by Baloch, Fuad
Whoever had brought her here had decided not to kill her. There had to be a reason behind that. An opening she could pry open and use to her advantage.
She glared out the windows. The wind had calmed down now, the tapestries blowing gently against the walls. Outside, the sunlight had weakened. Afternoon, she decided. Three, maybe four hours before the sun would set.
How much time had passed since the Battle of Buzdar? Could she still influence the battle’s outcome or had the fates of her soldiers and her nation already been sealed?
A wilting wave of helplessness washed over her. Cut adrift from the passage of time, blinded to the real world, she had been made ignorant.
She had to get out!
The sound of something heavy thumping the ground beyond the doors startled her. Nuraya froze, wondering if she was hearing things. The noise came again. Louder. Clearer. The sound of heavy boots dragging over stone. Getting closer.
Nuraya turned around, her heart beating hard. Her captors were finally here. Then, she realized the one thing she should have done and hadn’t. Plan what she wanted to say to the captors when they finally dared show their faces.
Not that it mattered. Rabb would show her the right way.
The boots stopped outside the door. The handle rattled, followed by the sound of a chain being pulled away.
Nuraya stood straight, slipping into the scowl she hoped imitated Abba’s legendary scorn.
The handles shook and the doors opened with a groan.
Nuraya opened her mouth as her captor came into view.
She blinked.
Her captor—a monster seven feet high, its dark brown skin mottled, peeling and flaking as if folds of some overripe fruit, the eyes pools of red with no irises, two holes in the center of its face instead of a nose—shuffled inside the room. It made a gasping sound, raising a claw toward her, the other hand carrying a tray laden with food.
Revulsion washed over her.
The beast shambled forward, filling the room with a terrible stench she’d long associated with the graveyard in Matli. Gagging, Nuraya stepped back. Again, the gasping sound came from the beast’s mouth, the red eyes staring at her with a ferocity that set her skin crawling.
Nuraya had seen the beast before. Never in real life, of course. Only in pictures drawn up from times long past where ungodly beings like it roamed the realms of men. When men fought not just the djinn and minions of evil pari folk, but also the ghouls.
Ghoul.
She was looking at a ghoul!
The wretched being took another step toward her, its misshapen presence now filling Nuraya’s vision. She retreated, bumped into the wall. The ghoul opened its jaw, revealing rotten and stained teeth the color of spoiled eggs, a claw rising to point at her.
Nuraya screamed.
The ghoul startled. The tray clattered from its hand and fell, its contents spilling on the ground.
The ghoul opened its mouth, made a harrowing keening noise.
Before Nuraya had a chance to recover her senses, the ghoul turned around and shuffled out of the room, closing the doors behind it. The putrid air rang out with the clang of the bolt being drawn into place.
Chapter 3
Shoki
The sky melted. The distant horizon fell away, leaving an afterimage in its wake. Shoki blinked and shook his head to clear his vision, swaying on his feet. His shirt stuck to his back even though the breeze against his skin was cool, the air still moist with the last remnants of rain.
“There!” Jiza shouted, waving her hand toward a tower of dust that seemed to be rushing their way. Shoki did a double take. Was he back in the deserts of central Istan? That couldn’t be right. Was he hallucinating? He rubbed his good eye, then squinted across the wetland.
Not dust. Riders! A tall man wearing a brass helmet leading fifty or so riders, moving as if he and his dark horse were one. A familiar figure. One Jiza had told him about even if he had forgotten that for a bit. A man who had spent his youth in the service of Istani sultans across various battlefields, then devoted his middle years to keeping the streets of Algaria safe at night.
Shoki felt his knees buckle. Gods’ guts, why was he on his feet anyway? And why was Jiza acting so strange all of a sudden, her teeth bare for no good reason?
His mind wandered. Something was wrong with him. He shook his head clear, raised his trembling hand toward the approaching riders, even as Jiza smiled beside him.
“What am I missing?” he asked, cocking his head to a side to get a better look. “What are you planning?”
“Huh?” Jiza asked.
