Freedom's Slave

by Heather Demetrios

  Kes lays his palm against the wooden gate, just as Taz showed him a few months ago, and the branches writhe, then twist away like well-trained serpents, leaving a keyhole arch for Kes to step through. Large tree roots cover the top of the temple walls and buildings, giants climbing over stone arches, using roofs as chairs. Their branches are fused above the whole temple, creating a canopy that sunlight filters through like drops of golden rain. Kes ventures into the small clearing, blanketed by a carpet of leaves that never fade or dry. The temple is filled with their spicy scent. He slips off his shoes, as is customary in the Djan places of worship, where earth is the honored element. The leaves tingle, and though Kes cannot draw chiaan from them, he feels their power nevertheless.

  Kes sees Taz before the other jinni realizes he’s no longer alone. He is sitting on a low stone wall, legs dangling, eyes closed. A soft smile plays on his face, which is tilted toward the sunlight that rains down on him. Kes’s breath catches and that feeling—an aching certainty that keeps him up most nights—washes over him.

  Other than Yasri, Taz is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

  Kes suddenly feels shy, uncertain. He’s intruding on a private moment. He should leave the mystic to his prayers, find him later—

  Taz’s eyes open and he turns toward Kes, relief and joy flooding his face. He jumps up, and rather than continue the charade they’ve been keeping up for months, he flings his arms around Kes and pulls him close.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” Taz says, his voice trembling.

  Kissing the Brass Army’s commander isn’t a conscious choice. It is a primal need, like food or sleep.

  He can’t do without it any longer.

  In the cave it was almost hard to believe they hadn’t always been this way: Taz and Kes, one coin, two sides. They kept their love a secret, though a handful of their closest friends knew. They’d been surprisingly supportive.

  Zanari had even rolled her eyes. “Finally,” she said. “Raif and I were taking bets on which one of you would give in first.”

  Over the course of many months, they’d all made their peace with one another, due in large part to Taz’s lobbying. They were all almost . . . friends.

  “Who’d you bet on?” Taz asked, genuinely curious.

  “You,” Zanari said. “But only because I caught you mooning over him more times than I can count.” She nodded to Kes. “This one at least knows how to keep a secret.”

  Raif had smiled, that sadness that was always in his eyes a little more pronounced. He’d nodded, as if to himself. “Love changes everything.”

  Now Kes sat up, reluctant to leave Taz’s arms. He had to get back to the palace and he wanted this last part over with.

  “Taz,” he said, placing a hand on his lover’s knee. “Will you promise me something?”

  Taz swallowed, his eyes already misting. “Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re going to be fine, I know it. And when it’s all over—”

  Kes reached out and gently placed his fingers over Taz’s mouth. “I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with you,” he murmured. “But if I don’t make it, I need to know that Yasri will be okay.”

  His little jinni—Papa, look at me! Papa, tell me a story. Papa, I love you. He ground his teeth at the mere possibility of her losing him. He was the center of her world. And she his. It was a testament to how much he trusted Taz that his lover already knew about Yasri, knew about her purple eyes and the power she was already beginning to come into. The other day he’d caught her morphing into a pool in the palace garden, her Marid side taking over. If anyone had seen her . . . It was a secret that couldn’t be kept for long. Taz was the only person other than Calar and Thatur who knew his daughter was a Ghan Aisouri, but soon everyone would know. Yasri was three summers old—she’d yet to realize the whole realm would hate her.

  “Thatur has agreed to help me get her out of the palace without Calar knowing,” Kes said. “He can get through the bisahm. Ri doesn’t now how to evanesce yet. It’s adorable really. . . .” He sighed and looked away for a moment. Gods, there was so much at stake. “I wouldn’t have her go to the forest alone, anyway.”

  “Kes—” Taz’s voice broke, the sound everything Kes was feeling inside.

  “Will you be her guardian?” he asked, his eyes meeting Taz’s. It was so much to ask. “Will you . . . be a father to her, if it comes to that?”

  “I would be anyway,” Taz said. “You know that.”

