by J F Mehentee
Most of the pieces were black. Here and there, she found an edge coated in white, powdery ash. Roshan was about to ask what she was looking for when she saw a rough, opaque stone the size of her little finger’s nail. She held it up for Manah to see.
‘Diamonds grow under tremendous pressure. I placed the centre of the lump under the pressure a mountain might exert if it were on top of it.’
Roshan was confused. Manah had smashed the lump into smaller pieces to reveal the diamond. A mountain would have reduced the piece of charcoal to powder, or something else. Wouldn’t it?
‘Your turn, Roshan. You have a go.’
Roshan’s palms turned sticky. She examined the uncut diamond and then dropped it into her pocket. Using djinn magic and an alchemic incantation, she could produce a diamond from anything, including charcoal. She knew there was a point to this exercise, but she didn’t know what. She pointed at a piece of charcoal on her right.
‘That one.’
‘Good,’ Manah said. ‘Now imagine the charcoal under a lot of pressure, and the pressure increases. Just that piece, mind.’
Roshan closed her eyes and tried to conjure the image of a mountain, its triangular tip pressing down on the charcoal she’d chosen. She imagined the mountain’s weight increasing through its centre and an opaque crystal forming beneath its tip.
‘Ready,’ Manah said. ‘One. Two—’
Something touched her mind, as if a gentle breeze had entered her head.
‘Three.’
Roshan smelled burning and opened her eyes.
Before her, the entire pile of charcoal was aflame.
Manah’s eyes never left the fire.
‘Before you applied pressure, did you experience anything?’ he said.
It was hard to tell if Manah expected all the charcoal to catch light, or if he wanted her to learn something else from this exercise.
‘A kind of coolness in my head. It’s not something I’d feel while weaving djinn or human magic. Does it have something to do with that?’ She pointed at the fire.
Manah shot her an approving smile.
‘It does. That coolness—it’s different for each sabaoth—is the Domain power warning you it wasn’t sure what you wanted. What you got was the closest approximation of your request.’
She’d imagined making a diamond using pressure, just like Manah had told her. So, why the fire?
‘Increasing pressure produces heat,’ Manah said. He must have read her mind. ‘The pressure you placed the charcoal under also created heat, which spread to the other lumps. Domain power tried to warn you this would happen. Next time you have a similar feeling, what will you do?’
Roshan was a novice again, back at the temple and sitting in a lesson. She’d never liked getting a tutor’s question wrong, facing their ire and then the other novices’ jibes.
‘Well, Roshan, what will you do next time?’
While teaching her djinn magic, Yesfir had taught Roshan a technique for calming her mind. Through controlling her breath, she could reduce her stream of thoughts to a trickle. It allowed her to focus her attention on the incantation.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I want to say Stop the thought. Even if I could control my thinking all the time, I didn’t know that increasing pressure creates heat until you told me. How am I supposed to avoid making a mistake when I don’t know why I’m making it?’
Manah smirked.
‘Because you can’t and because I tricked you. Remember, Domain power is alive, so let it think for you. Your thoughts must focus only on outcomes.’
Roshan chewed her lower lip. Manah had set her up to illustrate a point, but she didn’t understand what it was.
‘Focus on outcomes. What does that mean?’
Manah looked from her to the burning charcoal and back again. He snorted and shook his head.
‘When you think about what you want, don’t include the how; concentrate only on the what. I asked you to make a diamond. But I complicated things by telling you how to make it. Domain power knows how to make a diamond. You just have to tell it the size you want and if it’s cut or uncut. Leave the rest up to Domain power.’
What Manah said made sense. It explained what had happened in Derbicca with Administrator Arman and his guards. In Arshak, when she’d told the scrum of daevas to stop, she hadn’t thought how to make them stop, but neither had she been specific: stop and stand still. If Domain power had tried to warn her, she wouldn’t have understood what she’d felt.
