Daughter of the Salt King

by A. S. Thornton

  I fussed with the silk fabric covering my legs, chagrined that he acknowledged my rule-breaking with Firoz.

  “It is often your father’s desire that I am disguised as his guard or slave. I have known you since you were born.” That surprised me. I wondered how often our paths had crossed before. Had I bribed him with salt he did not need as I slipped by, unaware he could give me so much more than escape from the palace for an afternoon?

  “How have I never seen you before?”

  “You only see me if I allow it. As I allowed you to see me during the King’s address.”

  “No one else could see you?”

  “None but you.”

  “Were you there today? During the courting?”

  He nodded. I was again embarrassed. By my coquettish behavior displayed so blatantly, that he saw my father handle me like one of his treasures, that he saw Qadir reject me.

  “Qadir . . .”

  “I sensed that you did not want him, just as I sensed you were looking for me. I redirected his attention.”

  I remembered the suddenness with which he had dropped my hand and nodded. My stomach rumbled. “What did my father eat today, do you know? They were little red jewels.”

  “The pomegranate?” the jinni asked, baffled.

  “Pomegranate?”

  “Yes, it’s a fruit.”

  I thought of coconuts and dates. “It did not look like fruit to me.”

  “I will show you.” The jinni brightened with a wide smile. He walked around the small pond and knelt down at my side, the heat of him fully surrounding me.

  He held his hand before my eyes and asked, “With your permission? It is more dramatic this way.” Did I hear amusement?

  I nodded. Carefully, his hand covered my eyes. I leaned into him ever so slightly. They rested lightly on my face for only a moment before they were gone. The gentleness with which he touched me left me with a deep longing for more, like when Hadiyah massaged my shoulders and back.

  When I opened my eyes, I squealed and jumped up to my feet. Fruit, bright and shining, was piled high on tiered trays and platters. I scurried to them, the jinni trailing behind.

  “Eiqab be praised,” I whispered, as I picked up a slice of something orange and wet. I set it back down and picked up a small, red fruit connected to its twin. My eyes roved over the plethora. I did not know where to begin.

  “This is a pomegranate. What your father had,” the jinni said, coming up from behind me. He picked up a red, hard-sided fruit the size of his palm. I took it from him, and peered closely. It appeared much different than what I had seen earlier.

  “No, this is not it.”

  The jinni took it from me. From the gentle pressure of his fingertips, there came a soft crack, and he split the red fruit in two. My mouth dropped open when I saw that at its core were glistening rubies identical to the ones my father had. The jinni showed me how to pry the gems from their soft, white beds. I smashed most of the juice-filled jewels as I retrieved one.

  Fingertips stained red, I placed the seed into my mouth. It burst with sweetness and leaked coolness onto my tongue.

  “Do you like it?” He asked me as I chewed.

  I crushed the tiny, hard pit between my teeth and hunted for more of the turgid seeds.

  “More than I love baths,” I groaned.

  He let me try them all, taught me their names. I tasted wet orange slices, the soft flesh of apricot, and shining cherries with cores like rock. I stuffed myself with the sweet fruit, gleeful as he described the trees that bore them. It wasn’t just pomegranates: all fruit glistened like jewels amongst the velvet green of the leaves.

  “Where do they come from?” I asked, my eyes were wide with child-like curiosity.

  “Far away from here. Traders cannot make it this far with fruit still whole. It rots too quickly, but, sometimes, it is dried and preserved or turned into spirits. Like wine.” He pointed to a cluster of grapes.

  I sat back on the sand, leaning against a stone. I ate so much, my belly ached with each breath.

  “May I sit beside you?” The jinni asked. He had maintained a careful distance from me.

  “You may, but don’t forget I’m an ahira, eh? You can’t touch me lest you’ve a plan to woo me.” I raised my eyebrows at him, but when I saw the pain flash in his eyes, I stopped and mumbled, “Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

  Seated beside me, he was still careful to keep his distance. Unsure if it was because of what I had said, I felt foolish for trying to joke with him.

