The Broken Winds: Divided Sultanate: Book 3

by Baloch, Fuad

  Nuraya forced herself to stand her ground, not letting fear take hold of her. It—he?—wore scraps of clothing that clung to its hideous and misshapen frame, the beige color indistinguishable from the flaking, diseased skin, its tall shadow spreading out behind it.

  “Who are you?” Nuraya demanded, refusing to be rattled by the wrongness of it all. “What’s your name?”

  The ghoul looked up, its dark eyes settling on her face for a brief instant. The mouth opened. “Annnnnddddoo… andaaa…”

  “What?” Nuraya shook her head. “Doesn't matter. Take me to the master of this castle. I demand to know why I am being held here against my will.”

  The ghoul made an ululating cry that set her skin crawling, then bent at the waist to place the tray on the floor. Citrus fruits accompanied by half a dozen dates, a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread. Hardly the fare she was used to, but still a relief considering the pangs in her grumbling stomach.

  She took a step forward. The ghoul clambered back, making a strange sound that could have been the mewling of a feral cat. Nuraya blinked. Was it possible… that the ghoul was afraid of her? She shook her head. The very idea was preposterous. After all, the ghouls she’d read about were monstrous creatures, forged by evil magic and recruited by necromancers to wage war on their behalf.

  Yet as the ghoul turned its red eyes toward her, she sensed confusion, fear.

  Nonsense.

  Before more useless thoughts could distract her, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s my captor? Is it the magus in league with the Reratish prince? Where is he?”

  The ghoul scrambled back. It was monstrous, repugnant, but for the briefest of moments, the ungodly being reminded Nuraya of a skittish giraffe she’d once seen as a child brought by Kur’shi merchants to celebrate Prophet Binyom’s birthday.

  “What’s this place?” she asked, then waved her arm outside the window. “This isn’t the Western Realm, is it? No mountains on the horizon. Not the north either with this muggy air. The Eastern Realm then?” She paused. “Or… is this the Zakhanan empire? Is that who your master works for?”

  The ghoul turned its back to her and started shuffling back to the door. “Aaaannnndddoooo.”

  “Halt,” she cried out, rage taking over her senses. “Don’t you dare ignore me!” The ghoul didn’t slow down. Nuraya trembled, fast losing control over her composure. How did one get her point through to a mute monster?

  Time slowed down. She looked about. A whole day had passed since she’d woken up. A whole day where she’d tried and failed to see any escape route out of her prison, finding nothing except a chamber pot tucked away in the almirah. Now, her body clamored for action. She couldn't sit still. Not when she was needed outside.

  There had to be something she could do! Something she could use!

  The door snapped shut, the bolt sliding back on.

  “Gods be damned!” she cursed, hitting her right thigh with an open palm. The very idea of talking to a ghoul had been ridiculous and had yielded exactly the result it had deserved. They’d be looking for you, Nuraya. Camsh. Jinan. Shoki. The ameers.

  Nuraya sneered. She was no damsel looking for men to come to her aid. Besides—her heart gave a painful convulsion at the thought—she’d burned her bridges with Shoki. And Jinan too, after she’d refused him his vengeance for Mona’s untimely death. As for Camsh… he might have tried seeking her—men like him always survived wars—but he was also the grand vizier’s son. If Madhu Ghiani had spurned the legitimate children of the Iron Sultan in favor of a guard, then she couldn't expect much better from his son.

  Ignoring her grumbling stomach, she paced her cage, casting her eyes about. Anger wouldn't work here. Not when there was no way of getting it through a demonic being like the ghoul. What could she use? Her gaze fell outside the windows. It was raining again. For a girl raised all her life in central Istan, the rainfall should’ve been a welcome sight. But now, it meant slick stone she couldn't grab onto, even if there were handholds, even if she could somehow knot the tapestries together without tearing them in the process.

  She walked over to the windowsill. Could she jump down? The ground underneath would have been muddy after all the rain. She shook her head in frustration. Only if she were a feather, riding the currents of air instead of letting them consume her.

