The Sabaoth's Arrow

by J F Mehentee

  The girl limped farther into the alleyway and then raised a portal. Silently, she ushered people towards it. She looked shaken. If he hadn’t noticed her trying to look past those approaching the portal and its azure light, Emad would have gone over to her. He stood on tiptoes and craned his neck. The djinni who’d woven the destination window in Baka stood at the alleyway’s entrance. Two soldiers jabbed at the entranceway with spears, their spearheads distorting and blurring the air.

  ‘A dome of protection,’ Emad muttered. ‘Good man.’

  He leaned his scimitar against the wall and stepped into the middle of the alleyway, hoping to restore some order. Like the girl—Roshan, he remembered her name now—many of the daevas had scrapes and cuts. Some nursed a forearm or a hand. One man leaned on a woman for support. Beyond that pair, one-third of the alleyway remained filled with daevas who hadn’t yet gotten up.

  What happened here?

  Emad slid past the injured and knelt before the first daeva he came across. He found a pulse, then patted her cheeks to wake her. She didn’t respond, so he shook her shoulders gently. Still she didn’t wake.

  He looked up and wondered if the other fallen were in the same condition. Emad stepped over the woman and knelt in front of a male daeva. The pupils of his open eyes remained dilated. Emad found no pulse.

  Further ahead, Emad saw a groggy-looking young man picking his way among the fallen. He stopped, bent down and then squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘Navid?’

  The young man looked up and past Emad.

  Roshan sidled along the alleyway’s wall to reach the young man she’d called out to. Emad could see they were siblings. If not for Fiqitush, he’d never have known they were twins.

  With light from above and the entrance, Roshan’s skin looked normal, flesh-coloured.

  When Roshan reached her brother, she looked down. Navid caught her before her legs gave way. Roshan clamped a hand to her mouth, but not before a wail of despair escaped it.

  Emad threaded his way among the fallen. He stopped when he saw the child, a boy of two years. The side of his head touched his shoulder. The child’s neck was broken.

  ‘Prince Emad.’

  Emad looked over at the djinni who’d raised the protective dome. With his hands held out, he continued to renew the dome’s integrity as soldiers on the other side jabbed at it with spears and hacked at it with short swords.

  ‘They have iron weapons. I’m getting tired. I won’t be able to renew this dome for much longer.’

  Emad nodded to the djinni.

  ‘You two,’ he said, addressing the twins. ‘We have to go.’ He saw recognition dawn on Roshan’s face. He shook his head before she could say anything. ‘There’s no time to help them. We have to go—now!’

  The word snapped Navid out of his daze. He took his teary sister by the elbow. Satisfied the pair were doing as they were told, he stepped over and between the fallen to reach the hole in the wall.

  Like the djinni at the front of the alleyway, the female djinni had used a protective dome to prevent more soldiers from entering.

  ‘We’re going,’ he called to her.

  She acknowledged him with a nod.

  Emad stopped himself from turning left. He went right and back to the unconscious woman.

  You can’t save them all, he told himself.

  Emad slid his arms under the daeva. While he couldn’t run more than two hundred paces without having to catch his breath, his strength hadn’t deserted him. Emad hauled himself up and covered the now-clear alleyway. Those capable of leaving were in Baka.

  He waited beside the portal.

  The twins approached, Roshan carrying a different child to the one she’d discovered, and Navid, impressively, carrying a daeva draped across each shoulder.

  Back in Iram, Emad had rolled his eyes as Fiqitush extolled the twins’ virtues. Just now, he’d glimpsed something of what made them special.

  But that didn’t mean he’d let Fiqitush off so lightly. He’d have questions for his brother, and after what he’d just seen, he had better have some good answers.

  3

  Armaiti never tired of the vista, the way the sunlight reflected off the three snowy mountain peaks. The view calmed her, helped her think.