Shoki opened his jaw, then his eye fell on the rider flanking the leader. A thin man, his weak chest unimpressive even under the heavy leather vest. Third son of a great man who had risen to a position of great prominence beside Nuraya.
Nuraya.
An inexplicable pang of jealousy stabbed his heart. Here was a man who had become the shadow of the woman he loved. One who had stood beside her at all major junctures of her life. The man who had helped her unconditionally, unlike him.
“Shoki!” Salar Ihagra shouted, his voice carrying over the hundred yards between them and the sound of clacking hooves.
“Salar!” Shoki mumbled. Old habits took root. He took an uncertain step forward, then staggered to a stop and bowed his head, his long hair falling over his face. The grass underneath his boots was rich, teeming with fauna he couldn’t even begin to name. He flicked his hair back. Rain or no rain, maybe there was wisdom in a helmet keeping one’s hair pulled back in.
Dimly, he heard Salar Ihagra jump off his horse, and raised his chin expectantly. The salar’s face could have been carved from stone, the ends of his white mustache curled up in the manner they’d been when they had met three months ago. Other riders were now pulling their reins as well.
“By the gods, it’s good to see you!” said Salar Ihagra.
“You too,” mumbled Shoki.
“It was good of you to seek us out,” noted Jiza, the thin smile still on her lips. Shoki inhaled. Was that smile meant for someone else accompanying the salar? Camsh?
“Not quite how I’d put it,” Salar Ihagra replied, then reached forward and pulled Shoki into a hug. At first, Shoki resisted, unsure of all the different emotions raging within his chest. A part of him wanted to forget all that had happened over the past few months. The last time he’d seen this man, it had been on the eve of battle against the Reratish prince, just before they had lost Nuraya. What battles would follow from this meeting of theirs? Tears leaked through Shoki’s eye, even as the skin under the patch itched. He sniffled.
Time had moved on. And he was no longer the bumbling guard, but an ex-magus who had made one too many wrong decisions. One who was slowly losing his grasp over reality, seeing things no one else did.
Shoki broke away from the embrace and stepped back. The salar smiled, his back ramrod straight. Though he didn’t show it, Shoki could tell the salar was tired, the lines around his mouth and eyes deeper than Shoki remembered.
Thunder clapped in the distance. Another storm was brewing over the Eastern Realm. Camsh approached them warily, one hand fidgeting with the straps of his vest.
“Things are bad, Shoki,” the salar said, his gruff voice low. He nodded at Camsh as he came to stand beside him. “But there are opportunities.”
“Bad?” Shoki asked, growing worried. Could they sense the madness devouring him? Was it that obvious?
“The whole realm has gone to the wolves,” the salar said.
“That’s right… erm… Sahib Shoki,” said Camsh. If lethargy had been only subtly noticeable on the salar’s face, it seemed to be etched in every movement the younger man made. Camsh wore no turban either—just like Shoki—his scalp moist through his thin hair. “Even the local ameer of this province has broken his vows.”
Shoki chuckled. “Vows? Mere words, that’s all they are.”
Camsh exchanged a glance with the salar. “Words hold power. So
long as they are uttered, heeded, and enforced, peace prevails over a realm. When they’re forgotten… disaster!”
Shoki licked his lower lip, fighting the yawn that was threatening to take shape. Now that he thought about it, he, too, was tired. When was the last time he’d rested? Ever since he and Jiza had fled Buzdar, they’d been riding east without stop. But he was close now. So very close. The weak tug in his heart pulled at him and he smiled.
Camsh opened his mouth but Shoki raised a hand, then planted his stare at the salar. “I need to get through the Zakhanan lines. Will you help me?”
Salar Ihagra arched an eyebrow. “That’s the wrong question to be asking.”
“What do you mean?”
The salar took a step forward. “The real question is why would you want to leave Istan in her greatest hour of need?”
“Because there is nothing I can do to help!” Shoki blurted out. “How can you not see this?”
“Shoki,” said Salar Ihagra softly, glancing at Camsh. “I know you feel responsible for what happened to the princess. But that wasn’t your fault.”
