by Zamil Akhtar
“And…what happened?”
Eshe took a gulp, shuddered, then tossed his wine on the grass. “I’ll just say it. One day while the girl was walking to her stall, we pulled her off the street, stuck seeds in her mouth, and wrapped her in a sack. Took her a few miles from the city, where no one could hear us. I’ll never forget her crying, her screaming, her trembling when we woke her. We kept asking her about Aschere, about what they’d talked about, but the girl had nothing to say. So I…”
Already, this story was disturbing enough. “What did you do?”
“I cut her at the wrist, took a cup of her blood, and started writing bloodrunes across her body. Runes that caused…indescribable pain. Runes that would never wash away. I wrote them on her face. Across her thighs. Wherever I could…but no matter what, she wouldn’t tell us what Aschere was up to.”
Already, I didn’t want to hear anymore. Already, my view of this man had plunged when I’d promised nothing could change it. What he described seemed all wrong. The Disciples were supposed to protect the weak and innocent, not torture them. Disgust pooled in my hoarsening throat.
“Why?” I shook my head. “Why did you go so far?”
Eshe couldn’t look me in the eye, gazing instead at my wine cup, as if he regretted dumping his. “Because…I didn’t want what happened in Himyar to happen here. I felt it my duty to protect the Faith and believed the suffering of one young girl couldn’t weigh against that of a kingdom.” He sighed, almost in relief. Perhaps it felt good to tell someone his pain. “But…seeing what we did…we took her to the Disciples and admitted our crimes. Accepted punishment. The sheikhs whipped us, then they threw my brother and me off that,” he pointed to the mountain peak from earlier, which he’d said had romantic views, “a view to die from. As we were falling, my brother pulled me on top of him. He cracked his back and broke my fall. I wrote every healing rune I could across his body, but no bloodrunes I knew could mend broken bones, nor did I possess the flavor to save him.” He looked up at me, tears spilling. “So…lady…what do you think of me, now?”
12
Zedra
I am naught but a servant. And I’m not being humble, but rather reminding myself of a simple truth: I’m not doing this for myself. I sipped fanaa hundreds of years ago, but it has since left me. Once, I was the fire that burned without a wick, without a candle, without even air. And I burned for one thing: Lat and her Children.
Because we were one once and will be in Paradise. But if the Great Terror comes, then we would be remade in fire, and our souls shredded, mixed in a sea, and recycled into other creations, the like of which no mind can comprehend.
Father Chisti warned of this when he walked the earth a thousand years ago. But you won’t find it in the Recitals of Chisti because the saint-kings twisted his teachings. To the saint worshippers, the Great Terror is inevitable — simply the cataclysm that precedes the end of the world and the Day of Reckoning. To us, it must be stopped, or else there won’t be a reckoning, nor a thousand hells and a thousand paradises in which to dwell. There simply won’t be anything we can understand.
I reminded myself of these truths every day so that I acted mindfully. To direct my will toward the ultimate truths, that was my worship, not moving my head and prostrating and singing praises.
“Testimony!” Kato’s shout sliced through my thoughts. I focused on the surrounding happenings in the great hall, where Kato was running his public inquiries.
“I have given testimony!” the shrill and quavering kohl-faced vizier said. “I’ve nothing to hide!”
Kato’s laugh was iron-steady. “Am I to believe that you gave Ozar those ships out of a loving trust? Where are the contracts? If, as you claim, he paid you twenty thousand, there should be a piece of paper!”
The vizier’s face reddened like rosebuds. “You ever earned a copper in your life, Himyarite? When men of esteem give their word, it is enough!”
Kato leaned back upon the dais. “Is that all I am to you? A base Himyarite? Darker than a dirty dog’s paws? Too bad I am, at this moment, the only one who can save you. And I’ve heard enough.”
I recalled Kato mentioning how much he despised this shipmaster vizier. The man had tried to sell Crucian slaves into the gholam, like they did in Sirm’s janissary army, to undermine the dominant Himyarite faction who were fiercely loyal to Kato.