  Her plan, the one she’d made after Emad’s rescue in Derbicca, might work against her. Through a dream and disguised as a lamassu, she had shown Roshan how to channel her auric energy to the daevas. Roshan had only done so for Behrouz and Yesfir, but she now had a means of channelling energy to all the daevas. In time, and disguised as her nemesis, Manah, she’d show Roshan how to do just that. She’d even tell Roshan it would weaken her. Knowing the girl’s inclination for helping others, and after what had just happened in Arshak, Roshan would willingly agree. And Armaiti had more in mind for Roshan, but now she had to provide Sassan with the means of countering Roshan’s rekindling of the djinn’s and daevas’ auric energy.

  Armaiti materialised as an eagle-headed spirit. She folded her wings, bent down and began to scoop away snow with her taloned fingers. She felt a prickling beneath her feathers and saw a lamassu, Manah, staring at her, a disdainful look on his bearded human face. Armaiti ignored him and continued to dig. Her former adversary and now a construct of her imagination—one she’d made to highlight the rightness or wrongness of an intended action—did not move his bull’s body to stop her or flap his wings in anger. His silence and lack of action felt like a condemnation.

  ‘The Unmade Creator told me to bury it here after Solomon died,’ she said, hating herself for justifying her actions. She glanced up at the sky, then continued with her digging. ‘If It didn’t want me to use the seal, It would have told me to destroy it.’

  Manah neither moved nor spoke.

  Tangible as heat, heat that didn’t melt snow and ice, the seal’s power touched her fingertips. The signet ring, with a hexagram composed of two interlaced triangles, lay inside permafrost, which Armaiti melted with a thought.

  The brass ring grasped firmly in her fist, Armaiti looked over at the lamassu and found Manah had gone.

  What does that mean? she wondered.

  She could drop the ring back into the hole, cover it over and let Roshan do whatever it was the Unmade Creator wanted her to do.

  The ring thrummed with the accumulated power of the djinn nation in her balled hand.

  Or was this what the Unmade Creator expected of her? Had It set her up to be the cause that produced the effect It expected to see in Roshan?

  ‘I want Roshan dead,’ she said to the sky. ‘And I think You want me to kill her. Why else, instead of destroying it, would You have told me to bury the seal? If You don’t want me to do this, tell me, show me—do something.’

  She berated herself for justifying her actions as those mirroring the Unmade Creator’s intentions. And Armaiti hated herself for still hoping the Unmade Creator’s silence was all part of Its plan, that once she’d reached her goal and rid this world of Roshan, It would release her and allow her access to her domain.

  The seal’s power throbbed against her palm. Except for the sound of the buffeting wind, she received no reply.

  ‘If You didn’t want me to do this, You would have stopped me days ago,’ she said.

  Armaiti launched herself into the air and flew towards Arshak.

  4

  Emad found his brother seated at a table in his chambers.

  Fiqitush put down the tablet he’d been reading.

  ‘From the look on your face, I’m guessing you weren’t impressed by Baka.’

  Emad bunched his brow.

  ‘Have you heard what happened in Arshak?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Adults and children have been injured or killed trying to escape Sassan’s soldiers. Those twins of yours bungled the evacuation by raising a portal in a narrow alleyway. They made it impossible for anyone to make a fast escape. It’s obvious they’re inexperienced, Fiqitush. Why did you put them in charge?’

  His br
other rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his face. He looked tired. Nineteen years had passed since they’d last met. His brother looked as if he’d aged by a century.

  ‘Compared to the last time you were here, there are more daevas than djinn.’ Fiqitush’s chest fell with a sigh. ‘You’re right about Roshan and Navid, but there’s no one else to spare who can weave magic and raise portals. Things are desperate and likely to get worse now that Sassan and his army have changed direction and are heading east. It’s as if he knows about Baka.’

  Fiqitush was right. Thanks to his obstinance and using Aeshma as an excuse not to meet his brother, what had happened in Derbicca now stretched the djinn and put the daevas in further danger.

  ‘I’ve been here two days, Fiqitush. You haven’t yet told me what you want and why I’m so important to you.’

  Fiqitush rose from his chair and gestured at the cushions scattered in front of a clothes chest.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, then waited until Emad sat cross-legged.

