City of Daevas

by J F Mehentee

  He wanted to protest and tell her he’d never show off—Mother never tolerated it. Zana remained silent. There was no telling if Nahrian still made fun of him.

  Compared to its tiny entrance, the cavern it opened on to stunned Zana.

  The cavern’s shape reminded him of an egg, with three concentric and tapering tiers rising to the ceiling. A balcony ringed each one. Beyond the balconies Zana saw circular entrances. Chequered blankets covered each entrance, their colour combinations different for each entrance. Some, their blankets drawn back, revealed a space lit from above by firestones. On the lower tier, where Zana stood, he spied a space with a clothes chest, a bedroll, a low table and its floor covered by a rug.

  ‘That’s where you’ll be staying,’ Nahrian said. ‘Mother and I are on the third tier.’

  They entered the atrium, its polished floor reflecting the light from what looked more like fireboulders than firestones set in the ceiling.

  ‘They’re huge,’ he said. ‘Who recharges them for you?’

  Nahrian smirked.

  ‘It’s not only magi and djinn who know magic,’ she said. ‘The pride’s lionesses built this den with magic.’

  Nahrian pointed at the floor’s three circles, their overlapping curves forming a triangle at their centre. The edges of each circle contained symbols Zana hadn’t seen on the tablets and papyri the humans and the djinn used.

  Nahrian nodded at the two circles closest to them.

  ‘The one on the left is where we sit and eat our meals. The right circle is the school, where students who can shape-shift learn other skills like reading, writing and weaving magic. And the circle in front of us is the nursery. It’s where the cubs come to play during the mornings and where the older ones learn how to shape-shift in the afternoons.’

  The thought of learning to shape-shift while other manticores watched didn’t thrill Zana. He followed Nahrian as she led him to the circle where they’d eat.

  ‘What about the centre?’ he said. He pointed at the curved triangle with his chin. ‘Is that used for anything?’

  ‘It’s where our leaders, the Matrons, meet during council.’ Nahrian stopped and indicated he should sit. ‘Stay here while I get us some dinner.’

  Before he could ask if he could accompany her, Nahrian turned and headed towards a wide opening in the cavern wall. Behind it, two pairs of male and female humans stood in front of a table, ladling food from tall saucepans into bowls and onto plates. The opening was a kitchen.

  A bell rang from somewhere.

  Women drew back the blanket-like doors. Behind them followed cubs of all ages. The male manticores were exactly that, manticores. Unlike the females, they hadn’t shape-shifted. Just as Nahrian had predicted, the older males ignored him as they exited a circular opening at the far end of the cavern. Zana spotted stairs. The adult males sat on the opposite side of the circle. Although he faced them, he couldn’t take his eyes off how big they were. The largest male had to be two heads taller than Father. He was muscular, and the sheen from his fur suggested he spent a lot of time grooming himself. His skin was the colour of pale honey. He counted ten males. While they were all of an intimidating size, their skin colour, manes and fur varied in shade. One even had white fur.

  Zana hadn’t spotted a male’s approach. He had ebony skin and a thick, wiry mane of a similar shade.

  Vul stood beside Zana. His stern visage make Zana want to edge away from him.

  ‘So, you came.’

  Zana swallowed.

  ‘Hello,’ he managed.

  Vul stared down at him.

  ‘A vow is a solemn and sacred thing,’ he said. ‘Never make one if there’s the remotest possibility of breaking it.’

  Zana did his best to hold the manticore’s gaze. He looked away only because he wasn’t sure how to reply. Zana felt something hard bump against his side. He relaxed when, over his shoulder, he saw Nahrian. A tray filled with bowls hung inside a net, its ends hanging from her mouth.

  Vul strolled towards the stairs the other males had used to come down for dinner.

  ‘From the look on your face, I’m guessing that didn’t go well,’ Nahrian said.

  ‘It could have been better, I suppose.’

  Nahrian pushed a bowl in front of him.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who feels that way about my brother.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe you two are related,’ Zana said. ‘You’re both so…different.’

