by Prue Batten
‘You’re…’
‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ this strange djinn replied, the smell of garlic and cumin rising as he laid his finger by the side of his nose. ‘Isolde’s Finnian, you would be far more comfortable in these. Change through that door there. The souks will be far more enjoyable and profitable if you are cool.’
How do you know me? Does she know I’m here? His gut crawled as he took the clothes and turned for the door the djinn had indicated. He stripped, standing naked for a moment as the sweat cooled on his skin, and as he pulled a dark grey embroidered kurta over his head he wondered how it was Isolde and her cohorts could have found him so soon and he feeling safe for less than a moment. Have they? He shivered in his newly cool clothes and looked behind him. Had Primaflora spread the word? Had she carried it in her chirpy little voice to the doves and had the doves carried it on wings to Baduh, that speedy sprite of the Raj responsible for message delivery? Would the Siofra be so specious? On the one hand saying how important it was to find the charms and keep them safe and then on the other to tell all and sundry? Resentment crawled over him. An image of the dead Poli, guts split open on the deck of the Cullenen, and the old woman holding her husband in her arms filled the cloistered space in which he changed. Death, death, death. He balled up his old clothes and threw the heavy tangled mass into the corner.
Outside, he searched for the greasy djinn but there was predictably nothing, just a feeling of paranoia weighing on his neck as he crossed the bazaar, weaving between busy people and past the noisy, fragrant camel lines.
The camels moved from hoof to hoof, turning their heads to gaze about with baleful, nervous expressions. Finnian sensed something in the air and turned, his attention focused on every detail of the massive square. A kizmet snatched at his hair, tearing it back, and his nerves stretched that bit further. Something’s wrong. The wind doubled back and blew between the camels’ legs, sand and dust swirling in a fretful column. Finnian realised the danger of that funnel but then so did the mortals as disturbed fingers reached for amulets and voices called on a blessing of safety from Diff Erebi, the king of djinns.
At the end of the lines, the vicious draft flicked at a torn fragment of bedraggled cotton, wrapping it around the foreleg of a large bull-camel. The animal began to bellow, bucking as the long shred flapped like a flag. Ropes stretched and snapped and a posse of distressed camels began to skirl around, roaring with distress. One began to canter toward the open city gates and in seconds a stampede had begun, the bazaar a foetid cloud of dust and screaming.
Finnian jumped up the steps out of the way. The noise of shrieking women and yelling men and the bark of excited dogs created more panic. The camels brayed, drawing their lips back over tombstone teeth, huge feet kicking out, bodies swaying, ungainly and heavy. The old in the crowd tripped and fell and were dragged out of the way as children ducked and wove but there was crushing and bruising in the tumult. Finnian lifted his arm to still the beasts but the whirlwind djinn spun harder, the kizmet moaning louder, a shriek that drilled fear ever deeper into the camels. Try as he might, Finnian cursed that he was no match for this malicious Raji Other.
In a dusty, fraught while, when the gates had been wrenched shut and handlers with whips and fierce words had rounded up the beleagured animals and secured the lines, a tiny infant was found beaten black and blue by many calloused hooves, tossed and turned as if it had been a ball kicked in a game of cuju or dhada.
The wails of the mother filled the bazaar and the crowd turned away with pity in their eyes. Finnian saw the woman pull the corpse to her chest and rock back and forth as she hauled her sari over her head and over the limp body. Its precious head lolled back, eyes mercifully closed. As Finnian stepped near, he saw a lock of baby-fine black hair fall over the bruised and cut forehead and for a moment he thought he looked at himself, so bizarre was the likeness of the child. The mother looked up, her eyes filled with anguish that spilled in kohl rivulets down her cheeks. Finnian heard the question asked over and over as she wailed: ‘Why, why, why, why?’
He searched the crowd that surrounded the mother for a face with a crooked turban and there in the light of the fast setting sun, there he was – gappy mouth grinning, the fingers waggling back and forth.
Hatred choked Finnian.
Chapter Eleven
Lalita
‘Begin at the beginning,’ the afrit mumbled with a mouth full of sultanas, ‘and just say it and be done, Rajeeb.’