  Through several breaths of silence, only the rustling of the leaves and songs of lucky birds could be heard.

  “I have never done this before. Simply sitting with someone in a quiet place for no reason but to sit. It is,” he hesitated, “very nice.”

  “You and I are the same in that way. It is nice.”

  “No, I imagine you wouldn’t have this luxury. Your father is careful with you and your sisters. But what of your friend?”

  “Firoz?”

  “Oh, is that his name?” He rubbed the cuffs on his wrists.

  “It is different with him.”

  We sat in unhurried silence for a while more, our eyes staring at the city that lay fixed amongst the dunes.

  “You have been very kind. Why?”

  “You are one who released me.”

  I was disappointed by his answer, some small part of me hoping there was something more. Something that made me special.

  “But you said I am no longer your master.”

  “True, but I’ve promised you wishes.”

  The sun dipped toward the horizon, the shadows growing long. I felt drunk on the sugary fruit and the afternoon warmth, and my eyelids grew heavy.

  “I see that you are tired. Will you stay a little longer?” He said it so gently.

  There was a poorly concealed vulnerability that made my chest ache. Just that afternoon, I had felt trapped with my father. The jinni had taken me from that which oppressed me, and now I was sitting in the shade, full of sweet fruit. I wanted to ask him then—can I have my freedom? But I did not want to destroy this peace, the ease of our time together. It was the closest to freedom I’d ever had. I didn’t want it to disappear. And, he had been so vulnerable, I did not want to remind him that he was a slave to grant wishes, just as I did not want to be reminded that I was an ahira used to benefit my father.

  “Truthfully, I see no reason to ever leave.” I smiled at him as I lay down on the sand. I could smell him: jasmine and desert dust laced through with a scent of something unfamiliar. “But why do you want to stay?” I said drowsily.

  “When I am with you, I am not with the King. I have never spent time with someone who does not own my actions, who does not only care about my magic. And—” He stopped talking. The word hung between us for some time, before the warm breeze blew it away.

  Today would not be the day I wished for my freedom.

  I must have fallen asleep, because when I stirred and opened my eyes, the sky had begun to purple, the orange of the fading sun was like fire against the few clouds.

  “I will take you home now,” the jinni said from beside me. He had not moved. He stood fluidly. I followed, slow and dazed from sleep.

  “I will return you to precisely where I took you. Move quickly to catch up with your sisters and you will not be missed.”

  He held his arms open before him, as he had done earlier that day, and I stepped into them.

  The jinni wrapped his long arms around me, and pulled me to him. Earlier, the intimate gesture had given me pause. It felt indecent—too close. This time, I understood its purpose. Just as I breathed in, the ground shifted from under me, and I felt the air change, noticed the light brighten. We were back in the stuffy confines of the palace.

  I kept my eyes closed, savoring what the jinni had just given me. When I opened my eyes, I would be drawn back to the life that was not my own. A bird shoved back in its cage.

  “You should go.” He
dropped his arms and stepped away from me.

  Feeling chilled at his leaving despite the warmth of the midday sun, I looked up at him. I found I already missed him, the freedom and the stories he told. I longed for his attention again and was horrified at the thought of returning to my life, returning to the monotonous days of listening to my sisters, weaving, gossiping, idling.

  “When will I see you again?” I hated how desperate I sounded. Perhaps I had made a mistake not to ask for my freedom. Next time. I must ask for my freedom the next time.

  “Emel, you must go. Time moves once again.” His words were stern.

  “Will I see you soon?” I tried again, prolonging the time I could stay in the hallway with him, pushing away my return home. I did not want to go back to my sisters and that life. Not yet.

  “I hope.” He started down the hall, the opposite direction I needed to go. I watched him and felt despair.

  “Wait!”

  He turned back to face me, his eyes questioning.

