by J F Mehentee
Behrouz turned and marched away, Zana beside him. Navid stayed behind.
‘There has to be something we can do?’ he said.
Emad sighed, then shook his head.
‘If I were in that djinni’s boots, I wouldn’t wait two hours. It wouldn’t even matter if I failed, because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try. Thankfully, Behrouz is more disciplined than I am. It won’t last much longer, though. We’ll have to do something.’
Roshan chewed her lip.
‘Like what?’
Take away his bracelet so he isn’t a danger to himself and all of us.
‘I don’t know,’ Emad said. ‘If you have any ideas, I’d gladly hear them. Otherwise, let’s see what Fiqitush comes up with.’
The twins gazed everywhere but at him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I can’t think of anything either.’
Fiqitush was better at this kind of thing. Emad would return to Iram in an hour. As he saw it, his first priority wasn’t to rescue Yesfir. He needed to break the bond between his brother and Iram so Fiqitush could enter Baka.
3
Sassan opened his eyes. The light penetrating the canvas above suggested he’d slept for only an hour. Although the poppy juice helped calm the pain, he remained groggy and in need of more sleep.
He rubbed his face. The seal’s band touched his cheek. The djinni, Yesfir, looked as exhausted as he felt. The memory of her struggling against the seal got him out of bed. She was the only good thing to have happened after last night’s disaster.
Afacan was furious at the loss of all twelve of his men and Tamraz’s escape. The sudden severing of the connection between him and the daeva made Sassan doubt Tamraz had escaped. More likely, he’d been killed before he could return to Arshak. That theory had done little to appease the general.
Sassan splashed water on his face. He reached for a towel and saw the tablet next to it on his table. How many times had he read it this morning? He had followed the instructions, God’s instructions, to the wedge-shaped mark. So, why had he failed? The continuous pain from helping Tamraz raise three portals and the frequent doses of poppy juice muddied his thoughts.
Sassan pulled on his tunic. Either he’d done something wrong or God continued to test him.
Test or no test, I need results, he thought to himself, otherwise, I’ll lose the general’s trust and then the emperor’s trust.
Sassan grabbed the golden arrow and exited his tent.
He slunk through the encampment and hoped he wouldn’t run into Afacan. News about what had happened in Iram must have spread, because Sassan heard the murmur of voices in his wake. Each guardsman he encountered stood to attention as he passed, but he felt their eyes on his back.
Convinced the encampment doubted he fully controlled this expedition, he reached the tent without incident.
Yesfir sat slumped in a chair, her tunic crumpled and stained. Sassan ordered the guard to remove her manacles.
‘And pull up the sleeves of her tunic,’ he said.
Yesfir raised her head. The guard removed the manacles from around her ankles, and the flames surrounding her irises brightened. Her eyes widened and then her brow furrowed when she saw Sassan. She returned his stare. Sassan smiled. She’d tried to hide it behind defiance, but Sassan had caught the quiver of her lower lip.
He waited until the guard had removed both pairs of manacles. They lay in front of her, making it impossible for Yesfir to stand and to close the gap between them.
She is strong, but God is stronger, and I am His instrument.
This would be their fourth hour together, and he’d make certain it would be the last before she broke and surrendered to the seal.
‘Yesfir,’ he said, ‘please tell me where Baka is.’
Her eyes turned to slits.
‘I don’t know where it is.’
He positioned himself in front of the manacles and pushed one towards her with the side of his foot. He held out the seal and asked her again.
She gasped. Her head drooped forward, and she shook it.
‘I don’t know.’
Sassan braced himself and then touched his aura to Yesfir’s. The seal’s power flowed through his body and into hers.
Pain, he thought.
Yesfir flung her head back and screamed.
Sassan curled his hands into fists as the muscles in his forearms liquified. All that stopped him from crying out was the line of wheals that appeared down both of Yesfir’s forearms. He gritted his teeth as the red welts swelled and filled with fluid.
‘Tell me where Baka is.’