Shoki chuckled mirthlessly.
The salar continued, “I’ve heard accounts of what happened… before the battle. How you tried to warn her not to trust the Reratish prince. You are not to be blamed for the mistakes of others.” He raised a finger. “Even in grief though, a wise man spots the opportunities to be had.”
“A wise man!” Shoki scoffed. The salar pursed his lips. The fifty or so soldiers still sat in their saddles, their horses snorting and neighing. Shoki exhaled, then shook his head. “I… am running out of time.” Before I go fully mad. As if on cue, ants swam into his vision. Even as he watched in horror, they sprouted wings and flew toward Salar Ihagra and Camsh. Shoki raised a hand to warn them but the men didn’t seem to be paying the flies any mind. They settled on the men’s cheeks, began crawling into their mouths, their eyes. Shoki took a step back.
“If you’re not going to help me,” Shoki said, forcing his eye on his mentor’s face. “Then you’re no use to me, Salar. You’re welcome to carry out your duty as you see fit. But leave me alone.”
A battle raged on the salar’s face. Never a diplomat, he’d never been good at keeping his emotions at bay. “I am a soldier, Shoki. An old, graying, tired man, but still a soldier! I can’t do that.”
Shoki arched an eyebrow, not following the salar’s meaning. Jiza pulled at his arm, but he ignored her.
The salar took off his gleaming helmet, his hair sodden and matted underneath. “A salar is no different than a soldier, seeking both direction and purpose. With the Iron Sultan’s entire line wiped out, ameers of the largest provinces either calling for one of the invaders or declaring their own rebellions, men like me cannot be allowed to roam free.”
Shoki blinked, surprising himself by understanding what Salar Ihagra meant. Despite all the years he had spent with the salar, he’d never really seen the simple motives that stirred in this man’s chest. Salar Ihagra was a good man, a loyal, dependable soldier.
A follower.
Another realization dawned on Shoki. All their life, their roles had been clearly outlined. He was the student, and the salar his mentor. Now, the roles had changed. A reality that neither of them could continue to ignore. Salar Ihagra was a soldier seeking a salar. A commander in Shoki.
“We need to break through the Zakhanan lines,” Shoki repeated, this time not putting through his desire as a request.
Salar Ihagra pursed his lips but nodded. “I will do so, but I need to say this. Epic battles aren’t the only way to bring about the enemy’s downfall. Sometimes, simpler actions are better than grander gestures.”
“What are you saying, Salar?” Jiza asked.
“Take back Algaria,” Camsh said, his voice shrill, loud. “I can send out a word for allies. We’ll cut off the Zakhanan supply chain first. Then, taking advantage of all the mayhem in both Zakhanan and Reratish ranks, enter the city.” He turned his eyes away from Shoki. “Just as easily as the Zakhanan took the city with its walls down, we would too.”
“Allies!” Shoki scoffed. “How many more times will they let us down?”
“I understand the newly formed schools of magi are also interested in seeking you out, Sahib Shoki,” Camsh said carefully. “Something I know firsthand through the missives I’ve received from them. Despite how my mistress considered the magi, it would be wise to hear from them and see what help they might be able to provide us.”
“Abominations break worlds,” said Shoki reflexively. Memory rose of Naila’s terrible betrayal, how he had helped them break into the inquisitor castle of Jalna and make off with magical artifacts. How his help had allowed Naila to get her hands over the Hejar stone that Afrasiab had used to capture Nuraya.
“The magi are no longer a homogeneous group. Far from speaking with a singular voice, they, too, face disunity. We can use that to our advantage.”
“Wise words,” noted Jiza. Shoki looked up at her in surprise. He had almost forgotten her presence. Well, only he had—most of the soldiers were openly gaping at her. “One should use all allies one can get.”
“Unless they carry word on Afrasiab’s whereabouts and are willing to lend me a hand against him, I don’t care a whit for them,” Shoki replied.
“Shoki…” warned Salar Ihagra, his voice halfway between admonition and caution.