The pile of burning charcoals disappeared. In its place lay a trench, fifteen paces long and embedded in the basin’s floor. Water then filled the trough. It bubbled, steam rising from its surface.
‘As you discover the nature of Domain power and how to shape your thoughts to weave sabaoth magic, you must learn how to weave magic as your situation changes.’ Manah pointed at the trough with his chin. ‘The water, as you can see, is boiling. In this exercise, you can’t change the temperature of all the water in the channel, just the water surrounding the fish.’
A fish the size of Roshan’s hand, its scales and fins pale pink, appeared above the trough and landed in the water with a splash. Roshan gasped. Through the steam and bubbles, she saw the fish swim the length of the trough, turn and swim back. Roshan stepped closer. The steam wet her face, and the heat rose the closer she got.
The fish stopped swimming directly beneath Roshan. Its fins undulated as it maintained its position among the rising bubbles. Its mouth opened and closed, and its gills flapped in time.
The fish, water and the trough disappeared so quickly, Roshan found herself staring at bare, flat rock.
‘I want you to create ten diamonds, without setting light to the adjacent lumps of charcoal,’ Manah said. ‘You decide the size and cut. When you’ve mastered making inanimate objects, I want you to make a fish, a live one, and then protect it as it swims up and down a channel of boiling water.’
I’ll cook the poor fish.
As a novice, she’d conjured plants and fruits, but never a living creature.
‘What happens if I kill the fish?’
Manah raised his eyebrows and gazed at her despairingly.
‘Then resurrect it and start again.’
With the right incantations, a necromancer could use human magic to resurrect an animal, although the results were unpredictable and often dangerous. Necromancers were former magi who’d abandoned the Divine Light and used their skills and magic for their own ends. What Manah wanted her to do, the high temple deemed unholy and shunned.
Manah must have read her mind again.
‘You are not a magus, Roshan, and people have died because you wove sabaoth magic. If you want to stop Armaiti and save the djinn and daevas, you can no longer think like a novice or a magus. Your ability to summon Domain power makes you very dangerous. Whether or not you want to, you could destroy the world with a single thought. Consider that, Roshan, and then decide if resurrecting a fish is abhorrent.’
Manah turned and walked up the path they’d taken to reach the basin. Roshan dashed over and stood in front of him.
‘You’re not leaving?’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to stay and help me with the exercises?’
Manah tilted his head. The corners of his eyes creased and pulled his lips into a tight smile.
‘I’ve given you much to think about and a lot to do. You must practise, sharpen your thoughts and make them pliant enough to anticipate all possible futures. If you have to, return to Iram, but I’d recommend you concentrate on the exercises without distractions. I’ll come back this evening, and we’ll continue your lessons.’
Manah sidestepped Roshan and continued up the mountain. She wheeled to watch him leave, unsure if she could achieve a fraction of what he expected of her by the time he returned. A half-dozen steps up the path, the lamassu faded and then disappeared.
10
Sassan finished his morning prayers and opened his eyes. Light seeped through the canvas. I
t relaxed him to continue kneeling and watch how the flames in the fire altar consumed the cedar wood. The headache he’d woken up with this morning, however, hadn’t eased.
Sassan stood. The amphora still lay next to the golden arrow. There hadn’t been time to return the diluted poppy juice to the apothecary. He shook his head and left for the operations tent.
Outside, under a clear sky, the camp was already busy with preparations for the executions. He saw handcarts being drawn towards Arshak, their contents the platform he’d later stand on.
As expected, General Afacan waited for him inside the tent. The general stood.
‘Think, speak and act well, High Magus,’ he said.
‘Think, speak and act well, General,’ Sassan replied. He didn’t wait to sit down before saying, ‘What are the latest numbers for yesterday’s trouble?’
Sassan sat down and the general followed.
‘We captured thirty-five daevas. Seven are children. And there were two casualties—one a daeva child. Three djinn helped the daevas escape through a portal. One of them was the young woman in Derbicca who killed an archer with a scream.’
