The Terrorists of Irustan (39 page)

Distantly, Ishi was aware that the Simah was shouting, that some men were screaming invectives. Angry men tried again to step among the women. Even the still-veiled women leaped to their feet to block their path. The men fell back, astonished by the resistance, shouting, shaking their fists. Ishi held her breath, fearful for the women at the rear, but a few men put their backs to the women’s rows, facing outward, a ragged defense against the throng.

Qadir signaled to the pallbearers to climb the steps. They lifted the white coffin from its plinth and carried it down, its scarlet draperies drifting about their legs. They made a slow passage across the Doma and out into the heat of the day. Qadir followed, his head bowed, leaning on Ishi. Behind them the women began to ululate and sway on their feet, shrill voices drowning out the last protests of the men. Ishi looked back once at the incredible sight of the unveiled Irustani women. Then she turned her eyes forward, to follow Zahra to her resting place.

The heat of the star on her bared head surprised her. It burned, and even her hair seemed to grow hot. She had never felt such a thing before.

Ishi IbSada welcomed the discomfort. It was a warning, a portent, a reminder of the dangers that lay ahead. This would be no easy revolution. But it had begun.