  They’d spoken only once of the future, in whispers, too scared to let the gods hear their plans. They dreamed of a wedding, of a home where a little Ghan Aisouri would be safe and well loved—cared for by two papas and an ornery gryphon.

  Kes leaned his forehead against Taz’s. “I know.” He gripped Taz’s hand, sending his energy into him, all his love, that fire Calar had yet to stamp out.

  Taz tilted Kes’s chin up. “Your daughter will always have a home with me—as will you.”

  Our daughter, Kes wanted to say—someday. He was too scared to voice that hope now. How could he dream of it: a life with a Shaitan, both of them caring for a Ghan Aisouri, raising her not as a daughter of the gods but as a girl who could choose whatever future she wished?

  Kes stood up, his eyes on Taz. “I have to go. Thatur will . . . he’ll be in touch if . . .” He shook his head. He wouldn’t say it. I’m going to get through this. I’m going to live. I’m going to raise my daughter with this jinni.

  Taz bolted up and pulled Kes to him. He didn’t say a word, didn’t have to. He could feel it all in Taz’s chiaan: Don’t die, don’t make me live my years without you.

  Kes pulled back, his eyes roving over Taz’s face. “I love you,” he murmured.

  “And I you.”

  His lips brushed Taz’s cheek and then Kes forced himself to walk out of the cave, onto the black-sand beach where the foam from the surf slid over his bare feet. When he looked back, Taz was watching him, a wistful smile on his face.

  Kes let himself imagine a home tucked away in the Qaf Mountains, or maybe right here, next to their cave. A garden, a swing for Yasri. A shrine for Taz to pray to the gods he so loved. That was the talisman Kes would carry with him into battle.

  That was what would keep him alive.

  23

  MORGHISI WAS THE UGLIEST LIVING CREATURE KES HAD ever seen. He would have expected nothing less from the leader of the Ash Crones. Ever since his first encounter with the ancient dark mage, he’d had no doubt her outer form was a reflection of her chiaan, of the damage it could do and the horror it would wreak upon the land. The few times he’d seen the witch use her chiaan, he hadn’t been surprised to see that it bled out of her, black as the obsidian that covered Ithkar’s plains. Kes made no effort to hide his disdain for her work with Mora, goddess of death, and had pleaded with Calar to run, crawl if she must, away from the crone’s guidance. But she had laughed at him, tried to kiss away his fears, and, finally, ignored him and continued under the tutelage of Morghisi and her sisters.

  There was no love lost between Kes and the crone Calar affectionately called Mother. Though they were not of the same blood, Calar had been raised by the crones, and it was true that Morghisi had given birth to the evil that had taken root in Calar’s heart.

  “Mora will be satisfied with our offering,” Morghisi said from her place behind what Kes had come to think of as the Butcher’s Block. “But I still think it’s too small.”

  The flat slab of rock deep in the crones’ volcanic stronghold was slick with blood and the rocky walls still echoed with the cries of those sacrificed today, a faint hum that seemed thunderous to Kes. Calar stood beside Morghisi, silent. To Kes, the crones had, for a time, been a necessary evil: their magic combined with Calar’s ruthlessness was what had allowed the Ifrit to stage a coup in the first place. It was the power that had placed the shackles around the jinn on the dark caravan so that the jinn could be traded for the weapons the Ifrit needed to defeat the Aisouri. But Calar had
never thought the magic evil, and therein lay the problem.

  “This is a small offering?” Kes said, his voice fierce. He was godsdamn sick of it all. “Then Mora is a greedy skag.”

  Calar gasped, but Morghisi merely settled her eyes on him, two black orbs, like dried blood. Her forked tongue darted out of her mouth, a thin gray bit of flesh stolen from an ancient magical snake that she’d killed for Mora. It was no legend: he’d seen the preserved corpse of the creature in the entryway to her chambers. As a result of her hunter’s trophy, Morghisi spoke with a slight hiss, as though she would eat you for the afternoon meal if she were hungry enough. He knew that at this moment, the crone could see what Calar refused to: he was no longer a willing soldier in this war.

  “Death wants her due,” Morghisi said. “You will learn that yourself one day soon, I think.”

  Kes crossed his arms. “As will you.”

