Some of the Best from Tor.com: 2019 Edition

by Elizabeth Bear

  * * *

  The skies began to grow ominously dark as soon as our trucks rolled out of the palace gates. Clouds rumbled. Tree branches cracked overhead. Waves of dust rose on the distant horizon. Within the town of Thripuram, as we passed, the few early risers hurried to return inside; doors and windows were noisily shut. It was a storm as unseasonal as any in this part of the land.

  The trucks were the closest we had to homes, in fair or rough weather, so we trudged on until we were on the dirt roads that led out of the town, and could simply go no farther. Unrestrained by any more houses, the winds came pounding at our canvas walls like solid boulders. The trucks swayed like they were wooden toys for children, not hundreds of tons of machine on wheels. Inside, our animals screamed and rattled against their cages. Dust clouds covered the sky, obscuring the sun. Our drivers could no longer see the road. Dust, razor-sharp and unforgiving, filled the eyes and nostrils of anyone who tried to look outside.

  Usually, a heavy rain comes lashing quick on the trail of a dust storm, calming the winds and weighing down the dust into mud, but it had been an hour since this dust had risen, and there was still not a drop of moisture.

  As I sat in the first of our trucks, a massive trumpeting from the truck behind us told me that the elephants had broken free, and another tearing, heart-wrenching wail followed as one of them was blown away by the winds. In all my thirty years of life, I have never heard anything like it.

  The third truck, carrying the clowns, fire-eaters, and my own trapeze team, soon turned to its side with a sickening lurch. From my own truck I could hear none of their voices, although in my guts I could feel them crying, praying to their respective gods, groaning as they scrambled in blindness, bones trampled and crunched. The girl whom we had rescued from the palace was among them too. Perhaps Shehzad was right—if we all died in this freak apocalypse this morning, I would have proved to be a worse master than the raja, not only to her but to everyone else in my care.

  I am a man who has left his own forest deities far behind in his past, so there was no greater power to whom I could kneel. In any case, if all these other pious people’s prayers were going unheard, how might I—faithless of heart—sway any god to my favor?

  A heavy figure swayed its way through the truck and dropped heavily, purposefully next to me. It was Johuree.

  “Trapeze Master Binu, you promised to bear responsibility,” he whispered into my ear. Each of his words fell like the gong of a temple bell, cutting through the mayhem outside my brain.

  “What—this dust storm?!” I was stunned by his suggestion. “You think I have something to do with this?”

  “I did warn you that the girl you rescued was beholden to powers beyond ourselves.”

  “I thought—I thought you meant the Thripuram raja and his administration!”

  Johuree said nothing, just stared at me with his cold eyes, both living and stone. Nothing was enough.

  “I don’t know how to … I don’t know who—”

  The crashes and screams returned, closing in on my senses like water over the head of a drowning man. So I rose to my feet, staggering from wall to wall as the floor of the truck churned beneath me and dropped myself into the dust-filled darkness.

  * * *

  There was nothing, absolutely nothing to see. My eyes, ears, and mouth were assaulted by dust as soon as I hit the ground. Dust scraped against my bare legs beneath my dhoti like a thousand razor blades. In less than a second, every inch of my skin felt like it was being flayed. I could feel the blood trickle down my arms, legs, chest; I could feel my face growing muddy with blood.

  Coughing, choking, spitting, I called out into the nothingness, “Here I am: Trapeze Master Binu. I think it is me you want.” I spat out more dust. “Spare the rest of the circus. They took no part in my decision to rescue the girl.”

  I waited, struggling to breathe. Feeling foolish.

  Then a voice came, responding to my cry. I do not know why I remember it as a female voice, because it did not even sound human. It came from the wind, molding and resonating as a blend of dust and words.

  “I am the kuldevi of the kingdom of Thripuram,” she said. “Stupid human, filthy, untouchable low-caste whom no god will deign to claim for his own, did you think you could run away with my property and pay nothing for your crime?”