Shoki raised his hand. “Send your scouts east, Salar. Let’s find a way through the forces. That is what I desire.”
Camsh and his mentor exchanged another glance, neither of them saying a word. Then, the salar nodded, and marched off to his men. Camsh stood another half a dozen breaths as if expecting to be called on for his counsel. He had no counsel to offer that Shoki needed. Like the magi, if the grand vizier’s son carried no word of Nuraya, he was useless to him.
Defeated, Camsh bowed his head and slunk away.
“Careful you don’t burn bridges you still have,” said Jiza.
“Do the djinn know any metaphors that do not involve fire?”
“If we did, would they knock more sense in you?” she asked testily.
“Probably not.”
Shoki stood still, watching the salar turn back into the man he had known all his life. An officious, able leader of men. Half a dozen soldiers jumped down from their horses and began pitching tents. Another group broke off on sentry duty. Three turned around and cantered away in different directions. Were these fifty the only men who had survived the Battle of Buzdar?
“Jiza,” Shoki said, his voice so low he had trouble hearing it. “I fear I’m losing my mind.”
“What makes you say that?”
Shoki filled his lungs with the cool air. While he had the chance, he had to admit it. “For weeks, the fog in my mind has been growing. Sometimes, when I recover from its effects, I can’t even recall how much time has passed.” Shoki trembled. “Other times… I hallucinate, seeing things that aren’t really there. The world turns itself upside down, tearing itself off the seams, with me as the only witness.”
Jiza remained quiet.
Shoki turned toward the djinn. “Am… I going mad? Is that what happens to magi who have been severed?”
Jiza considered him for a long breath. The soft breeze picked up, setting the ends of her long hair fluttering. She tilted her head to a side. “No, I don’t think it’s the madness that comes from being severed. Had that been the case, it would have been instant.”
“Then, what’s happening to me?”
Jiza exhaled. “Something’s wrong with jadu, Shoki. A taint that seems to have spread through the core that all our wells draw power from.” She paused. “I thought I was the only one at first, but I can sense it all around me. Feel it within my soul.”
Relief mingled with dread. “The taint?”
“Ever since Afrasiab took to the skies, the rot has set in.”
“Ah.”
“Darkness. A blight.”
Shoki felt his heartb
eat pick up. “Is that why you refuse to lend me your power? For the fear that the taint might spread within me faster if you did so?”
“It is a reason.”
Shoki swallowed. “Is there nothing that could be done to help this taint? To help me?”
Jiza crossed her arms, turning her face toward the afternoon sun finally peeking through the dark cover of clouds. “Forms and places and tradition hold power. A strength that transcends explanation. Maybe, if a suitable setting was to present itself, it would be worthwhile seeking your well again.”
“Forms and places…” Shoki trailed away, feeling his eye widen. “Like the Shahi Qilla? No mere stronghold of the Istani sultans, but a bastion tasked as a marker between the worlds?”
Jiza fell silent for a breath, her chest unnaturally still. Then, she turned her large brown eyes toward him. “Shoki, what is it that you really seek?”
“Nuraya,” he replied without hesitation, feeling no shame at how it might sound to her or anyone else that might hear it. “I need to break her free from Afrasiab’s clutches.”
“No matter what it takes?” This time, he did hesitate. Jiza noticed it. Before he could reply, she smiled. “Let’s hope that you find what you seek when we enter Zakhanan.”
Chapter 4
Nuraya
Nuraya steeled herself, righting her peshwaz and standing up straight, as the bolt slid outside. Remain calm. Act in charge.
The door opened and the ghoul entered, filling the room with its stench. Nuraya fought the bile rising in her gorge. Whatever the nature of this beast, she had to keep her wits about her, and use this occasion to her advantage. But the shock was just as great as the last time. Ghouls, accursed and damned, weren’t meant to live in the lands of Rabb anymore. The prophet had promised that, hadn’t he? The idea of these beasts roaming through Istan frightened her—a feeling she didn't much like dwelling on.
Besides, why was this ghoul acting as if it were a guard, carrying another tray of food?