  Nuraya gazed at the distant forest. She’d scanned the trees and the underbrush for hours yesterday, but just like then, saw no wildlife now. Nothing but the tall blades of grass swaying underneath the rain, tree branches drooping to the ground as if limbs of old men, drops of water falling into the mushy swamp. Even the night had been eerily quiet, not punctuated by sounds of either birdcalls or the nocturnal animals or chirping crickets.

  If this were the Eastern Realm, then it was dead. Barren. Except for her and the ghoul and whoever resided in this cursed, blasted, deserted castle.

  Why had she been brought here?

  What was going on in her absence?

  Nuraya bit her lower lip and turned away from the windowsill.

  There was nothing she could use—

  Her eyes found the broken bedpost. Nodding to herself, she rushed to it.

  * * *

  The bolt rattled outside.

  Her heart thudding, Nuraya lurched for the door, then pressed her back to the wall. She closed her eyes for a brief instant, summoning her courage. She would not be cowed.

  The bolt fell to the ground with a clang.

  Nuraya raised the bedpost in her hands, her limbs tense. There had been no way to shape it into a stake, but despite its rotten core, it was heavy enough to give her half a chance.

  The door creaked open, the familiar stench wafting through.

  Oh Rabb, help me!

  Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she willed herself to remain still, her body aching with anticipation of what was to come.

  The ghoul shambled through the door frame, carrying a tray in its right hand.

  Nuraya struck with all her might, bringing the post down on the ghoul’s head.

  Thwack!

  The post snapped into two, the impact of the contact jolting through her body, the room ringing with the sickening sound of a watermelon being squashed open. The wooden tray fell to the ground, its contents spilling over.

  The ghoul was still standing, the red eyes turned toward her, black, sticky pus oozing from the gaping wound in its skull. Nuraya blinked, bracing herself. She’d seen bodies standing for a good half-breath even when the head had been cleaved off during battle. Soon, the shock would pass, and the ghoul would teeter.

  The ghoul opened its jaw, not bothering to wipe its face. “Annnndddoooooo.”

  Nuraya screamed, a mix of terror and impotent rage taking hold of her. She scrambled back, the ghoul still staring at her. “What… what are you?”

  “Adnnnoooosssss….”

  It turned around, the thick pus clinging to its face.

  “Wait, you piece of camel dung,” she cried. “I demand answers. And—”

  The door shut closed. The bolt rattled.

  “No!” Nuraya whispered, shaking her head. Was she in a nightmare? She ground her teeth, felt tears leak through her eyes, her own body going against her wishes. She raised a hand to wipe her cheeks, then stopped. What was the point?

  She had failed.

  The tears burst through, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm she didn't control.

  Once more, she had failed.

  The weight of her past failures returned as a mountain, grew tenfold in the blink of an eye. She had been the one who’d freed the magi to do their abominable acts without the inquisition’s controls. It was her mother who had turned out to be an Ajeeb magus, a woman who had killed her own husband. It was Nuraya who had given the Reratish a foothold into her country. The woman who had first lost the capital, and then the whole realm.

  Nuraya Istan, the kinslayer. One who had killed not one, but two of her brothers.

  She sho
ok her head, refusing to let the pity grind her to dust.

  She had ignored the counsel of all those who’d been on her side, including Shoki. Her heart twisted at the memory of his tentative hands on her back, the feel of his stubble against her chin as they had kissed.

  Her vision was growing misty.

  You are Nuraya Istan. Take charge of your emotions!

  She failed at that too, the tears refusing to obey her.

  The ground rumbled. She froze. Had she imagined it? A moment later, the floor moved underneath her. The bed groaned as she raised a hand to balance herself.

  A whooshing sound came through the window, followed by sounds of something heavy impacting the wet ground.

  Wiping her eyes dry, Nuraya rushed back to the window.

  Her jaw fell open.

  Six figures were stomping through the dense trees, making their way through to the castle.

  Six non-human figures three times taller than the trees around them, their faces wreathed in smoke, their limbs not moving as they marched forward.

  Djinn, she knew, recalling myths from an era she’d assumed long gone. More beings of legend that had no business going about in her world. Djinn in their real form, this time.

