Daughter of the Salt King

by A. S. Thornton

  And even if I was brave enough to throw my future in the unknown and ask Masira for my freedom, where was Saalim now? Would he honor my wish if I asked him to be free? I could use him, as my father did, for his magic. I could let him grant my wish only to return to his glass home, to stay for the rest of days.

  My thoughts swirled in a tempest. I cried out as I grabbed fistfuls of my robes. I took steadying breaths, trying to prevent the panic from pouring out of my eyes and mouth. Time and space is what I needed. I wanted to be somewhere far from this infernal village even if just for a moment.

  Stopping in an empty lane, I closed my eyes and leaned against a sturdy post. I thought of how I felt when I stood in the oasis or on those occasions when I had gazed at the horizon or when I watched a bird soar across the sky. What would happen if I walked out into the desert tonight with nothing but the moon and stars as my companions? What if I went to the perimeter of the village and just ran? I would run until I found the desert’s edge. And then, I’d jump into Rafal’s angry water and let it swallow me whole. If it even existed.

  Sons, I wished I could just see the desert’s edge for myself.

  My breath slowed as my heart calmed. Keeping my eyes closed tight, I didn’t want to see anything but the desert’s edge, anything but freedom.

  At once, everything was quiet, as if a thick scarf covered my ears. I opened my eyes.

  A preternatural stillness had pulled its cloak over the village. The air was quiet, no breeze blowing through the thick fabrics hanging from wooden frames, no hum of quiet voices trying to keep their secrets. I spun around, looking for the source of the unmoving world.

  Saalim leaned against a post across the lane, arms folded across his chest. He was entirely a jinni in that moment: skin iridescent under the moonlight, bare chest rising and falling with each breath, cerulean sash wrapped snugly around his hips. He was like an elegant statue, but it was his face that drew my attention. His golden eyes held the same darkness I had seen the night of the party, but now the shadows that rested beneath his brow were darker, his gaze sullen.

  “You have wished, and I am here to obey,” he said from across the lane, answering my unspoken question.

  “Wished? For what?”

  “To see the edge of the desert.”

  I had?

  I had.

  “You can take me there?” I was breathless, eyes wide. I never thought it possible.

  “Of course,” he nodded, “if you’d like me to, that is.”

  “Yes,” I said, without a second thought. “Take me.”

  His face rose slowly, his gaze full of questioning surprise. I unwound my scarf from my face, letting it drape over my shoulders and walked to the jinni until I stood before him. Tentatively, he held his arms open. Worried that if I hesitated for even a moment, he would change his mind, I stepped into the jinni and wrapped my arms around his waist.

  I felt so whole in his arms, so normal, so comfortable, that I pulled him more tightly to me. I pressed my cheek to his chest, inhaling the warm, dusty, jasmine scent of him. Not wanting to forget the feeling, the smell.

  Tentatively, Saalim wrapped his arms around my shoulders. It was not intimate, it was functional, and the rejection stung. Waiting for the ground to shift beneath us, I closed my eyes. But there was no change in the air. Nothing happened.

  I loosened my arms. So, he had decided against it after all. Why had he come? Just to give me hope and see it taken? Embarrassed and angry, I unlatched my hands.

  He took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Emel,” he whispered. I heard the pain in his voice. “For everything.” His arms finally tightened around me.

  The torrent of emotions whirling inside me came to an abrupt stop, and as if it were the wind that had been holding me up, at its cessation, I crumpled. Tears spilled from my eyes as I cried into his chest. Tears of yearning, sadness, and relief rolled down my face, spilling onto Saalim.

  He held me as though he was responsible for keeping me whole. And I wondered if, perhaps, he was.

  “Oh, Saalim,” I said through my tears, “so am I.”

  We stood for a long time, clutched to each other.

  It wasn’t until I quieted that I felt the world shift.

  The ground beneath my feet was more solid than that of sand or wood or carpets. The air was thick and almost wet, like a recent rain passed through. An unfamiliar, undulating, crashing sound echoed around me, and a heavy, cool wind whipped up and encircled me carrying a scent that I recognized immediately. One that had been so unfamiliar before.

