“I’m sad, too,” I whispered. She did not look at me.
After I had returned home from the execution, I’d discovered a new sack containing as much salt as I had given away earlier that day. My mind went to Nassar and what he might do now that he had seen me with an enormous quantity of salt. I worried about his plan and his motivation for delaying my punishment.
Days passed and no word came from the vizier. Tavi rarely spoke to me, no matter how hard I tried. I refused to give up on her, to let her wrath turn me away as I had let Sabra’s. Tavi was the one sister I had left, and I could not abandon her. Like Sabra said, she needed me.
But neither could I sit in our home, letting myself grow miserable at the confinement, for Tavi’s sake. So when no suitors requested court, I left. My salt was never depleted; the jinni saw to that. The guards never asked the source of my income, none wanting the payments to cease. They relied on my bribes. On the rare occasions when the King demanded the ahiran be accounted for, the guards whose pockets I lined were usually the first to volunteer. My number was included, even if I was roaming the streets of the village.
Firoz was in his shop. I had not seen him since he dangled by his feet from the gallows, and it took all of my strength not to hold him as if he was someone I’d lost and then found again.
He was sitting upright, his eyes darting around the lane at everyone that passed. He had tied his ghutra so that his face was covered. When I approached, he barely eased.
Nodding to me, he shifted so that I could sit beside him. In silence, we watched the people pass. There were so few, and they all appeared as anxious.
“What’s going on?” I asked, after he had said nothing.
He tugged on his sleeves, pulling them down over his wrists.
“Things aren’t right around here. I keep getting the sense that I’m being watched or someone is coming for me.”
I shivered. “Why?” He couldn’t possibly know what had happened.
“I don’t know. It started a few days ago. I was with Rashid, and I was overwhelmed with this feeling that things weren’t right. Guards came, and they stared at me for the longest time. I got the feeling they knew me, but then they took some woman instead. Rashid feels the same—a sense of unease, of grief—and he doesn’t understand why. Started at the same time. Whatever this is, it feels bigger than the Dalmur.”
As Saalim had said, Masira was not perfect with her magic. Firoz remembered, Rashid remembered. Well, perhaps remember is the wrong word. They sensed what had happened. The magic left its muddy trail through their minds.
“That woman was my sister,” I said.
Firoz turned to me, my confession shaking away some of his uncertainty. I told him what happened, leaving out his part of the tale.
“Emel, I’m sorry.” He slammed his fist into the ground. “Sons, I wish I’d left on a caravan when I had the chance. You know I almost asked you for salt? I was this close.” He held up his fingers. “But I didn’t want you to think I was using you. I could have left here. I wouldn’t be around any of this. But now they’re not even letting caravans in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nassar is still meeting the runners at the oasis, but on the King’s order, he is sending them away with only enough water to take the caravan to the next oasis. There is no trading.”
“Because of the Altamaruq?”
Firoz glared at me.
“The Dalmur,” I corrected. I didn’t want to fight with him, too.
“Yes. It’s ridiculous. They’re already here. We’re already here, and we’re not stopping. What is the King’s plan? People will die without salt. The entire desert depends on what he has. We’ve nothing to lose now, if they won’t let caravans in. We have to find that jinni.” He turned to me then. “Have you seen anything unusual in the palace? Something that could suggest where the King keeps a jinni hidden? Anything could help us, Emel.”
I turned from him, conflicting thoughts rattling through my mind. Who was I helping by sheltering Saalim? “No, of course not.”
He was as trapped as I was, as Saalim was, forbidden to navigate life as he wanted, neither to speak nor to love as he pleased.
Could I wish for my freedom, regardless of the consequences to the rest of the desert? What about Saalim? If wishing for my freedom separated us, I could never wish for his. But would I sacrifice myself and the desert for his freedom? Those choices, that reality, I was not yet ready to face. But the necessity gnawed at my heels.
“There’s a rumor a palace woman may help us.” He looked at me thoughtfully.
I laughed, a little too loudly, a little too maniacally. “Well, it isn’t me. Maybe one of his wives since they’re much closer to the King . . .”
A woman and her small son approached Firoz to purchase a drink in exchange for a few nab, a low price but it was all people were offering.
“What am I going to do with Tavi?” I asked Firoz after they left. He stared at the copper coins in his hand as I told him of her grief and rejection of me since Sabra’s death, how furious she was with me.