Kato gestured to his gholam. The gold-coated warriors grabbed the vizier’s arms and dragged him cursing out of the great hall. He’d be sharing the old barrack with dozens of Ozar’s friends and Kato’s enemies.
That was where Kato put them, rather than the dungeon of the Sand Palace. The old barrack was a rundown compound just outside the palace walls that, decades ago, housed the gholam. It was getting crowded in there. And I had my own designs on it, which I’d have to enact soon — though, unfortunately, I had no bloodrunes in the old barrack.
With a Kashanese steed and a few hundred riders, Kyars could arrive within days. Little time was left to put everything in motion, and yet I needed to know more. More about the man I’d put on strings.
Vera wheeled me to my room and placed me in the closet. Perfect timing: Kato was leaving the palace as I landed atop the simurgh statue. I fluttered overhead and followed him out the gate as he joined the clamor of Qandbajar’s thoroughfare. After hailing a carriage, he didn’t turn west toward the gholam barrack but east toward the Alleys of Mud.
Drongos have an acute smelling sense — all their senses are heightened, actually — so I almost fell out of flight from the wafting of open gutters. But Kato didn’t seem to mind. He walked into a pleasure house, known to be frequented by laborers and tradesmen and sailors. Strange, considering all pleasure houses were closed today for some saint’s birthday.
Black drapes covered the windows, so I stood on the roof and listened. Honed my hearing on the happenings in the pleasure house. A jingling — Kato had just handed a bag of coins to someone. The thrumming of fur or something like it, the light scratching of a scalp — he’d rubbed the hair of a child. Then he said, “He’s growing strong.”
A woman with a tender voice replied, “He’ll make a good soldier, one day.”
Kato grunted. “Anything but that. Tell the tutor to smack him if he doesn’t focus — I won’t begrudge it, so long as it doesn’t leave a mark. Next time I come, I’ll bring Atash and the Simurgh — the boy better be able to read it. At least sound out the words. I’ll rip out the pictures if I must.”
I felt tiny vibrations as the young woman nodded. “Of course, pasha. I’ll make certain he does.” While the deference in her voice was plain, I didn’t sense fear, despite her talking to the most powerful man in the city.
I flew overhead as Pasha Kato traveled to another dwelling, this one in the Glass District. Floral curtains covered the glass walls of the building, which didn’t seem like a pleasure house and had a small garden of potted plants atop. I listened as Kato took a crying baby in his arms. With an unexpectedly soothing voice, he hummed a Himyaric lullaby and rocked her gently. A lovely song about animals — the words for tiger, lion, and eagle were the same in Paramic. I wasn’t sure why I understood what wasn’t the same, but I did. Perhaps I’d picked up Himyaric somewhat by being among so many gholam, though they almost never spoke it around me.
I noted he didn’t give this woman any money; considering she lived in the Glass District, I doubt she needed him to.
Kato said, “Lat wouldn’t bless Tamaz with a daughter.” It almost sounded like he was tearing up. “Yet she blessed me, a mere slave. Next time, I’ll bring books. They have a whole shelf for early reading in the Tower. You must start her now, make her eager to learn.”
“What will she do with books?” the woman asked, her voice somewhat hoarse. She was clearly older than the girl in the pleasure house.
“She will do whatever she wants,” Kato said. “I tell you, Kyars is not like his father. The man is a visionary. And he is strong. He’ll break the Fount’s hold
on the people and crush the corrupt viziers. Alanya will be a land where even a girl with no name can rise, so long as she’s knowledgeable.”
Was Kato’s blade not as double-sided as I thought? He really did admire Kyars. How much harder would it be to set them against each other?
The woman said, “What you’re saying makes me hopeful, Kat.” Was that his pet name? Adorable.
“In the new Alanya, all will be remade. The strong will become weak, and the weak will become strong. The slaves masters, and the masters slaves. I’ll make sure of it.”
