by J F Mehentee
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. He checked his bracelet. Yesfir and Behrouz were safe. Emad swallowed. He gazed at Shephatiah. ‘Return to the ships. I need fifty djinn.’ He stared across the sand and past the single column of soldiers winding their way back to the encampment. ‘I’m going to pay the high magus a visit.’
24
Armaiti watched as orange, smokeless flame consumed Roshan and Sassan. Both bodies had fallen back and onto their sides, their thin outlines within columns of flame. A moat of molten glass surrounded them.
Sassan’s dome had collapsed the moment he’d lost consciousness. Yesfir, Behrouz, Navid, Zana and Vul watched from a distance. Fuelled by Domain power, the flames’ intensity made it impossible for any of them to get closer than twenty paces.
Armaiti saw tears on most of their faces. Still in shock, Navid hadn’t shape-shifted and remained a rat. He lay in the crook of Yesfir’s arm. Vul’s expression wasn’t one of grief. With his brow creased and his lips pursed into a thin line, he looked more confused than upset. Armaiti guessed that none of them expected Roshan to die.
Armaiti smiled.
The seal’s energy being transferred through the arrow and into Roshan had angered her. And the djinn on this world had caused her enough trouble. Her sentence, however, had ended. Any kind of retribution risked further punishment by the Unmade Creator. She’d learned her lesson—she’d no longer interfere with Its creations.
General Afacan barked an order. The guardsmen behind the four manticores raised their spears, turned and marched towards the front of the camp, leaving this part of the encampment unguarded.
Armaiti caught Yesfir touching her bracelet. Behrouz did the same and then said something to Zana, who continued to cry. They all cast a final look at the bodies engulfed by flames. Yesfir wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Navid sat frozen on her arm. She was the first to turn and leave. Behrouz, his face pale, was next. Zana followed him, which left only the naked Vul, who knelt, his eyes searching the flames. Intrigued by why he would be the last to leave, Armaiti touched his mind to read his thoughts. She discerned no emotions, thoughts or even a pulse. It was as if he didn’t exist.
Vul’s sister, Narian, called out to him. The other manticores had loped off. He rose, shifted and in one giant leap caught up with his sister.
Armaiti wiped sweat from her brow and felt slickness between her fingers.
Fingers?
She looked down and saw bare feet beneath her. A hard thumping came from inside her. Armaiti gasped for air, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath.
She closed her eyes to concentrate. Bright orange penetrated her eyelids. Back while Roshan knelt before Sassan, Armaiti had made herself visible to both of them—nothing more. If she remained incorporeal, she wouldn’t feel the heat pressing against her skin. She wouldn’t sweat.
Armaiti opened her eyes and found herself corporeal and human. Sunlight and flames seared her naked skin. Her legs gave out from under her. Armaiti ignored how the sand burned her shins and feet.
‘She’s dead,’ she yelled at the sky. ‘Free me.’
If she were being punished for Roshan’s death, why hadn’t the Unmade Creator warned her?
Her burning skin, her difficulty breathing and the hammering inside her chest all made it difficult to think. Was it possible the Unmade Creator had no intention of letting her leave this world?
It wanted Roshan dead, and she’d seen to it the girl had died. This couldn’t be happening.
‘You lied,’ she shouted. ‘You said You’d free me.’ Tears came. ‘Answer me. Please. Tell me what to do, but don’t leave me here like this.’
Armaiti received no answer.
The heat grew unbearable.
She dashed towards the guardsmen’s tents. This wasn’t the first time she’d been corporeal. But those times were different. Back then, she’d used her thoughts to condense air particles into a solid shape of her design. This was different. As she moved, she felt the stretch and contraction of muscles and the tautness of ligaments. Her body quivered, tightened and ached regardless of her thoughts. It rebelled against her instructions. She thought so hard, her head throbbed and her eyes kept watering. Armaiti entered tent after tent, scattering belongings until she found what she was looking for.
The hunting knife’s bronze blade was keen and oiled.