  Her insults did not perturb me—I have heard them and worse from people, and expected no better from their gods—but the words still made my blood boil.

  “No man or woman is anyone’s property!” I spluttered through the dust that clogged my mouth. “Not the Thripuram raja’s, not even yours. I don’t care if you are human or goddess. You are not my goddess, as you well know.”

  The thick, blowing dust rippled with laughter. I could feel it dance on my skin as the grains freshly scoured the bleeding surface.

  “A free man, are you?” More words formed. “A man who acknowledges no master, and surely no charge? Then when the men, women, and animals of this party of fools die, as they will within the next hour, their deaths will not be on your conscience.”

  I wanted to scream back that their deaths should be on the conscience of this vengeful goddess, but I did not even know if the gods possessed consciences; besides … just the thought of their deaths deflated the righteous rage in my heart. My strange but upright boss who had employed me when no one else would, my colleagues and friends who received me as one of their own, the young boys and girls whom I hand-picked and trained for my trapeze team—none of whom I had consulted before I brought down this mayhem upon them. I was a free man till my last breath, but none of them should have to bear the consequences of my freedom.

  “Take my life. Let them go,” I pleaded.

  Another gust of laugher, another whiplash of dust across my body.

  “And why would I be sated with one mortal life when I came here prepared to take fifty, including the life of that traitorous whore who dares to defy being beholden to me?”

  I did not know what else would sate her. I am a poor man with hardly any treasures. I had kept aside a few rupees from my salary for the past two years, hoping to return to my mother and buy a house when I finally had enough. I could not imagine my modest savings would buy the lives of the Majestic Oriental Circus from the kuldevi of Thripuram.

  The goddess seemed to read my thoughts.

  “It is heartening to see you realize the utter triviality of your existence, Trapeze Master Binu,” she spoke “Your puny mortal life and its possessions are every bit as worthless to me as you think. But there is one thing you own, much more valuable than your life, for which I will let your entire circus go, even that filthy whore and yourself.”

  I waited, dry tongue scraping the dust that now formed a crust on the roof of my mouth, wondering what she meant.

  “Give me the jinni.”

  The bottom of my stomach dropped.

  “The jinni is not mine to give,” I murmured.

  “It is the only possession of yours that interests me,” said the kuldevi. “Jinn are rare in this part of the world. I have never seen one before, yet I felt its presence and desired it as soon as it crossed into my dominion. But I cannot take it by force, for the laws that bind the jinni to its human master are forged in a distant land over an oath to a different god, far beyond my powers to bend. Give me the jinni of your own free will, and you and all your company will live.”

  I shut my eyes, which were suddenly muddy and stinging with the tears that had that rushed into them. My heartbeat was slow, irregular. If it were only about me, I would have gladly died at this moment in this dust storm conjured by a wrathful goddess whom I did not worship. And then there was an arm around my waist, holding me upright again, there was a hand wiping dust, blood, and tears from my eyes. It was Shehzad Marid—ever loving, ever loyal, always on my side in my hour of need.

  “I know you did not call for me,” he whispered in my ear, “but a jinni can summon himself into action when his master is in grie
vous danger. Your body and mind can take no more of this, Binu—mortals are not made for extended interaction with the divine. Let me go with the goddess, but before that, let me take you back to the truck to be among your people. It will not faze me; I have known worse. Give me your command, and I will obey.”

  I clasped his hand in mine through the dust and the blood, trying to absorb the warmth of his fingers like a man clutching at straws as he drowns.

  “I … am … not … your … master.”

  “We will continue that debate another day,” he laughed, but the laughter fell more like a wounded howl on my ear. “I am sure your path will bring you to Thripuram again. I hope I have a kind master by then, one who will not object to me sitting and chatting awhile with an old friend.”

  And suddenly, I had an idea.