  “I wish—” I stumbled, unsure of how to speak what it was I desired—how did I say I didn’t want to return to the life I knew waited for me? “I wish to not yet return home.”

  He looked pained at my words. He whispered, “It will be as you wish.”

  Then, with a warm wind that came from nowhere, the jinni transformed into golden dust that dissipated into the air. He was gone.

  I stared, confused, at the place where he had just been. Nothing had changed. A deep ache pressed against my gut. I had held freedom only briefly, yet the feeling of it had fastened itself to me like a metal cuff around my wrist. Heavy, unforgettable, and drawing me back.

  I turned to where my sisters had disappeared days, moments before. I stared at the hallway around me. Why hadn’t my wish worked? I began to walk back to the zafif to find my sisters.

  An angry voice sounded behind me.

  “Stop!”

  I turned back, alarmed. It was a voice I knew. It was a voice I did not want to hear in that hallway, alone.

  Nassar stood at the entrance, the tent still swaying behind him. He was looking all around me, manic. “Who was here with you?!”

  I stammered. “No one.”

  Still, he looked around, as if someone could be hiding in the folds of fabric. Then his iron gaze settled on me. “You are not to be out by yourself,” he hissed. “How dare you defy the King’s rule.” He turned and shouted through the walls to the soldiers that waited on the other side. “Take this ahira to the King!”

  Two guards burst into the hallway behind Nassar and approached me so quickly, I had no time to respond before their hands were clasped to my arms and they were roughly dragging me back toward the Salt King.

  Edala,

  * * *

  In response to your question, remember it is a waste for man to pray to Masira. There cannot be understanding between a worshipper and Masira as there can be with her Sons, who are much closer to us. She listens to none but herself, does only what She desires.

  But if you must petition, remember that She will hear sacrifice. Have you heard the salt chasers’ idiom, douse a flame with salt? Perhaps not—I know your father keeps you sheltered from desert woes—but it means that one must give something he needs before She might listen.

  Do not be discouraged. You are learning quickly. Continue to study the Litab, and your ability to reach Masira will grow.

  Zahar

  * * *

  —Found parchment detailing discussions of the

  Litab Almuq

  Chapter Eight

  “She was out by herself,” Nassar said excitedly as the King blundered into his throne, two of his wives trailing like obedient dogs.

  “Tramp.” The Salt King’s voice was honed with fury as he looked at me. “First, you reject Qadir, and now you’re caught trying to go off on your own. What would cause you to be so bold?”

  The light sparkled cheerily through the tanzanite gems on my father’s slippers as I stared at them. At the edge of my vision, heaps of salt sat around us in the room—none still tarnished with blood. Did my father throw out the spoiled salt? Or did he wish the blood away? My thoughts strayed to the jinni. Where had he gone?

  “You were distracted with Qadir,” he said. “He complained that your mind was elsewhere, that you spurned him, seeking someone else.” He stood, nudging one of his wives aside with his foot, and walked toward me. “And now you’re found by yourself. Were you trying to run away? Or perhaps you are trying to find those traitorous men to flee with?”

  With a delicate cough, Nassar stepped into my father’s line of sight. “We know that the Altamaruq are no longer an issue. Your soldiers took care of all that remained. It would be impossible for Emel to flee to them. More likely, she goes to another man.”

  The King gave Nassar a sidelong glance before he grabbed my face, crushing my cheeks between his fingers. He jerked my head up so my black eyes met his. An icy terror washed over me, and every breath burned. He was furious.

  “Choose your words wisely, Emel, for I will only grant you a few.” He released his hold on my face, but continued to stand before me, the jagged stones on my bodice catching on his tunic.

  “I was with my sisters. I had fallen behind . . .” I paused, trying to slow my breath, trying to find an explanation. “The vizier found me as I was catching up.”

  “Lies!” Nassar erupted from beside the King. I cringed. “I heard you with a man! And where was the trailing guard?” He turned to his King, waving his hand at me. “The guard would have been with her unless she hid and evaded him. Or maybe he was the very person she sought?”