Armaiti pushed her head back and placed the knife’s edge against her neck. She paused before lowering the blade. The knife then hung above the blue-green veins of her wrist. Armaiti gritted her teeth. Her clenched fist made her veins and tendons bulge. She willed her left hand to slide the blade down and across to sever the artery beneath. Other than shaking, her hand refused to move.
‘I don’t want to be like this,’ she said.
She’d spoken the truth. So, why the need for self-preservation? Humans killed themselves all the time. Why couldn’t she do it?
With both hands gripping the hilt, she tried to plunge the blade into her stomach. The blade’s tip nicked the skin above her navel.
‘You’re no longer a sabaoth. You’re powerless. You’re not even a djinni. Why do you want to live?’
Armaiti dropped onto the edge of a cot. She held the knife above her foot and let go. Her foot moved before the knife buried its blade in the sand.
‘You want to live because you’re a coward,’ she said, then buried her face in her hands.
The accusation depressed her. She was scared, scared because—unlike other humans—she knew what came after death. And now she was human, she couldn’t face it.
An hour passed. Armaiti’s breathing calmed and the thudding, her heart, slowed.
‘I’m not ready to die,’ she told herself.
Apart from her instinctive avoidance of death, she couldn’t think why, given her circumstances, she wanted to live.
Armaiti scanned the tent, then plucked at a tunic and crumpled leggings. Both were stiff with dried sweat, the sour odour making her nostrils twitch. The garments matched her height, but they were baggy on her. The sandals she found had a broken strap. So long as she didn’t run, their soles would prevent her own from burning. Armaiti retrieved the knife’s sheath and tucked it into the belt holding up her leggings.
Outside, smoke curled up from the ashes of both fires. The moat of molten glass had solidified. Before she went marching off into the desert, she’d need water, lots. If she located a horse, could she master riding it?
Something glinted as she turned. Armaiti looked back at the heap of ash that had been Sassan. She shuffled forward to keep the sandal from sliding off her foot.
She didn’t have to guess to know what it was. Power emanated from it, cooling the surrounding air. The power belonged to those djinn who’d died before the seal could return their auric energy to them. Armaiti squatted and blew the ash from the seal. To take it would mean her continuing to play the Unmade Creator’s game, because everything that had happened until now was just that. If the Unmade Creator wanted to understand Its origins, she didn’t see how her becoming human would help further that understanding.
Armaiti glanced at the sandal’s broken strap. The clothes she’d stolen made her skin itch, and the tunic’s muskiness made her heave. She pulled the hunting knife from its sheath and used it to fish the seal out from Sassan’s remains.
She glanced over to her left and the mountains.
‘I won’t deny I’m scared,’ she said, staring at the ring that hung from the knife’s tip. It didn’t matter whether the Unmade Creator heard her. ‘And if I live as a human, it won’t be as a hermit.’
She lifted the ring off the knife and held it between finger and thumb. The sun brightened, forcing Armaiti to squint.
‘If it’s a game You’re playing, then I will play it. And while I play, I will taint this world. I will turn human against human and djinni against djinni until, one day, this world of Yours destroys itself.’
Armaiti slid the knife back into its sheath, then slipped t
he ring over her right index finger. The seal didn’t fit, but that didn’t stop some of the auric energy it contained from merging with hers. A word of power shrank the seal, and it fitted snuggly.
Armaiti’s second word of power raised a portal.
25
Emad sat on the steps to the ziggurat, his mind thrumming with each new memory that surfaced. He’d almost forgotten his plan when Shephatiah stepped out of a portal. Behind him, other djinn appeared out of mid-air.
‘While I was away,’ Shephatiah said, ‘some of the prisoners arrived on a ship.’
Emad touched his bracelet. His smile shrank when he couldn’t detect Roshan and Navid. He turned to the assembled djinn.
‘The empire’s retreating, but there are still matters we need to settle.’ A djinn, one of the younger ones he’d seen up on the ramparts, appeared and strode towards him. ‘What is it?’ he said, eager to leave for the encampment.