  My sandals clapped loudly on the hard ground as I stepped away from Saalim’s embrace. Unsure, my arm stayed around Saalim’s waist as I peered around.

  There was nothing. We were in the mouth of the black sky surrounded by emptiness. Just two people in an endless night.

  My eyes soon adjusted to the pale silver glow cast by the crescent moon. There was something . . . A large, stone structure, its edges a chalky white in the moonlight, materialized to my right. As I examined it, I saw it was damaged. Almost like pieces of a puzzle, segments of it lay in clumps surrounding its large, square base. Circular domes sat upon tall towers, the asymmetry suggesting that some were missing. Pairs of slender columns stretched up to jagged, broken walls and supported crumbling vaults of stone. Away from the large, broken structure, solitary columns and arches stood alongside shattered walls and cracked roofs.

  I was amongst ruins. A grave of a city, just like Rafal had said.

  “What . . . Where?” The words floated quietly from my lips and disappeared into the crashing sound.

  “I have brought you to the edge of the desert,” said Saalim. He gazed wistfully around us, his arm tight around my shoulder.

  “It smells like you.”

  He did not seem surprised. “This was my home. Madinat Almulihi.” He looked at the crumbling stone. “It is only ruins now.”

  I spun to Saalim, looking at him questioningly. “What happened to it?”

  “An arrogant prince destroyed it.” He took a breath, then continued. “When I was human, I lived amongst these streets. Can I show you?” There was a sadness to his words, but there was something else, too. He reached up and scratched his cheek, his gaze flitting down to me as he spoke, his fingers clenching on themselves. Was he nervous?

  I nodded. Holding my hand tightly, he led me through the ruined streets. He described buildings with wide windows and open doors that allowed the breeze to waft through. He spoke of stone streets and sorrel horses that pulled rolling wagons over them. He talked of spongy, green velvet that spilled from the crevices between bricks and coated giant columns, of twisting vines that broke through the cracks in the ground and crawled up the walls of homes. Of ivory flowers that grew like weeds in fragrant clusters and spread their petals for the moon. We wound our way through the remains of Madinat Almulihi, and with his words, Saalim gave life to the perished city.

  “If you lived here, and now it is like this . . .” I paused as I thought. “How long have you been a jinni?”

  “I have lost count.”

  Sorrow pulled at my chest. Confined to a glass cage for so long.

  He pulled me toward the large, fractured structure in front of us. The palace, he called it. Even derelict, it was more magnificent than my father’s. He told me of the colors splashed through the interior, tiles against the light gray bricks, and of the water that trickled in its fountains and collected in tiled pools. He described powerful yet benevolent rulers that once lived behind its walls, and the children they had who were wild and spoiled and imperious.

  We came to the end of the stone road that ran alongside the dilapidated palace. I looked up at the massive wall with small keyhole-shaped windows letting the moonlight shine through. Turning away from the palace, I looked to where Saalim had been leading me. My mouth dropped open, and I stopped in my tracks as I faced the source of the ceaseless roaring.

  Saalim looked at me with a cautious, boy-like smile, feeling my i
nsecurity through my tight hold on his hand.

  “This is the sea,” he said finally.

  I gaped in terror at its immensity, in curiosity at its wetness. “This is the angry water?”

  Sons, Rafal had been right. There really was water at the desert’s edge. No myth of the desert’s edge spoke of water that roiled with life and had a voice which cried out into the night. None except Rafal’s tale.

  Saalim laughed. “Angry? It is not angry, Emel. It is beautiful.”

  Watery blackness met the star-filled night and stretched before us. It surged rhythmically, its rise and fall revealed by the pale light in the sky whose reflection left a trail of silvery droplets on its surface. The waves crashed and rolled onto themselves to create a white, frothy disarray illuminated by the moon. Saalim was right. It was not raging.

  It beckoned.