  Nahrian’s eyes followed Vul as he ascended the stairs.

  ‘If she chooses to, a manticore female can have more than one mate. For one of her mates, my mother chose the pride’s seer. Vul got his looks and his gift for seeing the past and future from his father.’

  Zana wanted to ask her how she felt about her mother having more than one husband—if that’s how the manticores thought of their mates. He hadn’t known her long enough to ask such a question.

  ‘Is that why he’s so serious?’ he asked instead. ‘I don’t think he likes me.’

  Nahrian sniffed the bowl’s contents. She settled on her haunches before she regarded him with what Zana thought was sadness.

  ‘Vul says Mother must allow you to join the Cross Scar pride.’ She swallowed. ‘He also said that after you’ve become one of us and wear the pride’s mark, you’ll break my heart.’

  13

  Two hours after dawn, three of the five golems began their march on Baka. Sassan leaned forward, rested his free hand on the railing and caused the tower to rock. General Afacan and two of his senior officers next to him appeared unaffected by the viewing platform’s wobbles. Sassan’s knuckles remained white until the tower came to a standstill. Below him stood three trios of magi, each arranged around a column of rock onto which they’d carved a symbol. The symbol’s green glow pulsed in time with their incantations, instructions transmitted to a similar symbol inside the golem they controlled.

  Archers marched behind the golems, some of them with red triangular flags strung to their backs. Sassan still thought it a mistake not to have infantry following behind.

  Since their arrival yesterday, the djinn had been busy. Sassan had woken early to see the sun rise behind Baka. He thought the djinn might have worked through the night, but the place looked no different to how it had at dusk. A varicoloured dome of protection, its crown above the ziggurat, now covered the city. Its appearance this morning hadn’t troubled the general. Before climbing the tower, Afacan had confirmed he’d made no changes to the plan they had discussed yesterday evening.

  If the dome didn’t concern the general, Sassan didn’t see why he should be concerned, either.

  Sassan braced himself and pushed off the railing. He avoided jerky movements and gripped the sabaoth’s arrow behind his back.

  ‘Now,’ the general called down to the line of magi steering the golems.

  The middle golem maintained its pace while the two either side of it accelerated.

  Sassan’s heartbeat kept pace with the two golems, their feet raising clouds of dust. The golem on the left peeled away from its partner.

  That wasn’t what they’d agreed last night. One of Afacan’s officers muttered something. Whatever it was, he sounded unimpressed.

  Below, the magi controlling the left golem slowed their incantation. Sassan stiffened and tried to hide his anger and embarrassment.

  Just as the golems synchronised their pace, a blue-violet light surrounded the one on the right, causing it to lurch forward and fall. The magi’s incantation, their instructions, changed, causing the third and slower golem to come to a stop. The instruction came too late for the second golem. It halted but then toppled forwards as if a felled tree.

  ‘Portals,’ the general said.

  The first golem had dug its fingers into the sand to stop itself from falling farther into the portal. Thanks to the coordinated effort of the magi operating it, the golem began to climb its way out—until the second golem collapsed on top of it. Both golems
disappeared beneath the sand.

  Sassan felt his face burn. He glanced over at the general, who cast an impassive gaze at the scene below.

  The archers behind the third golem formed a row, knelt and waited with arrows nocked. An officer gave the order and a line of arrows filled the sky. All of them struck and then bounced off the protective dome, some rolling down its sides.

  Even though he and everyone else had expected that to happen, Sassan squeezed the sabaoth’s arrow.

  The archers nocked a second arrow and took aim.

  Sassan held his breath.

  A second barrage flew into the air.

  He forced himself to keep his eyes open.

  The iron-tipped arrows penetrated the dome, a quarter disappearing behind Baka’s walls.

  Sassan breathed out.

  The archers rose.

  Sassan glanced at the general. Afacan stood with his hands held behind his back.

  What’s he waiting for? The archers should advance. They’re not yet close enough to the city.

  The archers slung their bows over their shoulders.