‘Your Highness, there are three riders, soldiers, heading our way. Behind them are manticores and djinn.’
Emad nodded his thanks.
‘I want five djinn to come with me. The rest of you, remain just outside the city and await further instructions.’ He raised a portal halfway between Baka and the encampment. He ushered the five volunteers through it, Shephatiah being one. The remaining djinn raised their own portals, the older ones drawing a circle with a finger and voicing the word of power.
Outside Baka and able to make out the figures behind the three riders, Emad’s apprehension grew. Several djinn rode manticores, including Behrouz and Yesfir. Alongside them strode a dozen djinn: former daevas captured in Arshak. There was no sign of the twins. Impatient for news, Emad marched out to meet them.
The riders drew up in front of Emad and dismounted. None of them carried a weapon. The middle rider waited for the soldier on his left to take his horse’s reins. Emad recognised the man: first, outside Derbicca with Aeshma, and then inside the city, battling to protect the high magus from Behrouz.
The soldier approached. He raised an eyebrow in recognition.
‘Emad,’ he said, and performed a shallow bow. ‘We’ve not been introduced. I am General Afacan.’
Emad nodded, then looked past the general. It would be a little longer for the manticores to reach them.
‘Where’s the high magus?’ he said.
‘That’s why I’m here.’ He gestured at the manticores and the approaching djinn. ‘The high magus is dead. He died murdering a young woman, a djinni, I think.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure what happened to him, but I’m sure the others will explain things better than I can.’ The general stared down and to his right.
Roshan—it has to be her the bastard murdered. Emad felt his limbs shake. He scanned the group behind the general. Where’s Navid?
‘This pointless campaign is over,’ the general said. He looked up. ‘As soon as we’ve tended to the wounded, my men and I are returning to Persepae.’
Emad swallowed. He had to put the djinn’s needs first. There’d be time soon enough for him to question the others and to grieve. He straightened and tried not to glare at the general.
‘Tend to your wounded, General. When you’re ready, I’ll raise a portal to Persepae for them.’
Notches appeared in the general’s brow.
Emad held a hand behind his back and clenched it.
‘You humans have never tried to understand us. Send this message with your wounded to the emperor: leave the djinn alone, and the djinn will leave you alone.’
Again, the general gazed at the sand to his right.
‘I will make sure he gets it, Emad,’ he said, then looked up and sighed. ‘All I can do is relay your message. Although I’m grateful for your help, I cannot guarantee how the emperor will react to it.’ The general took a step forward and lowered his head. ‘As a mark of respect,’ he said, his voice low so only Emad heard him, ‘please consider my advice: don’t stay here for too long.’ The general backed away, then said, ‘I’ll send a rider to let you know when our wounded are ready.’
Emad didn’t move as he watched the general return to his horse, mount and ride away.
He was already crying when a bruised and battered Yesfir hugged him.
‘Be careful,’ she said, and pushed herself off him. ‘You’ll squash Navid.’ She peeled back the top of her tunic’s pocket. Inside, Navid lay curled in a ball. ‘He was too shocked to shape-shift,’ she said, her eyes teary. ‘He watched her die—we all watched Roshan die.’
26
Emad joined Ramina and the eight other manticores who’d accompanied her to the city’s doors. Behind them, Zana said his final goodbyes to Yesfir and Behrouz. The nine manticores, dressed in robes of white, had arrived an hour after dawn.
Three days had passed since the battle for Baka and the guardsmen’s departure. Three days weren’t enough for Yesfir to recover from her time with Sassan and to grieve for her father. And now Zana was leaving. Why couldn’t the manticores have waited a little longer before holding young Zana to his promise? Ramina escorting Zana to the den of the Cross Scar pride reflected how seriously the manticores took a promise, even from a thirteen-year-old. Emad bent his head back and addressed the pride’s leader.
‘I didn’t get to thank you personally for helping us,’ he said. ‘Your warriors bought us time to evacuate the city. Your intervention saved many lives.’