‘Indeed, the beginning,’ Rajeeb smoothed his trousers as he sat. ‘Lalita, you are aware your brother was friendly with a Traveller, the embroiderer Adelina, since he was but a babe in arms and she likewise?’
‘I have vaguely heard of her. I believe she was his friend from the markets and fairs and I think our parents and her own were traveling acquaintances even earlier. But I never met her. My parents died when I was but a babe and I spent my whole life with…’ pain filled her chest with raw edges. ‘I’ve lived in Ahmadabad for my whole life.’ She clasped her hands tightly.
‘She is very beautiful,’ continued Rajeeb. ‘Like the Luned forest in a blaze of autumn which in itself is unheard of because it is always spring there, enchanted as it is. But I am sure you understand what I mean. A year ago or perhaps a little more, Kholi and Adelina were attending the Stitching Fair in Trevallyn. They came across each other by accident and began to travel together, taking a young woman with them whom they picked up on the road. I won’t go into the woman’s history because it has no bearing on what I wish to tell you. It is a story for another time. But suffice to say that as Kholi and Adelina journeyed with this young lady, they also met an Other called Liam; a Færan. Kholi and Liam became friends…’
‘My brother friendly with an Other? How very strange.’
‘Is it?’ the afrit looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
She went to speak and then stopped as realization dawned and then, ‘Oh. No. I see.’
The afrit grimaced as he lay down on the floor, his head pillowed on a jute bag, his hands clasped over his belly. ‘This is a so-so story, Rajeeb. Mortals are so uninteresting.’ He glanced at Lalita inviting her objections.
‘Afrit, this is a story for Lalita. I tell it for her, so be quiet or you might end in a bottle. Where was I?’ He propped his fists on his thighs and leaned forward. ‘Kholi and Adelina went to Star, the town on the Celestine Stair and I believe by dint of time together, that is where they began to fall in love.’
Love. Kholi had been in love. Lalita thought back. Yes, I felt it. He was content.
‘Now the story begins to take a darker, and in the case of your paperweight charm, most dangerous turn. Kholi and Adelina ran into a woman, Severine di Accia. Formally a Traveller like Adelina, she married a Venichese noble and became wealthy and powerful. She was also a madwoman; it is the only way to describe her.’
‘Why?’ Lalita had a million images in her mind. Of her brother with the woman he was learning to love. Of a madwoman. Of Others. It had the makings of a story from A Thousand and One Nights; Rajeeb had been right. Envy flowed through her, a sour, acidic burn directed at Adelina who had Kholi’s love. I’m jealous. She squeezed her hands as she tried to rationalise. But why? I could have had Mahmoud in another life if I had wanted but I didn’t because I craved something else…
‘Severine di Accia was responsible for the death of your brother.’
Her eyes began to fill. No.
‘You must not cry, little Flower. We have far to go and if you weep then I shan’t be able to continue. For Kholi you must be brave. You must hear this story.’
She nodded and he recounted more, the daylight shifting along the slats of the shed. ‘Severine had found the charm of immortality as well as the other three charms of dominion. I would not be the only one who would like to know how she unearthed them because for hundreds of years they lay buried where the Færan Elders secreted them and it is almost inconceivable that a mortal should have found them. Can you unders
tand? These were Other charms, it’s unbelievable and yet it happened.’
‘Why weren’t the charms destroyed if they were so iniquitous?’ Lalita asked. ‘Surely a mind that can create such a thing can just as easily destroy the same thing.’
‘I told you, Flower. They are above destruction.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense.’
‘Nevertheless it is true and sad with it. A sick woman’s obsession with those charms caused your brother’s death.’
Rajeeb spoke so plainly, Lalita despising it and yet she knew she must listen if she was to learn of Kholi’s last days. Her stomach turned; she was afraid of how she might respond, afraid of the strength of her grief, aware that she had already been weakened by loss and yet she had to know. She sat silent, staring at the djinn’s face, barely seeing the crisp features, the hair as blue-black as Kholi’s.