“What do you need when you’re angry or frustrated or feeling trapped?”
“To escape.”
“Then do that for her.”
It took much coaxing but Tavi came. The promise of a distraction, relief from palace life, was too alluring to forego.
“It will be safe,” I said to her. “I promise you nothing will happen to us.” When Saalim had given me an extra servant’s abaya and veil, he’d sworn he would make sure of it.
Her soul was tired. I saw it in her eyes when I asked if she wanted to come with me to see the village, to see the desert. It was the bravery of our mother, of Lateef, of even Sabra, that finally brought her to agree.
We walked through the village, and I showed her the places I frequented with Firoz, confessed to her why I left the palace. I needed to see that life had joy and that people were strong, capable of enduring their troubles. Being in the village gave me hope. I told her things I’d told none of my sisters—that I hated being an ahira, and that it was okay to hate it. It was okay to detest our father. I told her how I dreamed to leave our village one day. Of how our mother had told me it’s what she wanted for us most. Tavi did not speak much, but I know she listened.
Finally, we went to the village’s edge. Tavi peered across the sand for a long time before she stepped out, fearlessly taking one step, then two, then three away from the settlement. “Not too far,” I called, warning her of the guards that would be wary of a villager who strayed out on their own. Soon, she was out so far, I was sure she could not see the tents behind her. The draw of freedom perhaps grabbed hold of her too. The meeting of sky and sand looked to be a mouth about to devour her whole, and I wanted to run out and snatch her from it. But she needed this. I’d let her have her peace.
“She is someone else in her grief, a husk of who she was,” I whispered to Saalim, guilt clawing my insides. I had called to him as my sister and I walked, sensing I needed his help. So when Tavi walked out into the desert, he was there beside me.
“She yearns for a life different from the one she has,” Saalim said, his fingers gently resting on my neck.
I nodded, leaning into him. “I told her of my own dreams.” We were silent for some time. Then, “I’ve a wish.”
He looked down at me, surprised. “You said you would not wish again.”
“If I’ve the power to do something to make things better for Tavi, I have to try.” I stood on my toes and whispered it into his ear.
He smiled and brought his hand to my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Your finest wish yet.”
Dark clouds emerged from the horizon’s throat, slow at first, then picking up speed. They spilled across the sky, low and thick and black as night, until they swallowed the sun.
Cold wind whipped my robes. A white flash of light cracked through the clouds. The sound of the splitting sky shook the earth.
Then, Masira tipped her
goblet, and the rain fell.
The drops were generous, and they came fast. I heard the whoops and hollers of villagers behind me as they ran from their seclusion with vessels to collect the rain, children who shrieked rapturously as they were soaked to their bones.
Tavi gazed upward and stretched her arms out beside her, palms up as if to collect the drops. Her shoulders shook, with joy, with sorrow. I did not know.
There is life ahead, Tavi. Here is life for you now. Cling to that hope, my sister. Don’t let go.
The desert received its nourishment, and so did Tavi.
Nearly a moon’s cycle passed, and there was nothing from the Dalmur. Nothing from Nassar. What were they all waiting for? I could not pretend to know, but I waited with them, straddling the wall of incision as the days slid by.
The twenty-second anniversary of my birth came and went. Saalim surprised me with a small square tile, the swirling blue hues of which matched perfectly the ocean that crashed against the desert’s edge. It was from the palace in Madinat Almulihi he said. I kept it buried under my bed, wrapped within a small piece of cloth with the moon-jasmine that remained impossibly alive. It was alongside my mother’s dangerous necklace, Rafal’s map, and my bag of salt.
Some days, after I snuck into the village to see Firoz, I would seek out Saalim too. I called to him silently, beseeching him to wash away my grief. Every moment with him was a beautiful reminder of why I stayed in that savage world, why I was scared to leave.
“Mmmm, Emel,” Saalim cooed into my ear one evening as the sun dipped below the sand.
“Saalim,” I whispered back, kissing him earnestly. I could hear the sounds of the marketplace, the lively voices of shop goers who had abandoned their fears with the silence of the Dalmur. When there was no rush, when we could afford it, Saalim let time press forward. “So you do not have to relive these moments without me in them,” he had said.