Ramina dipped her head.
‘You’re welcome, Emad.’ Ramina bent forward, her gaze earnest. ‘What next for the djinn and Baka?’
Emad scratched his chin. He had searched his brother’s tablet for an answer to the same question.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘It’s as if Baka woke with the return of our auric energy. Since it stopped levitating, I can’t shake the feeling it’s waiting for something. Until I can discover what it is, Baka isn’t going anywhere.’
Ramina’s gaze remained sober. The significance of what he’d said wasn’t clear enough.
‘By now, the emperor will have received my message,’ Emad continued. ‘The djinn will leave the empire alone if the empire does the same. I don’t know if the emperor will consider my message a request or a threat and how he’ll react to either. I don’t want to wait around to find out.’ Like Ramina, Emad leaned forward. ‘It’s likely the general will include your helping us in his report. If he doesn’t come after us, the emperor might come after the manticores.’
Ramina’s grave expression didn’t change.
‘Let him come,’ she said. Then, one side of her mouth curled upward. ‘He must find us first. It can be treacherous, searching for a manticore’s den.’
Emad had seen a guardsman torn in two by a manticore. Would their ferociousness be enough against the military might of an empire?
‘The djinn owe you a huge debt of gratitude,’ he said. ‘If ever you need our help, you need only ask, Ramina.’
She smiled and held out her hand, then grasped Emad’s forearm, her grip firm but not crushing.
‘Thank you, Emad. We will.’
Ramina turned and joined the other manticores. She nodded at Zana.
They’d all said their farewells earlier, before those on guard had opened the doors to the manticores. Emad still blinked back a tear when Zana, about to join his new pride, cast a forlorn glance at a gaunt-looking Yesfir. Behrouz, who avoided looking anyone in the eye since his return from the encampment, waved.
Navid, who’d stood beside the couple, didn’t move as Baka’s doors closed with a loud thunk. Emad watched how the lad didn’t move and wondered how long he’d stand like that before he got in someone’s way. He wasn’t sure if Navid was ready to talk. Anyway, what did one say to a young man who’d lost the twin sister he’d shared every day of his life with?
Words hadn’t helped when he’d told Yesfir of Fiqitush’s pride in her. They only made her cry more. In time, Emad hoped, Yesfir would draw comfort from those words.
As he’d done with Behrouz, assigning him t
o lead the defence council in the hope it would rebuild his confidence, Navid needed something to force him out of the room he’d hidden away in. He had an idea, although he couldn’t tell if it would work. Emad took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and strolled over to Navid.
‘How are you?’ he said.
Navid frowned, although his eyes remained fixed on the doors.
‘I miss her,’ he said with a thin voice. ‘I find myself asking her for an opinion or wanting to point at something I’ve seen and then, when I open my mouth to speak, I realise she isn’t there. I know she’s gone, but something inside of me doesn’t want to believe it or accept it.’
Emad’s throat constricted.
Be strong for the lad’s sake.
‘I’ve found the perfect resting place for Roshan’s remains,’ he said. ‘Would you like to see it?’
Navid’s head drooped forward. He seemed to Emad to be pondering the question.
‘Yes,’ he said, then nodded. His eyes narrowed a little. ‘That would be good.’
Emad led the way to the ziggurat. They walked together in silence. Marble of different hues—white, pink and blue—replaced the sandstone walls of the buildings they passed. The djinn had paved the entire city and clad both the battlements and the ziggurat with dark-grey granite. Fiqitush had chosen the materials, having included the designs for new buildings in his tablet’s entries.
Emad remembered the djinn cities he’d visited during his time as a sailor. From his recently returned memories, he couldn’t remember any of them looking like Baka. He itched to revisit those cities, to learn what had happened to them and discover what became of the other djinn he’d forgotten.
‘Your Highness.’
Emad rolled his eyes at the interruption.
Shephatiah climbed the ziggurat’s steps two at a time and strode towards them.
