by J F Mehentee
‘I told you, lad, call me Emad. If you have to use a title, it’s Governor. That’s what we all agreed, remember? Baka won’t be ruled; it will be governed.’
Shephatiah bowed.
‘Sorry, Governor Emad.’
Emad wondered if the djinni was always on ceremony and if he ever relaxed.
‘Well, what is it? What’s so important you almost slipped on one of those polished steps?’
Shephatiah gazed up and nodded to himself.
‘Earlier, at dawn, I checked on the two dry wells, like you’d told me to.’ His eyes widened and the corners of his mouth rose. ‘They’re no longer dry.’
The djinni’s excitement was infectious.
‘That’s wonderful,’ Emad said, and slapped Shephatiah on the back. No incantation or word of power could redirect water into those wells. Had Baka decided that one well wasn’t enough to keep its residents watered? ‘Give me an hour. I’ll come find you, and you can tell me more.’
Shephatiah looked from Emad to Navid and back to Emad again. His cheeks reddened.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He bowed. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
Before Emad could tell him not to worry, Shephatiah hurried off in the municipal building’s direction.
Navid shook his head.
‘Ever since you announced I was your son, people look at me that way.’
Emad’s palms began to sweat. He canted his head at the ziggurat and started to walk.
‘Do you wish I hadn’t?’
Navid’s brow furrowed.
‘I just want everyone to know who Roshan was, that she helped the djinn before we knew who our father was.’
Emad swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, they’d reached the ziggurat.
‘Is this place you’ve chosen?’ Navid said. ‘It’s in there?’
Emad gestured for them to climb.
As they ascended the stairs, he said, ‘The same day Baka rose into the air, a door appeared in the entrance hallway’s wall. It leads to a basement.’
A chandelier composed of firestones and resembling an inverted vortex illuminated the windowless hallway. Emad pressed his palm against a wall, then stepped away. A solid sheet of granite swung on silent, invisible hinges.
Firestones flickered on as they descended the stairwell into the basement.
Emad opened his mouth and then closed it. He’d wanted to tell Navid about how he rattled around in the governor’s house and its many rooms. Instead of sitting on his own in that single room across from the square, Navid should come and live with him.
Now’s not the time. Be patient and just keep an eye on him. If he wants help or company, he’ll let you know.
A continuous sheet of lapis lazuli covered the basement’s floor. The walls were tiled with coral-red marble, and lights shone from holes in the high ceiling.
‘This is how we found it,’ Emad said, his voice dampened by the cavernous space surrounding them. ‘Everyone who’s seen this can’t figure out what kind of magic is making light shine from the ceiling.’
Navid turned a full circle. When his gaze met Emad’s, his forehead crinkled.
‘It’s huge…and empty. Where were you thinking of putting the casket?’
Emad expected such a response. When Shephatiah had first shown him the place, he’d wondered what the previous occupants had used it for.
‘I want to build a library,’ Emad said. He headed for the chamber’s centre. ‘The seal robbed us of our auric energy and our memories.’ He sighed. ‘There are only five hundred of us now. Before Solomon arrived, we numbered in the thousands. How much knowledge have we lost? From now on, we must record what we know, preserve it along with the knowledge Fiqitush had kept stored in Iram’s library.’ He glanced over at Navid. He still hadn’t answered the lad’s question. ‘At the library’s centre, there’ll be a memorial to Roshan. All of our knowledge will surround her, and she’ll also be part of our history. I want the djinn to remember what she did for them.’ He paused to allow Navid to think about what he’d said. ‘What do you think? If you think Roshan would have preferred something else, I want to hear about it.’
Navid chewed his lip. He folded his arms, then turned to take in his surroundings.
Emad held his hands behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting.
When he faced Emad again, Navid nodded.
‘It’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘I think she’d like it.’
Emad grinned and rubbed his sweaty palms on his tunic.
‘I do like it.’
Emad swung round, partly out of surprise that someone else was in the basement, but mostly because he recognised the voice.
Roshan stood behind them, close to the foot of the stairs. She pulled back the hood of her robe. Her blue-grey skin lightened to a flesh tone, causing the orange whirls of flame beneath her cheeks and forehead to fade.
She smiled at her brother and then nodded as if to confirm it was her. Roshan looked his way, and Emad’s stomach fluttered. He grasped Navid’s arm for support.
‘Hello, Father,’ she said.
27
Sassan hung above a patch of bare ground. Beneath it lay his ashes.
After three sunsets and three sunrises, today would be no different. Alone and ethereal, he’d waited for the Bridge of Judgement to appear, his former life on one side of it and Heaven on the other. He didn’t understand how his good deeds and misdeeds would widen or narrow the bridge.
So far, there’d been no bridge to judge him, no tumble from it to start a new cycle of rebirth. He’d died and nothing had happened since. Was God so disappointed in him that this was his punishment, to remain a spectre, left behind and forgotten, not worthy of another chance?
The thought left him furious at being cast aside so casually. Had the Divine Light ignored his years of service and devotion because of one mistake? What kind of god did that?
The air shimmered in front of Sassan. It blurred, then coalesced into a cave lit by the red glow of firestones. A woman sat at a table, an empty chair opposite hers. Her face alternated between a human’s and an eagle’s.
Sassan recognised the eagle-headed spirit. He also remembered seeing the woman’s face moments before he died. If they were the same, what did that mean?
The head settled on being human. Although her lips didn’t move, her voice made his essence vibrate.
‘If you wish, you can remain with your ashes, Sassan,’ it said. The woman gestured at the empty chair. ‘Or you can do the sensible thing and join me, Armaiti, and I will tell you why God has forsaken you.’
A note from the author
Thank you for reading this book. This book is part of the first trilogy in the Baka Chronicles. Reader reviews will help me determine whether to keep the series going. Whether it’s brief or detailed, your feedback will make a huge difference.
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About the Author
J F Mehentee is a British-born Asian with Persian ancestry. A lifelong reader of fantasy and science fiction, he’s always looking for ways to combine his interest in Asian and Middle Eastern mythology with storytelling.
After spending three years in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, he now lives in Colombo, Sri Lanka, where he writes full-time—all the while dreaming of one day playing jazz flute like Ron Burgundy.
To learn more, visit www.jfmehentee.com, or subscribe to the newsletter by clicking here.
Acknowledgments
Producing the Baka Chronicles has been a team effort. I couldn’t have created this ser
ies without help from the following professionals:
Structural editor: James Christy,
Copy editor: Richard Shealy,
Cover designer: Deranged Doctor Design.
Finally, huge THANK YOUs to Ginny for her love and encouragement and to my brother, V, who’s read just about everything I’ve ever written—first drafts included!
Copyright © 2019
J F Mehentee
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
Published by P in C Publishing
ePub ISBN: 978-1-912402-23-6