  ‘You sit down too,’ Emad said. ‘I’m not getting a crick in the neck looking up at you.’

  Seated next to him, Fiqitush said, ‘When I built Iram, used the auric energy I took from the seal, I didn’t realise I’d bound myself to it.’

  The resignation behind Fiqitush’s words troubled Emad.

  ‘You’re not making sense,’ he said. ‘What do you mean, you bound yourself to it?’

  His brother ran a hand over his head. Emad recognised his brother’s nervous tic.

  ‘Did you think I sent all those messengers because I am king, because it’s beneath me to visit my brother?’

  Status had never motivated Fiqitush. If he’d wanted to visit him in Derbicca or at sea on Apkallu, he would have. Fiqitush had always made it clear kinship came before kingship.

  Emad gazed about the sparse room. Columns of tablets either side of the table gathered dust, and a broken stylus lay beneath it. A rolled-up rug leaned against a corner. Since his last visit, his brother had really let the place go. No, that wasn’t right.

  ‘The magic holding Iram is failing because…’ Emad couldn’t bring himself to say the rest.

  Fiqitush nodded, his eyes downcast.

  ‘My auric energy is fading. Our people have been generous and donated the remains of their auric energy to help preserve my vitality. There were five hundred of us when we settled here. Now there are barely a hundred.’ He shook his head. ‘I had hoped retrieving Solomon’s seal might have changed all that, severed the bond between me and this place. Iram fell into disrepair over the decades I spent searching for the seal. On my return, I couldn’t reverse the decay. I knew then I could never leave Iram again.’

  Emad held his breath for a moment. Fiqitush’s auric energy was fading. No wonder his brother had kept sending djinn. Fiqitush stared at him as if to say, Save your apology and regrets for another time. Emad swallowed. His brother was neither demonstrative nor sentimental.

  ‘Why have you stopped searching for the seal?’ he said, hoping there was some way for Fiqitush to dodge his situation. ‘There’s still time. This place has started to crumble, but it isn’t exactly falling apart.’

  To Emad’s annoyance, Fiqitush smiled their father’s patient and sympathetic smile.

  ‘Thanks to Roshan, it doesn’t matter.’

  Roshan, again!

  ‘I just got back from Arshak, remember. Even if she’s special, she’s still inexperienced.’

  Fiqitush nodded.

  ‘You’re right. She and her brother still have much to learn. They will need someone to support them. Roshan has tremendous potential to do good, if the right person is around to mentor her. With Roshan supporting us, there’s no need to go after the seal—for now. There’ll be time later on for you to recover it.’

  Again, Emad heard the familiar connotations as Fiqitush spoke. His brother knew something that had escaped him.

  ‘Why do I get the impression you’re talking about me when you talk about Roshan? If anyone should mentor her, it’s you. You were the one trained to rule while I rowed on the river.’ He waved a hand to prevent Fiqitush from interrupting. ‘You could get her to restore your auric energy, like she did Behrouz and Yesfir.’

  Fiqitush wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  ‘I won’t deny the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. I’d like to feel the sun on my face again and do so without the weight of a city dragging me beneath the surface.’

  Emad sat up. It was if Fiqitush had unbolted a door through which Emad could escape.

  ‘Then ask her to do it. Regain your vitality, Iram’s vitality, and then mentor Roshan.’

  Fiqitush laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Fiqitush’s eyes widened and the ends of his lips rose.

  ‘You, you’re funny. Do you remember the word you used with Father when you said you wanted nothing to do with rulership, didn’t want the responsibility?’

  Emad rolled his eyes.

  ‘Of course I don’t. That conversation happened centuries ago.’

  Fiqitush leaned in.

  ‘I remember. The word you used was categorical. I admit it was a big word for you, little brother, but you meant it. Just weeks after my coronation, you bought a ship, hired a crew, explored the world and had adventures. You led those men, and they followed you everywhere. I kept an eye on you, Emad. Over three hundred years, you captained thirty crews of two hundred humans. That’s six thousand, all together. More than I’ve reigned over in the same time. Not bad for a djinni who avoided responsibility. And then, nineteen years ago, you turn up here with a magus. She needed your help, and you protected her.’ Fiqitush clicked his fingers. ‘What was her name?’

