short feet away. Her energy sapped, she bowed her head and drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
    At first, she thought she'd dreamed the sound of footsteps above. She sat up in the darkness, shivering in the chilly blackness, straining to hear. The soft footfalls came again, in bursts, as though the person was sneaking up to the trap door, then would stop.
    Bryn's heart pounded in her heaving chest. Was someone coming to finish them off? In her condition, she couldn't even get to her feet to defend herself. The best she could do was lie on her side and lash out with her bare, bound feet. She curled up and drew her trembling legs up, prepared to give one good kick.
    The trap door above her creaked open and bright moonlight spilled in, blinding her. The person holding it struggled under its weight, and then it dropped to the ground with a thud. Hissed whispers filled the silent air, but she couldn't make out what they said. A moment later the door opened again, and a hooded silhouette appeared in the opening against the moonlit sky. Frozen with fear, Bryn lay coiled, waiting.
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    Cover of Darkness
    by Kaylea Cross
    The figure slipped inside the opening and landed lightly.
    Hidden by shadows, Bryn watched as the figure crept closer, moving in an awkward shuffle.
    "Don't be afraid," a woman's voice whispered in Arabic.
    Bryn hesitated, a seed of hope blooming inside her. Was she here to help them?
    The woman broke into an impassioned speech, and this time Bryn could only pick out bits and pieces. "Allah forgive me, I cannot do more..." She crept closer still, holding something in her hand. Not a knife—it didn't glint in the light.
    What was it? Bryn peered intently at the object in the woman's outstretched hand. Some sort of jar maybe?
    "Water," the woman whispered.
    Water! Bryn scrambled to sit, every muscle and joint screaming in protest, ravenous for the liquid. The woman came forward slowly, plucked the filthy gag out of Bryn's mouth, and tipped the blessed contents into her parched, swollen mouth. She gulped it greedily, spilling some, and the woman murmured something, passed a sandpapery hand over Bryn's hot cheek as though trying to soothe her. She drained it all, crying out in despair when it was empty.
    "I'm sorry, my lamb." The woman's voice was rough with age and regret. "I have only enough left for the man."
    "Help us," Bryn croaked through cracked lips, shaking with desperation. Her freedom was right there, through that trap door not ten feet away. It was the middle of the night, and even with a full moon surely she'd be able to find something to cover herself with and escape. "Help us," she pleaded again, stronger this time, tugging on her bound wrists so the 41

    Cover of Darkness
    by Kaylea Cross
    woman was sure to see. "Free us." She was too weak to scream it.
    "Qamar!" a man's voice snapped from outside. "Enough!
    They will see us!"
    The woman knelt before Bryn and touched her face again, the wrinkled countenance exposed by the silvery light, giving her an ethereal glow, like an angel. She looked kind. The wise, deep-set black eyes delved into Bryn, and her sorrow was evident.
    "I cannot, little lamb. My grandson—he will find out, and we will suffer." She turned and shuffled her way across in her hitching gate to Bryn's father, finding him sprawled on his stomach.
    Bryn watched her remove his gag and carefully spill some water into his mouth. He stirred and coughed, and the woman murmured to him gently, coaxing the life-giving fluid down him.
    "Dad, wake up! Help me get her to understand! Untie us,"
    Bryn begged, and the woman came back to her, tipped the remainder of the water into her mouth. She swallowed it all eagerly and tried again to pull on her bonds. "Please."
    "May Allah forgive me, I cannot," Qamar repeated, regret heavy in her voice. She spoke