Yesfir screamed again. The blisters burst. Blood and clear fluid spilled onto her tunic and leggings.
The pain caused Sassan to drop onto one knee. He was within reach of her. She could grab him, recite an incantation. Instead, she wept.
‘I asked you a question, Yesfir.’
He squeezed the arrow’s shaft in anticipation. The second transfer of the seal’s energy lasted a heartbeat. It blurred Sassan’s vision and threatened to choke him. He blinked tears back. Yesfir howled. The sound hid Sassan’s own gasps for breath.
Blood seeped from under the djinni’s fingernails.
Sassan swallowed.
‘Look, Yesfir,’ he said, sounding as if he were talking to a child.
Heal, he thought.
He touched her right forearm with the arrow’s tip. A waft of cool air touched Sassan’s face and left him feeling more solid. Yesfir’s forearm had healed. The blood on her right hand had turned to a red powder.
‘Behold God’s work. He will take away all your pain. God needs your help, Yesfir. Help Him and you will never suffer again. Just tell me where Baka is.’
A tear hung from the tip of Yesfir’s nose. The rate her chest rose and fell began to slow.
Sassan saw her blink several times and then avoid his gaze. She shut her eyes, sending more tears spilling from them. Her lips parted.
I’ve broken her.
The djinni’s lips closed and became a thin line. She opened her eyes, a hardness blazing behind them. He stood before she could shake her head. He tapped her left forearm, just above her silver bracelet, and cleared it of wounds.
Sassan gave a weary sigh and turned. He needed to calm himself; otherwise, this mulish djinni would end up like Pudil: a pillar of flame.
Sassan caught the guardsman staring at him. He’d seen a similar expression on the general’s face. The guardsman didn’t approve of him torturing a woman.
‘What’s your name?’
The guardsman stood to attention, his eyes bulging.
‘Iskhaq, High Magus.’
The burning in Sassan’s forearms had eased at the same time Yesfir’s skin and nail beds had returned to normal. Its release had left him dizzy and saddened.
‘I never thought bringing the One Religion to the daevas would involve torture. This is God’s work, but I find it abhorrent. Do you think it’s a sin that I, the High Magus, should feel that way about my work? Am I a sinner, Iskhaq?’
The guardsman’s eyes darted around as though the answer to the high magus’s question lay somewhere inside the tent.
Iskhaq stuttered, looking desperate to fill the silence.
Sassan walked over to the guardsman. He had to stand on tiptoes to place a calming hand on Iskhaq’s shoulder.
‘I shouldn’t have asked such a thing. It was a moment of weakness, and it was unfair to burden you in such a way. Be calm.’ He removed his hand, only half-turned and then stopped. ‘Iskhaq,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Might I ask a favour of you?’
The guardsman raised his eyebrows.
‘Of course, High Magus.’
Sassan nodded his thanks.
‘Tonight, during prayers, will you pray for me and ask God to forgive me my sin?’
Iskhaq scanned the floor, his eyes blinking. He rubbed his brow as though it itched.
‘I—I will, High Magus,’ the guardsman s
tammered.
Sassan groaned his relief and smiled.
‘Good man,’ he said, with a nod. He cleared his throat. ‘Right, Iskhaq, God isn’t done with this…’
Yesfir sat upright and stared ahead, her eyes dry.
Sassan recognised that look: he’d seen it on Tamraz’s face.
‘Yesfir,’ he said. She raised her head. The red flames around her irises continued to burn, but her gaze lacked depth. Sassan gripped the arrow, curbing his excitement. ‘Yesfir, are you ready to talk?’
Without a pause and with the same vacant expression, Yesfir nodded.
4
Fine particles of sand rained down from the roof of Iram’s cavern. Emad had to cover his nose and mouth to stop himself from inhaling them. An eerie silence filled the city, its main road and buildings still and empty. Unsure where his brother might be, Emad entered the palace and made his way to Fiqitush’s chambers. A mustiness pervaded the corridors. He’d noticed the dampness as soon as he’d arrived four days earlier, but he didn’t remember it smelling this strong—not ten hours previously, when he was last there. And it wasn’t just the smell. Something else felt wrong about the deserted city.