  Saalim stepped down off of the road toward the sea, gently pulling me with him. Cautiously, excitedly, I followed. We walked down battered stone steps that led to the shore. The sand would completely cover them, were it not for the ocean wind that ripped through the steep slopes. I pulled my scarf and cloak tight around me as I moved slowly down the stairs, watching my feet carefully. Between the stone steps were small flowers that grew in clusters. They quivered in the wind.

  I bent to examine them. They had thick, long petals that surrounded a large, circular center. Their stems sprouted from the sand, and thin leaves reached up as though to buttress the white bloom.

  “Pretty,” I said.

  Saalim knelt next to me and gently tapped the petals.

  “The moon-jasmine,” he said. “They open only at night.” He pinched the base of the stem and plucked it from the sand. He brushed the hair away from my face and tucked the flower behind my ear. As it passed my nose, I caught its scent—jasmine. My smile was a reflection of Saalim’s.

  Once upon the shore, Saalim gestured to more pieces of the fractured castle that had fallen from the cliff and were half-buried in the beach. Nearest was a large, onion-shaped dome nestled in the oceanside, the waves splashing against its tiled surface.

  “I thought we could rest there,” he said.

  I was puzzled by his familiarity with the ruins. “Do you come here often?”

  “I used to.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “Not anymore. I don’t need to be here like I once did. I don’t miss it in the same way.”

  We walked along the sand, and I looked nervously between the waves that crept too close and the looming structure we moved toward. We walked to its base, and the cavernous maw opened before us. The curved walls that barricaded the wind allowed sand to pile high within. We stepped inside.

  The sound of the ocean was amplified in the dome, and when we spoke, our voices echoed around us.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “It’s fallen from the palace—a dome from one of the towers.”

  He kneeled and pushed sand around to create a shallow groove. He did not look at me as he did it. He was nervous. I watched him as he worked, puzzled.

  Within seconds, a large, magical fire filled the groove. Chilled by the wet, ocean air, I moved gratefully toward it. The orange glow of the flames illuminated the interior of the dome. Along the surface of the sand were black and white shells and trails of vines washed in by the sea.

  I stared at the fire tossing its sparks, mesmerized by the warm light. The jinni sat beside me, his warmth a further comfort. He handed me a thick, blue blanket that materialized in his hands. I wrapped it around my shoulders, continuing to stare at the fire before me, unsure of what to say.

  “Emel,” the jinni said after a long silence. “Your mother . . . I am sorry.”

  Staring at my fingers, I said, “I don’t know what to think. I waver between fury, sadness, and jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “That she could be so brave as to leave everything behind. I could never.”

  “I disagree. I think you are very brave.”

  I smiled.

  “Why are you angry with her?”

  “For the same reason I envy her. She left her children behind to follow in the footsteps of the Altamaruq.”

  “Ah, to find the hidden desert.”

  I turned to him. “They’re so desperate to find you, Saalim. To use you to get to it.”

  “I’ve already told you they won’t get me.”

  I thought of my father. “He uses you like you’re nothing.” My gut tightened, and I clenched my hands. “Does he always treat you that way?” I asked, thinking of the wine-stained tunic.

  He looked down to the cuffs around his wrist, the golden veins on his hands, glinting golden in the firelight. “Rarely, but if there are guests to witness it . . .”

  “He is a monster.”

  Saalim looked at me earnestly and scooted closer. “Emel, I am the monster. My behavior toward you that night . . .” His voice was heavy with self-reproach, and he winced, pained by the memory. “I will never forgive myself for how I’ve treated you.”

  “Stop. We both made mistakes. I treated you horribly the night I went to Omar. I said terrible things. You were angry.” I took his hand. “I’ve forgiven you, so please, forgive yourself.” Tracing the edges of the golden cuffs with my fingertips, I brought his hand to my cheek. “I know it’s hard to do,” I whispered, inhaling deeply the dusty jasmine and what I now could identify as the ocean scent he gave off. He smelled of Madinat Almulihi. Of his home.

  Letting go of his hand, I reached tentatively for his face and trailed my fingers down his temple, his cheek, his bearded jaw. In answer, he took my hand from his face and kissed my palm. We stared at each other in the orange glow.

  “There is something I need to tell you.” His voice trembled.