‘But it was the immortality charm Contessa di Accia wanted most. In her twisted mind she believed she was destined to be immortal one way or another, either by an accident of birth, which we know was not possible, or by the immortality charm as form of insurance. By the use of a ring, a soul-syphon that went with the spell, she could suck out two Færan souls and have them sewn into a garment which she would then wear, the life force soaking through the warp and weft into her own tissue; into her very being.’
The repugnant detail unraveled and all the while Lalita’s hands twisted and turned as her brother’s life hung in the balance.
‘Severine had kept a close and secret eye on Adelina and her friends and had surmised that Liam was Færan. She began to track him – he would be her second soul and all the better because Liam was a friend of Adelina’s whom she hated with a passion.’ Rajeeb stood and leaned against a pillar. ‘Fate is such a cruel master, you know. Liam and the young woman, Adelina’s friend, were in love and she was killed at this time when she fell from a horse.’
‘This story is such a tragedy and hangs about my brother like stinking carrion. If only…’
‘The world is made up of ‘if only’s’, Lalita. Tragedy must be faced and dealt with. It is pointless hiding from it or running away, because in the end it will be there waiting. Somehow, we must drag up our intestinal fortitude and deal as best we can with whatever the Fates serve us. Life goes on, it is the way of it. Shall I continue?’
Rajeeb touched her and she nodded, wrapping her arms around her body.
‘Adelina was filled with grief as she loved the young woman like a sister. Kholi supported her as a soon-to-be husband would but even he...’
‘Soon-to-be husband?’ Lalita gasped. ‘Adelina was to marry him? But he sent no message home. He would have told me.’
‘Ah, little flower, love is speedy; barely a breath before one knows it is the right person and the right moment. But we must continue. After the woman’s funeral, the three grief-stricken friends left for Veniche, traveling along the Luned Highway. The contessa tracked them down and found Liam and Kholi in a clearing.’
Rajeeb moved to sit next to Lalita. He took her hands in his own and cradled them gently, running his thumbs back and forth. Lalita’s belly writhed in a tangle. I am not ready, I shall never be ready. ‘Oh no, Rajeeb,’ she begged. ‘Please.’
‘It is time, my dear. This you must know.’ His thumbs still circled. ‘Kholi died trying to protect Liam who was his friend. You know he would have been courageous and steadfast.’ Rajeeb sat for a moment and then, ‘Contessa di Accia was desperate for Liam’s soul and she used Kholi’s life to threaten him. She got what she wanted but there is little doubt she intended for Kholi to die all along. Witnesses had no role to play in her plans.’
A sob racked forth. ‘How?’
The afrit sat by her other side and slipped his arm comfortingly and most unusually through hers. ‘Oh Little damsel, what does ‘how’ matter? What difference does it make? He is gone and was brave and forthright and you can be proud.’
‘I need to know,’ she whispered.
Rajeeb sighed. ‘His throat…’
‘It was cut, wasn’t it? I felt it. Someone cut my brother’s throat.’ Her own throat tightened and stung.
‘He was garotted, Lalita. It would have been very quick.’ Then Rajeeb held her as the maelstrom broke.
Quick was a relative term. She knew that Kholi would have struggled and fought as his life drained into the mosses in the Luned Forest and she needed to wash the thoughts away with her tears. ‘I felt it. It was as if I swallowed wire and the pain knocked me to the floor. After,’ she took a shuddering breath, ‘a dark shroud dropped over me and to tell the truth it has been on my shoulder ever since.’ She burst out, ‘Why did Adelina love him, why involve him with her life? If she had kept herself away, I would still have a brother. At least one member of my family would still be alive.’
The djinn took her hand and held it tight. ‘But think, Lalita,’ he replied gently. ‘What was Kholi like?’
She allowed one tear after another to roll unchecked. ‘Passionate, caring, courageous and loyal, so loyal.’
‘Easily led?’
‘Never.’
‘Then what he did he did of his own volition, a master of his own emotions?’
Lalita nodded, answering back. ‘But why did he love her?’
‘It is the way of it. Fate. No one can control with whom they fall in love and with whom they wish to spend a life. It happens. He did love her and Fate decreed their love should be strong if short. That it endures is obvious as it can be measured by the end result. They had a child.’