Kato exuded palpable excitement. Giddiness, even. Did he really believe Kyars, who perfumed his bathwater with a special rose petal that only grew within caves on the snow-capped peak of Mount Azad in Kashan, would upend a system that put him at the very top? My mother once told me, “Power and wealth do not change a man — they only reveal him.” Kyars was naked to me. He’d never spoken of any grand plans to redesign Alanya, and he’d rarely sought the conflicts needed for that. Perhaps these were Kato’s delusions. But they cemented him to his master — a problem.
Most likely, Kyars knew what to tell people to gain their support. He’d likely painted a different vision to Hadrith, and yet another to each vizier and governor whose support he would need to gain and keep power. I knew from the start that I wasn’t dealing with fools, but with men whose own cleverness matched or exceeded mine. But even the most cunning had weaknesses to exploit. And as Pasha Kato kissed the cheek of his cooing daughter, I was relieved I’d found his.
I sent Vera to the Tower of Wisdom to ask if Flavors of Blood Volume Two was available. Meanwhile, I tried walking in my room. Mirima was looking after baby Seluq since I couldn’t care for him in my state, and so much time apart threatened to break my already strained mind. Despite a few successes, my limbs jittered, and I was cut off from all I’d known and loved…and would always be — though what mattered was whether I acted on these sad, poisonous feelings. Till now, I’d acted to further the cause; the few times I’d let my emotions take over had nearly brought my downfall.
I could walk, but each step seemed to bruise my muscles and buckle my bones, as if I were old again. Was this punishment for getting two soul vessels killed — the rat first and Cyra shortly after? In Vogras, I once soulshifted into an eagle to spy on the movements of Saint-King Nasar’s army, and then that eagle had a heart attack while soaring across a cloud, barely surviving. It took months to feel like myself again.
By hobbling from my bed to my balcony, I made some progress. I plopped on the pillow-filled couch and enjoyed the noon breeze. Closed my mind to every awful thing I’d done and would do. Tried to taste fanaa — perfect stillness — though it had been too long.
Vera woke me with a tap on my shoulder. She wasn’t carrying the book. “It’s past due, they said.”
I yawned and stretched. “They’ll recover it. Should take a few days — if whoever has it didn’t run off. But who would so foolishly risk the Philosophers’ whip?”
Vera hunched her shoulders. “Isn’t it a healer’s tome? May I ask, sultana, what you mean to do with it?”
The girl had gotten curious. Bothersome for me; dangerous for her. “My dear, it merely has some insights on how to help me heal.” How quickly the lies flew from my tongue since moving to this palace.
“You told everyone that you fainted. What does that have to do with blood?”
I glared at her.
“Apologies, sultana.” She bent her neck as if I were a Seluqal. Good. “I just worry about you. You’re always going in that closet.”
“As I told you, I used to sleep in a wooden chest as a child. Reminds me of home. I feel good in there.”
“I can tell.” When I tried to look away, Vera followed my eyes. “It’s like you’re carrying stones on your back. I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing I can’t handle alone, dear.”
“But why should you? What else am I here for, sultana, than to ease your burdens? Cyra would tell me her frustrations, and I’d ease them…however I could. I’m a good listener and better at solving problems than I look.”
A part of me wanted to share this burden. But my son and I were the last of the Children, and so it was ours alone. Some heathen girl could never understand what it meant to be a part of god. A part that had been severed and left to die.
Trumpets blared in the distance. No, it was a deeper sound: long horns. The wail of long horns disturbed the breeze and reawakened my worries. What could be happening now? Vera helped me off the couch and toward the balcony railing.
Far beyond the city wall, haze covered the fields and dunes at the horizon. I squinted to see. Vera pushed half her body off the railing to get a good look.
That wasn’t haze. It was sand. Sand kicked up by horses. Hundreds of them. Thousands, their line stretching a vast distance. They trotted toward the city from the north. Could it be Kyars? But how could he be here so soon? And he would’ve come from the west, not the north.