  Morghisi smiled, each of her pearl-white teeth sharp as a Ghan Aisouri dagger. He’d seen her tear jinn flesh with those teeth, blood coating them like glaze on a cake as she chanted to Mora and filled herself with her victims’ power. He’d seen her convince Calar to do the same.

  “Kes . . .” Calar threw him a pleading look. The yaghin around her neck gave off a faint glow as the black swirl of shadows moved beneath the enchanted necklace’s smooth surface. “I need to reopen the portal. This is the only way.”

  They’d discussed it at length the night before. The Ifrit weapons stores were dwindling. Let’s end this, once and for all, she’d said. Since she’d only closed the portal to keep Nalia out in the first place, there was no reason to be cut off from Earth now that the Ghan Aisouri was dead. She’d been trying since learning of Nalia’s death, but reopening a doorway between two worlds proved to be more challenging than she’d expected. She and Morghisi had been storing up power through death for nearly a year.

  He’d always told Calar that closing the portal was a rash decision, that the very cost of it, and eventually reopening it, would offend the gods. Hundreds of lives had been lost in the process, sacrificed on the Butcher’s Block.

  He turned to Morghisi. “Plants die. Animals die. Why can’t we use that energy?”

  The Ash Crone gave him a scathing look of contempt. “You think flowers and animal hearts are enough to open a doorway between the realms?”

  They should never have closed the portal in the first place. The Shaitan mages had said it couldn’t be done. But the power harnessed from the dead Aisouri had created Calar’s shadows and been strong enough to close the portal, the energy encased in the altar itself until Calar made use of it. But there were no more Aisouri to kill—Calar had found most of the ones who had been born since the coup, ending their lives on the very rock Kes now stood before. Calar’s unprecedented store of power had dwindled until there was hardly any left.

  Which was why he’d just been forced to witness the slaughter of a hundred prisoners—a massacre that, combined with the energy Calar and the crones had been amassing, would allow the dark caravan to begin again by opening the portal with Mora’s energy. Kes was only now beginning to realize the extent to which he’d been hypnotized by Calar all these years. How could he have thought the caravan was justified, that it was somehow okay to sell jinn lives in exchange for human weapons? Most of them hadn’t even been bad jinn, guilty of crimes against the Ifrit.

  Calar placed a hand on his arm, attempting to comfort him. “They were just prisoners, my love.”

  He stared at her, incredulous. “Just—?” Kes bit off his retort and turned toward the archway that opened onto the balcony. “Come find me when you’re done,” he said.

  He didn’t need to turn around to see Morghisi’s triumphant sneer—he’d seen it often enough to know it was there. Kes had always been willing to kill when it was necessary—and when he was only killing his enemies. He’d always drawn the line at enemies, refusing to see all the ways in which Calar stepped over that line herself. For so long Kes thought it would stop, thought that once Calar had gained control of the realm, she wouldn’t need to kill innocents. He’d been wrong, of course.

  The balcony encircled the entire middle of the active volcano and looked out onto the sea of lava that had turned the fiery mountain into an island. The crones had lived there for centuries, claiming that their proximity to death at all times was what kept them Mora’s favored servants. The volcano had erupted three times since the crones had taken up residence in the caves that split off from the balcony, and yet the crones always escaped before the tunnels within the caves flowed with lava. No one knew how old they were; they seemed to be as much a part of Ithkar as the jackals that prowled its barren plains and the lava that flowed like a demon’s tears.

  Kes leaned on the railing and looked down into the lava below, a brilliant electric crimson against the lengthening dusk. For a brief moment he considered diving into the swirling, molten mass, his despair suddenly overwhelming. He had to clutch at the railing to keep his body from throwing itself off the volcano. There were Yasri and Taz to think of—reasons enough for living. He hadn’t thought that things could get worse, and yet they had. He’d lost his cool back there, put the lives of every jinni fighting with him against Calar at risk. Angering Morghisi and arousing her suspicion had left the door open for Calar to suspect him.

  After many long minutes, there was a rustle of silk behind him and Kes turned. Calar stood in the archway, her skin so pale it was nearly translucent, bright against the black sawala she wore. She swung her traveling cloak over her shoulders, a swath of bloody crimson.