  Emad glared at his brother.

  ‘You know her name. It was Shafira. You can stop now. You’ve made your point.’

  Fiqitush shook his head.

  ‘Have I? After centuries of sailing the world, leading and mentoring the men and women who crewed your ships, you gave it all up, without complaint, to care for Aeshma.’ Fiqitush leaned back and pointed. ‘You, brother, are the most responsible person I know.’

  Emad felt cornered and outmanoeuvred. He might have countered with what had happened to Aeshma, but he wasn’t about to bring up their cousin’s death for the sake of an argument.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘So, I can be responsible, but I still don’t see what this has to do with Roshan needing mentoring and why it should be me.’

  His brother’s joviality vanished, making Emad’s stomach twist.

  ‘Because, while you sailed the world, experienced it, I spent all of my time down here. Everything I know about the world is through the eyes of the other djinn.’ He shook his head. ‘What could I possibly teach Roshan and Navid? Besides, it’s time the djinn returned to the surface instead of hiding away underground. They need a leader who knows the world, can show it to them and show them how to be safe.’

  It was Emad’s turn to laugh.

  ‘You speak as if the djinn are children, Fiqitush. You make it sound as if they’ve regressed under your reign.’

  Fiqitush nodded, his lips thin and white.

  ‘How can you agree?’ Emad said. ‘Iram, everything that’s brought us here, is Solomon’s fault and God’s fault. It’s not your fault the djinn went into hiding.’

  Fiqitush reached over and patted Emad’s arm.

  ‘Calm down, brother. I’m just telling you how things are. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. What matters now are the djinn’s and the daevas’ futures. The djinn have lived in hiding too long, and the daevas are a shadow of the djinn they once were. That must change, and they’ll need a leader, not a ruler, to make it happen. For now, their fate rests in Roshan’s hands, and Roshan will need a worldly mentor, an advisor who will be patient with her and tolerant of her mistakes.’

  His brother had given the subject a lot of thought. But one thing made little sense.

  ‘Though I don’t like it, I understand wha
t you’ve said about the djinn and daevas. If Roshan were ever to come for advice, if it were within my sphere of knowledge, I’d give it—just like I’d give it to any djinni or daeva who asked. On the other hand, I don’t see why I have to be her mentor. I don’t see why you’ve singled me out when patience and tolerance aren’t my best qualities.’

  Fiqitush nodded.

  ‘I won’t disagree with you about that. But with the right incentive, you’d develop your patience and tolerance until they were your best qualities.’

  Fiqitush had the annoying habit of discussing a matter without getting to the point. It was a sign of nervousness, a way of putting off news or information he thought was unpleasant.

  ‘I know you’re trying to tell me something, let me down gently. Just get to the—’

  The realisation struck like a kick to the chest. Emad had to stop himself from rolling backwards and falling off his cushion.

  His brother had feigned forgetting Shafira’s name. He’d pretended to remind Emad of her.

  Emad had brought her to Iram to keep her safe. He’d comforted her, and she’d done the same. According to his brother, that was nineteen years ago.

  He looked up and saw Fiqitush nodding.

  ‘That’s right, Emad. Shafira conceived the twins here in Iram. Navid and Roshan are your son and daughter.’

  5

  Roshan tapped the firestone’s surface several times. Its pale red glow changed and filled her room with golden light. The brightness failed to banish her despondence and the image of the child: the side of Daniyel’s head too easily touching a shoulder, his eyes open and unblinking.

  Whatever the motivation behind Armaiti’s destroyer dream, the sabaoth was right.

  What good was weaving sabaoth magic if it did more harm than good? She had tried wishing away the magic, and when that had failed, she’d attempted to banish it with spoken words. It had remained, a part of her she couldn’t understand or control.