  I sat upright. “What is it?” I could not take another surprise.

  “You once asked me why I stay with the King, your father. Why I don’t still time and live elsewhere?”

  My hands held Saalim’s, waiting for him to continue.

  “I gave you a reason, but it was a lie. I have so much to explain.” He took a deep breath and looked to the flickering flames.

  “Okay.” I let go of him and clutched my hands together, thinking of what he might tell me. “Wait, Saalim.”

  He looked at me uneasily.

  “Whatever you are going to say . . .” I squeezed my fingers together. “If it is more bad news . . . I don’t think I can bear it.” I bit my lip.

  He nodded slowly. “I hope you can bear this.” He continued. “When you were born, there was great joy in your father’s court. He loved Isra more than any of his wives. I think she reminded him of his first, the wife he lost, because she was willful. Much like you.

  “Isra providing him with a beautiful daughter was the greatest gift she could give him. Sabra was a quiet child, and she was not drawn to him like his other daughters, and though it is hard to believe, the King loves his daughters. When you were born, I think he placed all of his aspirations on you. I was there when he named you. Emel . . . it means ambition in the old language. It was the name he was going to give the unborn child that died with its mother, had she been a girl. You were special to him. I think you still are, which is why you anger him so.

  “He knew you would be his most beautiful daughter, so black were your eyes, your hair, so lovely and fierce was your mother. You would be powerful.” He looked at me cautiously.

  A pang squeezed my throat at the mention of my mother, of Sabra.

  “I watched as you grew. A headstrong child.” The corners of his lips turned up as he remembered. “You flitted from room to room, running about your father’s court without a care. He gave you allowances sanctioned for none other of his children. And as you grew into a woman, Emel, and began your ahira training, your beauty was unparalleled. So was your stubbornness.” He smirked.

  “If anyone cared to look, they could see that being an ahira dismayed you, but still, you acted tremendously.” He reach
ed for my face and touched my cheek sadly. “You flourished as his ahira, but,” he pressed his hand to my chest, “it was not you. Like this flower,” he moved his fingers to the flower behind my ear, “you bloomed at night. Every time you were called to court, you were like a queen, beautiful and elegant. But you were also fragile. Each day, you closed up, protecting yourself fiercely. You hoped for something more.”

  I was stunned that he had known me so well without knowing me at all.

  “The suitors were drawn to you, like waves to the shore. You stirred in them something that they had never felt, and they were pulled toward you. Again and again.”

  His voice hardened. “I could feel their desire, and though I hated watching them with you, I found I could not look away. I, too, was entranced, fascinated by that which you protected so intensely. I dreaded when your father returned me to my vessel. I agonized over what I would miss. Would you be there when I came back to your world?

  “I became greedy when I was around you. Every time I felt a suitor desire you as a wife, I redirected his thoughts. To your other sisters, to his home. Anywhere else.” He confessed this quietly, ashamed. “Emel, you could have been wed over three dozen times by now. Men would have dug through dunes with nothing but their hands to have you.”

  I looked up at him, mouth agape. All of my failures because of him. I bristled at the confession, thinking of what I endured as a failed ahira. Saalim nodded, as though feeling my ire. He looked so sad, so regretful as he stared at the fire. “I am so sorry,” he said.

  And I felt his apology deep within me. It softened my anger, my hurt. I was at the desert’s edge seeing something I thought was only legend. Was I angry? Yes. But would I have changed my past knowing this was my present? No.

  “Aashiq?” I asked.

  “I stopped,” he said and looked up from his cuffs to me. “First, with Aashiq. He was a good man, sincere and full of love. I thought he was perhaps the only one who I would allow to take you from me. And he chose you. As you already know, I was not there the day he was to receive you, but I wonder if I could have stood and watched it. I like to think I could—that I’d be selfless enough to let you go—but I wonder if I would have diverted him in that final moment.” He shook his head and looked back at his hands. “But after that, once I truly knew you, I could not meddle in your life anymore. Once I understood how you felt about the world. Once I glimpsed your ferocious independence myself.”