  “Kuldevi of Thripuram,” I called out again, summoning the strength that was dripping away from me. “I know you cannot possess Shehzad yourself, so you must give his ownership to one of your human worshippers. If that man turns rogue, or if he dies before passing on the ownership to another worshipper, Shehzad will forever be lost to you. He may turn vengeful, and you have never seen the vengeance of a jinni whose master is dead—there is no precedent in your land for anything like it. Your land will be laid barren; you will be left without worshippers.”

  I pulled myself up with Shehzad’s arms. “Instead, let me come with him. Both of us will serve you for exactly the length of half of my remaining life. He is loyal to me; and you have seen inside my heart—I am a man of my word. When that period is over, we will leave, and no harm will come to you or your worshippers.”

  More silence, more storm, and then words again. “Half of your remaining life is hardly seven years,” sneered the goddess.

  That was less than I would have hoped for, but I had no tears to spare. An early death was better than spending long years of my youth in the captivity of the kuldevi of Thripuram, better than dying this minute, never holding Shehzad in my gaze again. My life was a blink in the eternity that Shehzad would have to spend with other masters—what could change between us in a few years, more or less?

  “But you speak the truth,” said the goddess. “This jinni of yours will not come with me willingly, or reveal to me any of its secrets. None of my priests is acquainted with its true nature—they know nothing but children’s stories and misleading spectacles like the one you put up with your circus. Despicable as you may find me, foolish, arrogant man, I do bear responsibility for the well-being of my worshippers. I resent your paltry offer of seven years, but I will accept it. Come to my temple in Thripuram before sunset and devote yourselves by ritual.”

  “Binu, why—?” Shehzad started to protest, but I squeezed his hand and said, “Shh,” as the winds began to dissolve around us.

  There was no further interruption from the goddess. In the emerging sunshine we stood holding each other, surrounded by the debris of the beloved circus that had been our family and life.

  * * *

  The first person I went looking for was the rescued young devadasi. She was injured, terrified, but—like the other members of the circus—had heard nothing of our encounter with the kuldevi of Thripuram. I let it stay that way. No one else had to bear the burden of my choices, or my guilt.

  In our last hours, Shehzad was kinder to the girl, mending a fractured wrist with underhanded magic, giving her advice on how to survive in the city all by herself. I saw them smiling together, head to head, and I could feel the sun’s rays warming my battered bones. “Savithri is quite an extraordinary woman, really,” Shehzad came back to inform me, “brave, level-headed, no airs about herself. I can see why you were taken by her. I have no doubt she will do very well in the city, maybe even become famous.”

  Savithri—I rolled the name around on my tongue, realizing that in all this time, it had never occurred to me to ask.

  “Shehzad…” I started to say, pulling him aside.

  “No.” He placed a thin, immortal finger to my raw lip. I would have cried then, I would have dropped to his feet and asked for forgiveness, but I was afraid that he would cry too, and I had taken enough devastation for a day.

  Johuree agreed to take charge of Savithri in my stead until the circus reached the city, and make sure she was well settled and safe before they left. Johuree had heard nothing of our bargain with the goddess either, but of course I had to tell him.

  “I will find you once you are released of your bond,” he told me, pressing a bag of money that I had done nothing to earn into my hands. “Doors will always be open for both of you at the Majestic Oriental Circus”—he smiled ruefully, gazing at the rubble that surrounded us—“or whatever is left of it.”

  “I promised I would let no harm come to the circus,” I said, turning my eyes to the ground. “I failed to keep my promise.”

  “Say no more of it!” he said.

  “If I may ask for one more favor—?” I hesitated.

  “Of course, my man.”

  “I left my old mother in the city in the east where you took me in. We only had each other in the world, but once I was signed on to the circus I did not even wait to go home and take my leave of her. I was young and thoughtless then—a wayward son who only worried and disappointed her. I imagined I would come back soon and give her a big surprise, but the circus kept traveling; I did not even notice how two years went by. Now that I know that I won’t see my mother for a long time—”

  “I will look her up when I return to the city in the east, tell her you are alive, and remind her that her son is loyal and brave, if not always the most practical,” Johuree said. “And if there is any way I can help your mother, I will do my best.”