  “Come,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s time to open the portal.”

  Kes didn’t allow himself the hesitation he felt. He took Calar’s hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. Her chiaan rushed into him, scattered and scalding, like it always was now. He knew she’d pick up his frustration, his sadness.

  “You’re not going to reprimand me?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

  “You’re entitled to your opinion,” she said with a wry smile. “You’re awfully cute when you’re angry, you know.”

  Ah, so this was how she was going to play it. Evade, evade. Fine, he thought, I can do that, too.

  He pulled her closer. She smelled like blood, and as he looked into her eyes, Kes found himself wishing they were gold. He forced his thoughts away from Tazlim—he had to focus.

  “Forget the portal,” he murmured, frantically pushing the sound of Taz gasping against Kes’s skin behind an old memory of a skirmish. He felt it slide away, just as he’d practiced with Thatur. “Let’s go somewhere you can make me angry.”

  He pressed his lips against her neck and she leaned into him the slightest bit before pulling away.

  Calar laughed, a mirthless trill. “Oh, there’s plenty of time to make you angry, Kes.”

  Crimson smoke began to pool under her feet and he added his campfire smoke to hers. Just as they began to evanesce, he saw two glittering eyes gazing out at him from the room beyond. Morghisi smiled, a sinister, knowing look on her face. Kes gave in to the evanescence, grateful to be away from the crones and the stink of death.

  Moments later, he was standing beside Calar at the location where the portal had once been. Without the usual rip between earth and sky, it was simply a cliff with a sheer drop, facing nothing but the next range of mountains. The twilight painted the sky in large, glowing swaths of color: pink, green, orange, yellow. Because the portal had been closed for some time, Calar and Kes were alone. There was no need for guards—there was no one and nothing to keep watch over.

  “Do you remember how we used to come up here?” Kes asked softly.

  Years ago, they’d hiked up the Ifrit side of the Qaf Mountains, too afraid to evanesce for fear of detection by the Ghan Aisouri or their army of conscripted serfs. They’d find an isolated nook and watch day turn to night over Arjinna, where the moons didn’t bleed and the sky wasn’t brown. These were some of his happiest memories, huddled against the rock, h
olding Calar. Dreaming. Hoping.

  Kes turned—Calar hadn’t heard him. She’d let go of his hand, walking the few steps to the edge of the cliff. The wind was strong here and her cloak whipped around her so that she seemed to be swirling in place, a priestess in her temple.

  Push her, an urgent voice inside him whispered. Do it before she unleashes this magic, do it before she can hurt anyone else. But the portal needed to be open—Arjinna was barely habitable. Earth could be a fresh start for him and Taz and Yasri—all of them—if they needed it.

  She turned around and flashed him a triumphant smile, and her radiance seemed to spark the air around her. Calar raised her hands to the sky and a furious burst of wind gusted over the cliff. Her hair swirled, pulled by the wind’s greedy fingers. She chanted the words Morghisi had given her, words from the old tongue that sounded like the end of things. The wind blew harder and she stumbled toward the cliff’s edge. Kes ran to her, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He held on to Calar with one hand while she crushed a glass bottle under her foot, releasing the chiaan of her victims, heedless of him. A musty scent filled the air, slightly sour, like the sulphur swamps in the north of Ithkar. Calar fell to her knees, the ancient words now being torn from her, as though some unseen being were torturing a confession from the depths of her soul. Terror filled Kes. They were on the edge of an abyss, a point of no return. He let go of her, prayed she would fall as soon as the portal opened.

  “Mora, Mora!” Calar cried the death goddess’s name, longing flooding her voice.

  The gray magic bled into the air and the aurora swirled, a pinwheel moving faster and faster, dazzling, blinding. Then: a rush of air followed by a low sonic boom. The swirl of colors mushroomed as a shockwave pulsed in the air, so intense it threw Kes off his feet. He landed on his back, hard, gaping as the gray chiaan Calar had released tore the sky, ripping the aurora as though it were a colorful piece of fabric. A hole formed—small at first, then pushing outward, its edges foaming, waves of color and magic.