He found the door to the chambers ajar. Emad saw no point in knocking.
His brother lay on his bed, his eyes closed. Shephatiah knelt by him. The djinni dabbed Fiqitush’s brow with a moist cloth before dipping it into a bowl to wet it again. A quip, about the djinni overdoing his commitment to duty, lodged in Emad’s throat. His brother’s skin had turned pasty, and he struggled to breathe.
‘Fiqitush?’
His brother’s eyelids fluttered open. Fiqitush smiled at Emad and then turned his attention to Shephatiah. He patted the djinni’s hand.
‘He’s here now. It’s time to go.’ Fiqitush’s face puckered as he pushed himself up. He leaned forward and kissed Shephatiah on the forehead. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done.’
Shephatiah rose and bowed deeply. The djinni passed Emad and bowed again, his eyes teary.
Emad wasn’t sure what he’d witnessed.
Fiqitush patted the mattress, indicating Emad should join him.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Emad said.
Beside the bed lay a boxed tablet and a rag soaked in blood. Fiqitush snatched up the rag and coughed into it.
‘When I destroyed part of the city, I destroyed a part of me.’ He tapped his chest. ‘I told you; Iram and I are inextricably linked.’
Emad stood.
‘I’ll get Roshan. She’ll make you better. And while she’s at it, I’ll get her to unbind you from this place.’
Fiqitush shook his head. He patted the mattress again.
‘The magic holding this place together and keeping me alive is almost gone. Time has run out.’
Emad sat next to his brother.
‘So, you’re going to just lie here and die? What about Yesfir? She’s still in Arshak. Sassan has her, remember.’
Fiqitush reached across and clamped his hand around Emad’s.
‘Save her, but only if it doesn’t risk other djinn being captured. Yesfir left Iram to teach Roshan djinn magic. She made a sacrifice then, and my daughter will make it again if it prevents others from being caught.’
Emad tensed and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
His hand still gripped around Emad’s, Fiqitush rolled forward to reach the boxed tablet on the floor. He let go of Emad’s hand and placed the box on his brother’s lap.
‘The tablet inside contains everything I know about Baka and my plans for it.’
The city’s a wreck. What else is there to know about it?
Fiqitush rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t look like that, brother. Don’t judge things with only your eyes.’
Emad picked up the box. It and the tablet were light, but Fiqitush had passed him a weighty responsibility.
‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ he said. Emad despised himself for asking. Fiqitush could never leave Iram, and there was nothing he, his brother, could do about it.
‘Baka wasn’t built in its present location.’ Fiqitush wagged a finger before Emad could interrupt. ‘If you don’t believe me, dig away some sand beneath one of the city’s walls. Examine the city’s foundations.’ The pitch of Fiqitush’s voice rose. His excitement triggered a coughing fit. He held up a hand and wiped the rag over his mouth with the other. His breathing still laboured, he continued. ‘Baka isn’t just rock and mortar. It’s alive.’
Emad wanted to stop his brother, ignore the madness he spouted and get him to Baka. Once he was better, he’d do whatever Fiqitush asked—even if it meant digging beneath a wall with his bare hands.
‘It’s alive, I tell you. Two of the city’s three wells are dry because the city is sleeping. Check for yourself. An aquifer doesn’t feed the only functioning well. Ancient magic feeds water from who knows where into it. Once you’ve woken the city, the two wells—’ Fiqitush screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. ‘None of that’s important. All you need to know for now is that once it awakens, magic will lift Baka into the air, and the entire city—buildings, people, wells, everything within its walls—can pass through a portal.’
Emad considered his brother’s words. If Fiqitush were right, there’d be no need to confront the high magus and his army. They could disappear.
‘How do we wake the city?’
Fiqitush coughed again. With each fit, he withered more. His brother patted the box with its tablet inside.