  “Thank you, Johuree saab,” I replied, overwhelmed. “There is nothing more I desire from the world.”

  And that was how we walked into our exile—man and jinni, never master and slave but equals in friendship and love. I was no longer a free man, and I don’t know if I had ever been, but if I must pick a master for half—no, all—of my remaining life, I know there would have been no better choice than Shehzad Marid. For that day and the rest of my foreshortened mortal existence, I would follow his footsteps through darkness and light, and that would suffice.

  About the Author

  Mimi Mondal is a Dalit woman who writes about politics and history, occasionally camouflaged as fiction. Her first anthology, Luminescent Threads: Connections to Octavia Butler, was longlisted for the Locus Awards 2018. Mimi holds three masters’ degrees for no reason but pure joy. She lives in New York, and always enjoys the company of monsters.

  Copyright © 2019 by Mimi Mondal

  Art copyright © 2019 by Kashmira Sarode

  Old Media

  Annalee Newitz

  A Tom Doherty Associates Book

  New York

  August 2, 2145

  They were in the back room making out. What else were they supposed to do on a slow afternoon when nobody came into the store? Michael had taken his goggles off and John was kissing the soft skin of his eyelids while simultaneously groping for some kind of access point into Michael’s extremely tight pants.

  Out front, Bella was reading the music feeds in her goggles and not even remotely pretending to ignore them.

  “You sound like rutting moosen!” She’d taken to using a fake plural form of “moose” for her own whimsical reasons. “Don’t get any fluids on the goddamn merchandise!”

  For some reason, John could not stop laughing at the moose plural joke. Every time he caught his breath, another fit of giggling would rob him of it, until at last he sank dizzily to his knees. He steadied himself by hooking fingers into Michael’s waistband and looking up at his friend, also laughing, amused by John’s amusement.

  Michael was studying paleontology at the University of Saskatchewan, and had been trying to grow authentic dinosaur feathers on his head for weeks. Thick red and white down stuck out of his pale blond hair on flexible quills, perfectly framing his wide b
lue eyes and the short puff of his beard. John thought the full effect made him look almost comically Western, like an English barbarian from the old anime feeds he liked to watch.

  But it was also kind of sexy. And here he was, right in the perfect spot to unlock the grippers holding Michael’s tight pants in place. Even when Bella started making extremely realistic moose noises, John was undeterred in his quest to make Michael tremble with more than laughter.

  Afterward they both slid to the floor, resting their slightly damp backs against the wall. A languid sense of goodwill spread from John’s extremities upward to his brain. He liked it back here beyond the Employees Only sign, staring at the dusty, half-biodegraded boxes of recent arrivals. Bella bought most of her merchandise from estate sales and warehouses on the prairies, but a lot came from customers in Saskatoon too. Tuesdays and Thursdays were buyer days, and there was always a boisterous line of what seemed to John a completely random assortment of people: aging hipsters with party clothes from the ‘20s; college students wanting to trade armor for shreds or vice versa; grandmothers with unbelievable treasures like the ash pleather 2090s boots he was wearing right now; and people from far up north who’d heard the kids were obsessed with old all-weathers and wanted to make a few credits while their families loaded up on supplies at the farm co-op.

  It made John think of times before he was born, long before his shit life, or at least the shitty parts of his relatively okay life. Last year at this time … he didn’t want to think about it. Every night he told himself he was safe now, gone legit with a name and a franchise. Nobody owned him anymore. He stared harder at a box overflowing with self-repairing scarves from indeterminate time periods. Maybe they were made yesterday. Maybe sixty years ago.

  Michael was nuzzling his neck, dinofuzz tickling John’s ear. He tugged John’s collar down to get a better angle and made a murmuring noise when he saw the brand.