  She gripped the windowsill hard, relaxing her fingers only when the knuckles hurt.

  What was happening?

  Her heart churned, her vision growing dark for an instant, nausea rising in her as if she were falling from a great height. A string she couldn't see but feel grow taut, pulling at her soul. Nuraya turned around and faced the doors. Something beyond called out to her. An urge. A terrible longing.

  Her back to the six djinn, Nuraya approached the doors in a half daze. The handles didn't turn, both doors remaining shut.

  The lust to seek what was calling her consumed her. She had to get out, answer the summons.

  Nuraya banged her wrists on the doors, shouting at the top of her voice for the ghoul to open the doors. Her voice grew hoarse, her feet tainted with the ghoul’s blood, her hands red and bloody. She walked back a few steps and ran into the door.

  Nothing.

  “Open the doors!”

  Again, she smashed into the doors.

  You are Nuraya Istan. Take control of yourself!

  Her heart still yearning, Nuraya forced herself to step back, then turned around and went back to the windowsill. The djinn had disappeared. The ghoul was gone. She was still a bird smashing its head against the walls of its cage.

  Nuraya screamed, a shrill, loud wail of frustration and anger.

  Chapter 5

  Kafayos

  Kafayos yawned.

  Of all things he had dreaded finding in the human world, boredom was one that hadn’t crossed his mind. Whatever in Rolomon’s name did Azar and Bana ever find here to keep visiting these lands? He paused. Azar had taken on Mara as his human name. Mara and Bana. Was there a reason both had chosen such similar names upon their return to Nainwa? He scoffed. He was Kafayos bin Qiyas, and that was what he would be always known as, no matter what he had to put up with in the world of the lesser race.

  A scrawny, harried-looking girl stepped out of his way as he continued to make his way through the filthy streets of the human city. Shaking his head, Kafayos sauntered ahead, remembering to keep his eyes down at the path ahead. It wouldn't do to step into another puddle.

  Not that it was the least of his troubles. It rained here as well. Water, actual water, pouring down from the skies like a million lances aimed at him. Not enough to greatly upset a djinn of his patience of course, but annoying regardless. Yet another thing that separated the two races.

  Nainwa’s skies never changed. All his life, he had seen the same shade of red. It might be one of the most visible symbols of the curse that gripped his city, yet there was a simple beauty to be found in the monotony as well.

  Stability. Endurance. Curse or not, it appeared even the scourge had ended up molding itself according to the djinn way.

  Kafayos clenched his fists—a most human affectation he simply had to get rid of. They had stability until Drenpa, his former master, had deceived them all. Djinn attacking djinn in a djinn city, a sacrilege he wouldn't even have imagined before. Nor had anyone else for that matter, he was certain, judging by the shock it had caused.

  “Watch where you’re going!” a rider shouted at Kafayos, breaking him out of his reverie, the shrill voice rising over the din of the crowded streets. “Or I’m going to cut you down.”

  Kafayos didn’t step to the side even as the two young boys next to him scurried away. Instead, he reached up and grabbed the horse’s bridle. The rider was a soldier of some sort—Reratish perhaps, judging by the way others had been giving him wide berth, and his pale skin. His shaved upper lip quivered as Kafayos glared at him, his head cocked to the side.

  “How dare you—”

  “I find you,” Kafayos said, “more annoying than other humans.”

  “Let go!” the soldier shouted. Grunting, he cursed, untangling his long-spurred boot from the stirrup. When Kafayos didn’t budge, he kicked out, the boot aiming for Kafayos’s nose.

  Kafayos dodged the attack with casual disdain, swaying lightly to the side. Not only did these humans lack the good sense to acknowledge their superiors, they didn’t even have good manners. No wonder that someone as open-minded as himself hadn't gotten along with Shoki, the so-called Ajeeb magus.

  “By the gods, you’re going to pay for it!” the rider sputtered, his pale face growing redder by the second, the eyes glowering and bulging in their sockets.