‘Before you were born, Grandmother told me stories about a flying city. This tablet contains those stories.’ He grimaced. ‘I found nothing about how to wake it. I’m afraid that’s something you must discover with the others.’ Fiqitush gripped Emad’s shoulder. ‘Help me up,’ he said. ‘Then raise a portal to the tunnel leading up to the desert.’
Emad tucked the box under one arm, helped Fiqitush up and raised a portal.
His brother chuckled.
‘I love you, Emad. You don’t like giving up—do you?’
The destination window opened onto Baka.
Fiqitush shuffled towards the portal. The boarding window flickered, and the portal collapsed.
‘Iram and I are the same. For me to enter that portal, you’d have to slot the city through it, too.’ He nudged Emad. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Emad raised a portal. A few remaining firestones glowed in the tunnel’s alcoves. They stepped through it together.
‘It’s been decades since I felt sand between my toes and the sun on my face,’ Fiqitush said.
They walked the short distance to the entrance, Emad’s hips aching from having to match his brother’s narrow gait. Fiqitush rested his arm on Emad’s shoulder. The weight leaning on him became lighter with each step.
‘What’s wrong?’ Fiqitush said. ‘Why are you looking at me that way?’
Emad’s throat constricted.
‘You’re looking older,’ he said. ‘Your skin’s gone grey. We should go back.’ He stopped walking. ‘Roshan can channel some of her energy into you. You’ll get better, Iram will get better and you can run things from here until we find a way for you to leave.’
Behind and below them, as if in protest, the city rumbled. The tunnel shook.
Fiqitush glanced behind them. Emad looked back to see a cloud of dust.
‘It’s too late for that, Emad.’ Fiqitush pointed at the entrance farther ahead. ‘Come on.’
Emad wanted to yell at the city to release his brother.
A bout of coughing stalled them.
Once they were walking again, Fiqitush said, ‘Promise me three things.’
Emad stared straight ahead and swallowed.
‘That depends.’
Fiqitush’s breathing crackled.
‘You used to say that when we were boys.’ Fiqitush nodded once. ‘All right, then. The first thing I want you to promise me is that you’ll take care of the djinn and daevas. They need you and they need a leader.’ He
cleared his throat. ‘Second, promise me you’ll save Yesfir, so long as you don’t put Baka in danger. And after you’ve saved her, tell her how proud I am of her and how much I love her.’
Emad bit his lower lip and gave a vigorous nod.
‘You haven’t heard your third promise yet, brother.’ Fiqitush staggered, and his legs collapsed beneath him.
Emad caught him.
Behind them, dust had moved farther up the tunnel.
Emad shoved the box and its tablet into his tunic. He slid a hand under Fiqitush’s knees and stood, holding his brother, who weighed no more than a babe.
‘The third promise’—Fiqitush’s breath and voice had become a hiss—‘is that you tell the twins you’re their father. Let them decide what to do about that.’
They reached the entrance and stepped out under the noonday sun.
‘Promise, Emad?’ his brother whispered.
Emad’s voice croaked.
‘Yes, I will, Fiqitush.’
The ground shuddered. Emad thought he heard rain. Still carrying Fiqitush, he saw how a crevice had formed. He had heard sand pouring into the cavern below.
Emad looked down to see his brother’s cheek pressed against his tunic. He looked as if he’d fallen asleep.
The ground shook again. Emad found his arms and shoulders ached and his knees began to fold. With each passing moment, his brother grew heavier.
Iram wants him back.
Emad bent down on one knee. With a reluctance that made him choke, he lay his brother on the ground. Sand slipped past his boots. If he remained there any longer, he’d get sucked into the cavern.
He leaned forward, kissed Fiqitush on both cheeks and let go.
5
Zana’s head ached, but not from the heat of the noonday sun. After their encounter with Uncle Emad, Father had sat down on the ziggurat’s steps, his foot and fingers tapping while he waited for Uncle’s return. With his jaw muscles flexed, Father had worn a constant scowl. Zana had thought it best to leave him alone.