The horses were…pulling something. No, not something — many, many things. They resembled…domes…but patterned and formed of cloth. Yurts? As the horses approached the wall, they slowed, and the haze cleared. Riders pulled a city of yurts on massive flat wagons. I considered ordering Vera to leave and shifting into the bird to get a closer look, but a better idea came to mind.
“Vera, take me to Kato. Now.”
She helped me into my chair, and we departed. Pasha Kato was in the great hall, sitting upon the dais and talking with other gholam. Vera wheeled me to him, and I asked, “Pasha, what is happening?”
A tender smile stretched across his face. Visiting his children must’ve warmed his heart. “Nothing you need worry over.”
“I am worried,” I said. “My beloved is not yet here, and there is another army come to our walls. By Lat, who are they?”
He ordered the gholam to go away. Once they’d walked to the far side, he gestured for me to come closer. Vera wheeled me forward, my knees almost touching his.
“The other day, you said something about rats and bait. Well, looks like the rats have come barreling into the trap.”
“Rats? That’s a horde!” I reminded myself to stay calm. “Is it the Sylgiz? Have they returned?”
If only I’d noticed it while flying. Riding from the north meant the horde had come through the Zelthuriyan Desert, and the drongo never flew that route, so I’d not had the chance to see anything while soulshifting into it.
“Looks like you don’t know everything.” Kato seemed to savor my ignorance, his ear-to-ear smile so smug. “That horde is under the command of Mansur.”
“Mansur? The governor of Merva? Tamaz’s brother?”
“The same. Tamaz asked him to come, with the Jotrids, to deal with the Sylgiz. And yet, the Sylgiz are no longer here. Now, let me ask you — why do you think Mansur still came?”
Tamaz had done what? By Lat, this whole time I’d assumed I’d completely outmaneuvered that old man. But it seemed I only got lucky because had things played out the way they seemed to be — and I could still hear the long horns — then Jotrid guns would’ve driven off the Sylgiz and sundered my plan.
That it all worked out, in the end, was surely a blessing from Lat and not a result of my cleverness.
“Must I repeat my question?” Kato said with a disappointed sigh.
“Mansur is here because…because…” I knew nothing about the man, other than what I’d already stated. He was not part of my considerations at all!
Kato chuckled. “We’re not yet close enough to finish each other’s sentences, but allow me. Mansur is here to dip his toes. See if he has support to…” He pointed with his thumb at the throne behind him.
What!? For once, I didn’t have to pretend to be shocked. “Kato…are you saying that Mansur wants to be Shah?”
“Shh!” Kato put his forefinger between us. “I know it’s terrifying to hear, given your son and all, but worry not — Mansur doesn’t have the s
upport. Kyars spent the past decade forging bonds with everyone, from the lowliest dungeon sweeper to the grandest of grandiose viziers. He didn’t take that paper for granted.” Kato pointed to the proclamation hanging above the golden divan, in which Tamaz named Kyars his successor. “So relax. Mansur will come and go, weaker for it.”
I let out an anxious breath and shook my head. “But Kyars is not yet here. And you’re rather confident for a man with few allies in a city surrounded by enemies. If I were you, I’d stop putting viziers in prison, lest they see their salvation in the hands of another.”
“Heh. I have you, don’t I?” He raised a playful eyebrow. “An alliance with the cleverest woman in the city must count for something. I’d be more poetic, but it may offend the little ears of the girl who wheels you around.”
I turned to Vera. She was standing two paces back, her gaze on the ground, pretending not to listen.
The more I thought about it, the worse this problem seemed. Mansur had come with the Jotrids, and that meant he’d brought Khagan Pashang, a man renowned for his disregard of human suffering. Or rather, his delight for it.
“I have the most wondrous idea,” Kato said, raising a meaty finger. “You, Zedra, will welcome them yourself. Tamaz’s wife never leaves her room, but you and Mirima are worldly women who will convince Mansur that his pretext for being here doesn’t exist.”