  ‘General, what’s—’

  The sand in front of the archers erupted and formed a dust cloud. A captain yelled an order, and the archers began to sprint. The golem turned to follow them back.

  Mastiffs, composed of sand and twice the size of a guardsman, emerged from the cloud and charged the fleeing guardsmen. The golem stooped and brushed away both a war hound and a handful of archers.

  Sassan grabbed the railing and, ignoring how the tower swayed, yelled at the magi below to return the golem to the encampment and nothing more.

  The golem straightened. It ignored the war hounds biting and swiping at its ankles.

  The thump of feet from below drew Sassan’s attention away from the retreat’s shouts and screams.

  A column of guardsmen marched in pairs and then fanned out to form a protective cordon around the encampment. They locked iron shields and braced themselves.

  Sassan looked up and beyond the cordon.

  The war hounds maintained their charge, trampling and mauling anyone in their path. One hundred paces from the cordon, two of the dogs burst as if they’d hit an invisible barrier. The other hounds continued regardless. They, too, turned to puffs of dust.

  An order was yelled. Those archers who’d made it past the lead war hounds and carried a flag stopped running. They turned and planted a flag where the creatures had fallen.

  ‘Unless it’s a portal,’ the general said, ‘that’s how far they’re able to control their magic.’ As if he’d seen enough, he gestured at the ladder. ‘After you, High Magus.’

  Inside the operations tent and while the general’s direct reports debriefed him, Sassan seethed. It was as if the general knew what the djinn would do, what they’d throw at them. His magi had made him look a fool. He’d had the golems designed to inspire the guardsmen and create fear in those hiding inside Baka. Instead, he was a laughingstock among the guardsmen and Baka.

  ‘All right,’ the general said, after the delivery of the final debrief. ‘We’ve tested Baka’s external defences. Here’s how I want us to prepare for this afternoon’s assault.’

  Sassan listened to the general’s list of instructions. His magi, along with the guardsmen, would be busy for the rest of the morning. He almost offered to recite the eagle-headed spirit’s daeva-slaying incantation over the guardsmen’s arrows. But then he reminded himself of how he needed as many of them alive as possible to do God’s work in Persepae.

  He exited the operations tent in a better humour than the one he’d arrived in. The general had kept his opinion of his magi’s performance to himself.

  You’re being too hard on them, Sassan thought. After all, this morning was about testing the city. The next attack will be different.

  Inside his tent, he pulled off his tunic. The pain’s intensity had risen. He picked up the amphora on his table and uncorked it. Half the contents had been drunk last night. He needed to slow down.

  Sassan slouched into his chair and swallowed the amphora’s contents. He sighed and closed his eyes.

  He is inside Baka, a quiver hanging from his hip and a bow in his hand. Djinn rush at him, but he doesn’t lift the bow or nock an arrow. He summons the power of the seal and waves them aside. There’s just one djinni he’s interested in, that he’s come for.

  He follows the cries of pain, the smell of ash and burning flesh, and strides past the retreating guardsmen.

  Standing against the lone wall of a ruined building, a young woman screams. The surrounding guardsmen erupt into pillars of flame. Her face, hands and forearms are the colour of ash. He halts when he sees swirls of orange flame flicker beneath her skin.

  The flaming guardsmen collapse into heaps of ash. He retrieves a golden arrow from his quiver, but she’s screaming again, the whirls of orange blazing under her skin. The heat coursing through him shrivels his insides. It’s difficult to tell if he or the ground beneath him is shaking. His hand trembles as he attempts to nock the arrow. With his arrow secured to the bowstring, he takes aim. A second scream blackens his skin and makes the fat beneath it bubble. He squints to protect his eyes and knows he’s too late when his vision turns bright orange. There’s only time enough to take one last breath as his muscles and their ligaments roast.

  Time enough to release the arrow.

  The screaming stops. He can’t be sure if it’s his own scream or the djinni’s that’s ended.

  There’s silence. A cool breeze brushes his cheek. He’s still holding the bow, and he feels rubble beneath his sandals.