‘A child.’ Lalita stood up. ‘A child?’
‘Indeed. A little babe called Isabella. She is dark haired like her father.’
Silence filled the shed although Lalita could swear that in one of those odd crystal-clear moments that happen in life, she heard the silkworms chewing the edges of mulberry leaves and the slippery lick as caterpillars began to tease the saliva from their mouths, to twist and turn until they were sheathed in a silky chrysalis. She twisted a knot of her own silk clothing in her fingers and wiped her eyes with it. I have family.
‘Is that the end of the story?’
‘Yes and no,’ Rajeeb moved and eased his legs out in front of him. ‘But Lalita, I am thinking that the rest of the story must be later. The sun begins to sink and the women will be here shortly to refresh the mulberry leaves, so we shall move to another place.’
‘In Ahmahdabad?’
‘Unfortunately,’ Rajeeb stood and brushed down his black trousers.
‘What he is not telling,’ said the afrit, ‘is that if he leaves this palace, every bit of good he has ever done will be reversed.’
‘Is this true? Lalita grasped Rajeeb’s arm.
He cast a furious look at the afrit. ‘Not now. Come.’ He gave her his hand and she felt the cool fingers close over.
Vertigo disoriented her, spinning and swirling until hands stilled her and she could open her eyes and look around. She gasped. ‘The Library. Aine, you play with my life.’ She scanned the pillared and tiled interior, thinking that any minute the Sultan would emerge through an archway, his face with its dissimilar halves rendered even more frightening by the odd light in the chamber.
The divans around the walls were piled with silk cushions, long tables had stools pushed neatly beneath and shelf upon shelf of book, scroll and codex ascended beyond sight. The thickest volumes lay next to each other on the bottom shelves, others were open on inlaid timber bookstands, the smell of parchment and vellum cloyingly familiar. There were no windows along the walls, light fell from a cleverly domed roof but as the hours chased the day, so the illumination darkened.
Rajeeb wafted his hand and from a far corner, amber flame flickered and glowed and the three moved toward it. ‘Not at all. The Sultan is away, the officials with him and how fortuitous that he has the library locked in his absence and the keys placed in his travel coffers. In addition your fateful friends in the harem are in their quarters on the other side of the palace, so
you need have no concern.’
The afrit threw himself on a pile of cushions on the floor. ‘Tell her the rest of the tale, Rajeeb. We have all night. And then she must make decisions.’
‘Shall I find out more about Isabella?’
Rajeeb nodded. ‘To hear of Isabella, you must hear of Adelina, the two are one. If you can accept this then make yourself comfortable and I will continue.’ He sat himself on a divan and stretched his legs onto an ottoman covered in burnished red leather. ‘Can you accept that Adelina is the mother of your niece, Lalita?’
Can I? Can I have a care for the woman when I know if my brother hadn’t tied himself to her, he would be alive? She thought of her brother, could see him as he laughed, telling the woman how thrilled he was she carried his child. You never knew the child, Kholi. ‘It seems I must accept it.’
Rajeeb’s eyebrows raised but he acknowledged her acceptance and continued. ‘Severine had captured and imprisoned Adelina to embroider that most fateful gown of souls. But Adelina secretly plotted, planning revenge for Kholi’s death.’
‘It’s the least she could do if she loved him,’ Lalita muttered.
The afrit spoke up. ‘Huh, it seems to me Kholi deserved nothing less than to be avenged.’
‘May I continue?’
The afrit motioned regally to Rajeeb with his hand.
‘I now appear in our tale.’ The djinn looked down at his loosely clasped hands. My father had imprisoned me in a lamp the size of the ornament on a woman’s wristlet.’
‘But why?’
‘It is of no matter.’
Lalita leaned forward. She had barely examined the impossible fact that she had been rescued by Others, that her life hung in the balance between the fingers of a djinn and an afrit. Now she must choose to think of them as her friends – not merely Others but friends, because more than anything she needed such amity and one of these Others knew of her brother and most unbelievably, her niece. ‘Whatever caused you to be a part of this is important and I would like to know.’
