Free Strength of Stones by Greg Bear

producing water, but hunger was pushing her hard. Drawing from her last resources of wit she waited for nightfall, stripped down in the moonlit empty square, and washed her only robe until it looked presentable enough to be worn by a poor wife. She affixed the cowl and veil so her scraggly hair wouldn't show through. With morning she waited on the outskirts of the market.
    After the town dealers had set up their booths, she walked between the rows and pretended to examine the half-empty bins of produce. Boys with fly-whips watched her through slitted eyes as she looked at this shriveled fruit, then that. When she thought they weren't paying close attention, she withdrew one hand into a sleeve, clutching a half-rotten orange. The hand emerged empty.
    She had palmed three pieces of fruit and was looking for the best route to leave when the market square manager appeared in front of her like a _djinn_ out of the dust. "Who are you, woman?" he asked. She looked up and shook her head.
    "You know what it means to steal?"
    Reah turned and tried to shuffle away. The manager grabbed her arm and an orange fell from the sleeve. One of the boys laughed and retrieved the fruit. "These are hard times," the manager said. "We all need to eat." Reah looked at him hopefully. "Those who steal, steal from the mouths of our children. You know that?" His face was reddening and his eyes were elsewhere. Some inner fury was building and all of Reah's humble slouch and scared eyes couldn't satisfy it.
    "Thieves have their hands cut off," he growled. "So it is written, _billah_! So our fathers would have done it long ago. But in our misery and exile we've forgotten these laws. Now it is time to remember!"
    Reah shook her head again, afraid to speak.
    "I stoned a thief here last week!" the manager shouted, raising his hand. He brought it down on her head and she sprawled in the dirt. "Brothers, here's a thief! Spawn of _Iblis,_ a stealer of food!"

The morning shoppers crowded around. Reah found no sympathy in their eyes. She stood and raised her hands defiantly, swaying back and forth, trying to make them go away with her power. They would learn better, tangling with an _ifrit._
    A rock whistled from the circle and struck her on the back. She forgot her fear and hunger and ran. The crowd followed like a single beast. She dodged a stone and fell against a slow-moving cart, then to the ground. The crowd circled again. She looked at their feet swinging under their robes and heard bells. A crowd of bronze bells circled her, ringing, buzzing like insects. Among them she saw a man with a strong face, a muezzin perhaps but still part of the crowd, eyes pitiless and glazed, slightly upturned, looking at the sky, stone clutched in his hand. He raised the hand.
    She stood and clung to him. "I am thy suppliant," she rasped. "No one can deny my need."
    He looked down on her and the crowd stopped. His eyes cleared and he cursed under his breath.
    "_Ullah yafukk' ny minch!_" the strong man exclaimed. Only a muezzin or a scholar would speak the old tongue so well.
    "Allah wills it," she whispered, eyes almost commanding him. "You cannot refuse."
    The man shook his head and raised his hand to stop the crowd. So was the custom -- he could not deny a suppliant. She was in his care now and by his faith he must keep her from harm, at least for the moment. The crowd paced around them restlessly. Reah looked over his shoulder at the stones and hands and cold faces. "Wolves," she said. "I will fly before wolves."
    "Stop," the man said. "She's not in her right mind. It isn't just to stone the sick -- "
    "Even the sick must obey the law," the manager said. She looked up into the strong man's face.
    "He's right," he said. "You have to leave the town or they'll stone you."
    She nodded. There was little about the next hour that she remembered. Only the dipper of water, the giving of a knapsack filled with stale bread and a few figs, the cup of _leban_ from the near-empty jar of