  The King nodded in agreement. “There is something amiss, Emel. What or who is it you find so distracting? What could you value more than your family?”

  “My King, there is no one—”

  A swift, unyielding slap wrenched my head to the side. The hands on my arms tightened their grip, preventing me from falling. My eyes watered, and my chest heaved as a sharp pain erupted at my temple.

  My mind whirled. The sequence of events was incomprehensible. The happiness I felt in the oasis was like a dream—a blurry memory too good to have been real. Sons, I’d been a fool not to wish for my freedom then. I could be gone from here. Wetness trickled down my cheek. Blood. The skin on my face torn by my father’s ring.

  Was my father going to kill me? I was not ready to die. I wanted some sort of real life before I was given to Masira. I thought of the jinni again. I dared not look around for him, the echo of my father’s accusations ringing in my ears.

  “You lying whore,” he spat. “There has been talk of an ahira leaving her quarters, of bribery and consorting with commoners. You will be made an example of to your sisters. If there is one among you who has dared to disobey me, it ends now.” The King, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his diatribe, turned back toward Nassar. “Fetch the rest of them.”

  His words were a lash, and each threat left behind shining, crimson terror.

  Sycophantic glee smothered Nassar’s face.

  “My King!” Another guard, followed closely by Sabra, barreled into the throne room. Everything disappeared—the throbbing pain at my temple, the raging king who paced in front of his throne, the wives who watched with secret smiles, Nassar’s delight—when I saw Sabra. She had no good reason to be seeking an audience with our father.

  “What now?” The King collapsed onto his throne in a mound of flesh.

  “The ahira has an urgent message for you,” the guard said, his eyes on the ground. Sabra moved to stand in front of the throne at my side. The King’s wives, so much younger than my mother, were draped drunkenly at his feet. They made an apparent effort, as evidenced by the creases in their brows, to observe the scene unfurling before them, to remember all so they could tell the other wives, with twisted pleasure, of the foul deeds being done by another’s daughters.

  Sabra hesitated when she saw me.

  “What is the message?” The King barked
.

  “I . . . forgive me, I can see that it is not a good time. I beg your forgiveness, my King. I will leave. Forgive me.” She said her words in a hurry and fell to her knees in a deep bow, continuing to mumble for forgiveness.

  “Stop your groveling and spit it out!”

  “I came to tell you that Emel was missing.” She turned toward me. My mouth dropped open, and I shook my head, imperceptible to all but Sabra. The softness of her face hardened, and she turned back to our father. “I can see that she was here all this time. But you should know this is not the first time she’s been gone.”

  It took all of my strength to keep me on my feet. How could she?

  The King was struck silent by the scene before him, bemusement clouding his anger. I could see his struggle. He had wanted to punish me for my possible disobedience for pure fun; however, the revelation that I had actually broken his rules was beyond comprehension. His plodding, alcohol-laden brain could not keep up. His glassy eyes moved from me to Sabra and back again.

  I quaked inside.

  “I am finished with these squabbling cows.” He stood, swaying slightly. “This is a family matter.” The King turned to the numerous servants who stood on the perimeter of the tent fanning the room or carrying trays of untouched food and drink. “Leave us.”

  A disobedient daughter was an embarrassment to the King. Before, I had been only a disappointment. Now, I was shameful, too.

  The servants shuffled out of the tent, but surely most stopped and waited, hidden behind tent walls, to listen to the spectacle, ready to spread word about what had happened.

  I thought of the jinni again. Was he amongst them? Could he not help me? Or did I have to wish for it first?

  We waited in silence while the King sipped his drink, my mind spinning with impossible solutions. Soon, my sisters filed in with Nassar, most wearing their bright fustans and silk slippers, some still wearing bejeweled ahira attire. They had not even donned robes. Nassar must have extracted them from the zafif. I saw their dread as their gazes darted between Sabra and I.