Sassan’s insides quivered. He’d heard about the djinni with the scream and wondered if there were other djinn as powerful. Could he count on the sabaoth’s arrow to stop djinn like her? He’d memorised the incantation the eagle-headed spirit had taught him. He could make more golden arrows.
Wait, he said to himself, there’s a better way to deal with this.
‘General, I want all thirty-five daevas executed. The executions will take place outside the city. We’ve a rebellion on our hands. I don’t trust any daeva to keep their word after they convert. After what happened in Derbicca, they’ll go on practising their magic, knowing that if they’re caught, the djinn will come rescue them.’
The general didn’t move. He looked as if he hadn’t understood what Sassan had said.
‘General?’
‘The vast majority of daevas in Arshak have their own businesses. There was no need for them to resort to magic to earn a living. This sounds like we’re executing daevas for being daevas.’
Sassan shook his head. At times, the general could be too soft on them. They had to quash the rebellion before it drew the emperor’s attention.
‘If they weren’t practising magic, why did they run, try to escape down that alley?’ Sassan said.
The general nodded.
‘I’m still making enquiries about that. However, if we execute every daeva we arrest, we’ll give them a reason to run.’
Sassan rubbed his temples. His headache had worsened.
‘The evacuation of daevas from cities began weeks ago, General. When we arrive outside a city, the daevas we encounter are either too stupid to leave, too slow or want us to execute them before the daeva madness claims them. I’ve been a fool to believe the daevas would comply and embrace the One Religion.’ Sassan curled his hand into a fist. ‘I won’t let them treat us like fools anymore. We must find Baka as soon as possible and exterminate the daevas and the djinn.’
The general cleared his throat.
‘If all daevas are fleeing to Baka, why don’t we just annex the city? They’d be easier to control.’
Why was the general being so soft on them and protecting them? Why couldn’t he see this was God’s work?
‘The emperor has approved my request to take Baka,’ Sassan said. ‘I want you to request the reinforcements you deem necessary to reduce that city and its occupants to rubble.’ He stood, and the general followed. ‘Don’t forget what happened in Derbicca, General Afacan. What happened yesterday is the first sign the daevas no longer respect either the emperor’s authority or God’s. Write the request and dispatch it today. Am I understood?’
The general saluted.
‘Perfectly, High Magus.’
‘Think, speak and act well, General,’ Sassan said, and exited the tent before the general could reply.
Back in his own tent, it felt as if burning needles had punctured his head. Sassan hurried to the table, his hand hovering over the amphora.
The fire in the altar still burned.
Sassan knelt before it, clasped his hands together and prayed to distract himself. He prayed the emperor would grant General Afacan’s request for reinforcements. Then he asked God for proof the djinn and daevas were a threat to the One Religion and deserved annihilation.
Instead of a worded answer, Sassan heard a clank. He opened his eyes. Something had landed among the blackened wood and grey ashes, and it had struck the metal tray beneath. Sassan retrieved his fire-tongs and used them to brush away the ash and wood.
If not for Baka’s location on the wooden plaque and the golden arrow, Sassan might have felt wonder at the sight of the metal object sitting among the flames. In its place he experienced satisfaction and a deepening of his conviction. God wanted Sassan to succeed.
Sassan held up the object with the tongs and blew on it. It was a ring, a signet ring made from what looked like brass. It bore a hexagram for its seal. He recognised it not from tablets and papyri but from his days as a novice and his history lessons. God had instructed a sabaoth to make the ring and present it to a king from ancient times named Solomon. Could this be that ring?
A shiver ran across his chest, and Sassan’s grip on the tongs loosened. The ring dropped onto the rug.
Sassan bent down. The tongs being cumbersome, he touched the ring with a fingertip and then two. It was cool. He picked it up and examined it.