  His eyes open. Burning blue-grey ash spirals upwards and disappears.

  ‘God’s work is done,’ he says, lowers his bow and turns.

  Before him stand the djinn: men, women and children. As one, they bow deeply.

  Sassan woke.

  Unsure of how long he’d slept, he rubbed his face.

  ‘There’s work to be done,’ he muttered to himself, and then pulled on his tunic.

  Outside his tent, he gazed up at the sky and gauged the sun’s position. He’d been asleep for less than an hour. Before he made his way over to his magi, he turned to the pair of guardsmen on guard duty.

  ‘I need a bow and a quiver of arrows,’ he said.

  14

  Roshan ran a finger down the sleeping djinni’s shoulder. The incantation knitted the deep muscle first before it sealed the skin to leave a red scar behind. She rose from the bed and looked across the hall in Baka’s municipal building—now a makeshift hospital. Roshan took in the dozen djinn who lay injured by iron arrowheads. There’d been no deaths, but the arrows and the sight of the advancing golems had done far more damage to morale than twelve wounded djinn. She’d felt the fear of those weaving magic on the ramparts.

  ‘You look tired. You shouldn’t be here.’

  Too busy reliving the chill those djinn had experienced, the will and courage required to stay put and not take cover after the second rain of arrows, she hadn’t noticed her brother’s approach.

  She walked towards him. She felt tired.

  ‘I couldn’t lie in a bed while the city was being attacked. I decided to come here and use the healing incantations Yesfir taught me.’

  Navid waited while she told the head healer she was leaving.

  The municipal building sat behind the ziggurat, so the walk back to their room was a short one.

  ‘Have you thought about what Emad told us?’ Navid said.

  After their first and disastrous meeting in Derbicca, Roshan had considered the change in the prince’s behaviour towards her as strange.

  ‘He didn’t know about us that first time we met. It explains why, suddenly, he was so protective towards us.’

  They climbed the steps up to the balcony. She cast a sideways glance at the ziggurat. Emad and the war council were up there discussing the next steps for Baka’s defence.

  Inside the room, Roshan lay down and Navid started a fire in
the hearth to boil some water.

  ‘It still hasn’t sunk in,’ Navid said. ‘I mean, the prince being our father is the reason why the king watched over us. But I don’t understand why Emad would suddenly care when he admitted he was too selfish to have raised us. If you ask me, he’s as shocked and as uncomfortable about the whole thing as we are.’

  Navid was right. All three of them still struggled with the news.

  ‘What’s difficult is knowing the king was our uncle and Yesfir’s our cousin,’ she said. ‘We’ve gained a family, and now we’re losing them.’

  Navid stopped tearing off mint leaves from their stalks.

  ‘I never thought of it that way. Do you think Yesfir found it hard not telling us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘I hope we get the chance to ask her.’

  Their talking about Yesfir had reminded Roshan of her frustration with wanting to fight the high magus and channel energy to the djinn. Her constant tiredness annoyed her. What she really wanted to do was fight, strike a swift, hard blow that would kill the high magus and end this madness.

  Roshan remained lost in her thoughts, until she heard a knock on the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ came a voice.

  It belonged to Behrouz.

  Navid opened the door and ushered him in.

  ‘You’re just in time,’ he said. ‘I’m making tea.’

  Since seeing him last night, the djinni stood straighter, and he’d lost his haunted, distant look. Working with Emad to defend the city had brought him out of himself, but sadness remained evident in his eyes.

  Roshan sat up.

  ‘Any news of Zana?’

  Behrouz shook his head. He sat at the table close to the window overlooking the square.

  ‘Somehow, he managed not to break his neck jumping over the battlements. I went down at first light and found two pairs of manticore footprints leading to the beach. They disappeared among the shingle. It looks like Zana’s with the manticores.’

  Roshan kneaded one sweaty hand and then the other. Yesfir’s capture was her fault. Zana jumping off a wall, putting himself in danger to save Yesfir, was also down to her.