  Other humans were stopping and watching them now, the voices around them fading even as the din from beyond crowded in. Two of the onlookers wore heavy cloaks over shiny black leather vests, feathers stuck in their pointy, velvet hats. Unlike the others, they continued to talk to each other, making elaborate gestures with their hands. Men from Polino. Or the country known as Fojoro. Not that he cared.

  Kafayos considered the whiny human for a moment. Had he not been obeying Rolomon’s pact by taking on the pathetic human form, this puny soldier wouldn't even have dared step a mile in his way. He needed a lesson, something Kafayos had no problem imparting. Yet… yet, he couldn't afford distractions. Not when the elders of the city had entrusted him with the delicate mission of locating Azar in these lands.

  “Human,” said Kafayos, his interest fading, “go away. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You—”

  Kafayos let go of the bridle and stepped away. The rider sputtered some more, shouting insults in a tongue so guttural and primitive, Kafayos couldn’t make any sense of the words. Yes, the intention was pretty clear, and any other time, he would have gotten his due, but Kafayos was wise and knew when to delay justice.

  Shaking his head, Kafayos continued forward, the circle of curious onlookers that had gathered around them melting. The rider continued to shout but didn’t pursue him.

  A wise decision on that human’s part.

  The eyes lingered on him. Aggravating little pinpricks he could have done without. Curiosity. Yet another human vice that the whole damned race was afflicted with. How did one cure that curse?

  Kafayos sighed. Wading through the human world was turning out to be a tiring, ponderous trudge instead of the wondrous experience dreamers like Azar and Bana had made it out to be.

  Were other human cities like this as well?

  Spying an incline, Kafayos made his way up the road. Half a dozen human kids—filthy little things—scampered out of his way.

  “—the magi outside Kohkam and their school—” a man was blabbering excitedly to another, both dressed in a ludicrous shade of red that almost blinded Kafayos.

  “—about time. The truth will be known. The real heir shall return.”

  “—but the Istani sultans have ruled for centuries—”

  Putting his hands on his hips, Kafayos looked around. The massive stone walls rose to his left, cracks and holes every hundred yards within the stonework, th
e ramparts broken and punctured. To the right lay the city center, sinking as if struggling over quicksand, and beyond that was the hill that dominated it. On that hill stood a red fort, flying a flag Kafayos didn't recognize and didn't care to know.

  Kafayos sighed once more as a group of women walked past him. Could they not smell themselves? He ran his fingers through his long hair. Far from indulging their natural scent, these humans seemed intent on bathing in essences that smelled like earth and trees and flowers. Anything but themselves. Vanity. Yet another of the human weaknesses.

  How could they all live squashed up like this, anyway, pressed on by oppressive walls and each other at all sides?

  He’d never get humans. Something he had always known instinctively, a feeling reinforced upon meeting Shoki, and now confirmed having spent hours in this abode of humans they boastfully called a city.

  Out of pity—and not wonder, he reminded himself—he scanned the city streets. Winding paths that led through various districts depicting contrasting architectural designs. Neighborhoods that seemed to strain against each other. The city resembled a cauldron placed upside down within which the population of humans roiled.

  A street hawker approached him.

  “Freshest meat in all of Kindriya District,” he shouted, extending one hand toward Kafayos to grab his attention, the other pointing at revolting bits of skinned animal flesh pierced onto hooks for display. “Mutton. Beef. Pork.”

  “Barbaric!” Kafayos said, shooing the merchant away. “An animal feasting on the flesh of other animals. Get out of my sight before I lose my temper.”

  The hawker shuffled away once he’d met Kafayos’s eyes.

  Kafayos cracked his knuckles. He couldn't stay here forever. He had to carry out his mission, then return to Nainwa with Azar. The sooner, the better. His gaze settled on the nearest city gate. It opened eastward, toward the great midan—ground—where the infamous battle had raged a few months ago.

  He sniffed the air, then began moving for the gate.

  More butchers and cooks lined the stalls to his left, making his human skin crawl with revulsion. One even had glistening viscera on display, gloating and braying to everyone who passed by to inspect wares of his vulgarism.