There was no way to tell if this was the ring, the seal King Solomon had used to enslave the djinn nation.
The ring was made for a king, he told himself.
Perhaps he was meant to give the ring to the emperor, let him wear and deal with the djinn-and-daevas problem. The idea had considerable appeal. But to give the ring to the emperor would be to admit failure. It might even suggest to others that God favoured the emperor over His own high magus.
Sassan shook his head.
Now you’re being paranoid. If that were true, why was the ring delivered to you? You asked for a sign, not a means of controlling the djinn. Maybe this ring is just that, a sign.
There was only one way to find out. Sassan held the ring over the middle finger of his trembling right hand. He took a deep breath and then slid it over his finger.
Sassan counts six steps, each carrying him closer to a throne draped in purple silk and canopied. A carved wooden eagle perches on top of the throne. The carving is so intricate, exquisite, it is as if a real eagle looks down at him. He turns and sits. Beneath the steps is a hall filled with men, women and children. He sees the red flames around their eyes. Sassan raises his right hand. At the sight of the ring, the djinn drop to their knees.
Their voices, the sound of a dry thunderstorm, say as one, ‘Command us, Bearer of the Seal.’
Sassan exhaled, opened his eyes and found himself back inside his tent.
He clamped a hand to his mouth to smother a giggle. Tears blurred his vision as he knelt.
‘Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.’
He heaved himself up, his legs shaky and his skin coated with sweat.
A thought hammered into him and made him stagger.
Sassan regained his balance and steadied his breathing. He headed for the tent’s exit but then stopped when he remembered the golden arrow, the sabaoth’s arrow. He grabbed it, knocking the amphora of diluted poppy juice onto the floor, and dashed outside.
Inside the operations tent, General Afacan’s senior staff had joined him. He and the rest of his officers stood to attention. Sassan wondered what he must have looked like, because the general regarded him with concern more than surprise.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, General,’ he said, then realised he was wheezing. Sassan wanted to laugh, jump, shout with joy. He puffed out his chest and raised his chin. ‘I want you to cancel my last order and postpone the executions.’
11
Emad looked up to see Sh
ephatiah waiting for him at the top of the rocky hill. The cool morning breeze did nothing to stop sweat coating his face. His thighs and calves burned from the climb, causing Emad’s feet to drag for the final few steps.
‘Are you all right, Your Highness?’ Shephatiah said.
Emad neither felt nor looked all right.
‘I’m just getting old, lad.’
The djinni bent his head back to take in the dark-grey fort. A mosaic of different-sized rocks, not brick, formed its high walls.
‘I could have raised a portal instead of you climbing the stairs,’ Shephatiah said.
One corner of Emad’s mouth rose. The lad had no idea.
‘If you had, our heads would have left our shoulders before we could step through there.’ He pointed at the giant double doors and their open wicket gate. ‘Our hosts don’t like surprises. They like to know they have visitors before they arrive.’
‘I see,’ Shephatiah said.
Emad didn’t think so.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.’
Shephatiah’s loud intake of breath made Emad smile.
Beyond the wicket gate, a garden filled the courtyard, a white marble fountain at its centre. Their boots crunched on pea-sized gravel as they moved deeper into the centre of the two-storey fort. Above them, the balconies appeared empty, but Emad knew they were being watched.
Rose bushes filled the garden. The blooms’ scent and their jewel-like colours—coral, lapis and ruby—erupted from among the waxy green leaves.
‘Remember, lad,’ Emad whispered, ‘don’t move and don’t speak unless spoken to.’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
Emad heard Shephatiah’s step falter. He hadn’t meant to scare the boy, although it was best to be careful in such a dangerous place.
Emad skirted the fountain, Shephatiah close behind. He found the patter of water increased his heart rate and didn’t calm it. When he spotted her, the hood of her red robe pulled over her head, he held out a halting hand.
‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘Keep your hands together so they know you’re not weaving magic.’