The tent we were within was one that Saalim often created—food piled in one corner beside a decanter of sweet, sage tea, lush cushions and blankets upon a soft, low bed, and gentle firelight twinkling through a golden lantern. Our voices were silenced to the outside. To any who walked by, it appeared an unoccupied shop tent. We would undress each other hurriedly, longing to touch and feel and explore each other again. Our bodies would crash together in explosive passion, our cries ringing out into the emerging night, heard by none. Then, we would lie beside one another in the glow of the fire, fingers trailing lazily, talking of anything and everything. When talk of the village grew tiresome, Saalim would tell me stories. Describing things that I could scarce imagine. When there was need to return home, Saalim would still time so we could linger just a little longer.
Saalim was on his back, head resting upon an emerald cushion. I was curled at his side, my black hair twisting amongst his auburn. My arm draped over his chest, tracing his ribs with my fingertips.
“Have you heard anything from Nassar?” I said. “He could have me killed if he wanted to. Why would he delay?”
“Perhaps he does not have the energy to care with all the other, more pressing things there are to worry about. Anyway, I imagine he doesn’t want to bring more upsetting news to your father.” He pulled me tightly to him.
“Bad news? Nothing has happened, has it?” I sat up, leaning against his chest.
“No, no. Lack of news improves your father’s disposition. I’m sure Nassar does not want to be the one to change that.”
I was perplexed. The quietude was unnerving. They did not yet have their jinni, and if Firoz’s desperation was any indication, they were not satisfied with dreaming. They wanted him. I pressed my cheek more tightly to Saalim’s chest. “Do you think they plan something?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said. There was an odd hesitation in his voice, his brow creased. “I’ve only heard whisperings. I do not know what they think nor what they plan.”
“Firoz said people will die if Father doesn’t allow the caravans to come and trade for salt. Is that true?”
Saalim nodded. “It is a long way off, but yes, people will eventually need salt desperately. They cannot live without it. It’s a part of your blood. And they can only get it here.”
“It’s what Rafal said. People want the routes to change—to find other sources of salt. If we bring Madinat Almulihi back . . . then maybe? Perhaps if I wished for—”
He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Love, would you stop thinking of all these other things and simply worry about yourself? If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. I am beginning to think I am the only one who worries about you, and it’s hard to care for someone more than she cares for herself.” He smirked.
Raising my eyebrows, I said, “Find yourself a new someone then.”
“A new woman? But I like how you taste best.” Suddenly his teeth were on my shoulder, and he had pinned me to the bed. I yelped as he wrestled me with his mouth, and I tried to do the same, drooling on him and biting my tongue in the process. He laughed at me until he was wiping tears from his face.
And then we lay quiet together again, listening to the sitar twangs and tabla drum beats chase each other through the tent. Loud voices and clanging of coins resonated around us. I closed my eyes, lulled to sleep by the sounds, the rhythm of Saalim’s rising and falling chest.
“A suitor will arrive tomorrow,” he said when I was almost asleep.
I opened my eyes, disappointed by the news of a visitor. Suitors meant spending an afternoon with a man other than Saalim. It meant smiling and flirting with someone I cared nothing for.
“And if he wants you, shall I redirect his attention?” He asked as he always did now.
Staring at the fluttering tent wall, I said, “Only if he bites harder than you. Otherwise, I’ll gladly run off with him.” Then I raised myself onto my elbow. “Really, how can you continue to ask me? Of course. The idea of spending a night with another . . .” It was so abhorrent, it made me nauseous. “Always, until my twenty-third year when . . .”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised in a way that was familiar to me. “Go on.”
“Don’t start,” I begged.
“And then what, Emel? We cannot ignore the future forever. It comes whether you choose to face it or not.”
“When my father casts me out, we will be together. I will live somewhere nice, and you will live with me as often as you can.”
“And would you be happy? Living a life alone, waiting for me to come? With only brief moments with me?”
I was annoyed. Why had he ruined our evening with this conversation? It never ended neatly. Always a scramble of frustration and sorrow.
Clenching my fist, I sat up. “Yes, because I would have to be,” I said, worrying my lip between my teeth. “I would rather it be brief moments with you for the rest of my life than none at all.”
He looked at me sadly as he pulled me back down to him. He rubbed my back and arms with his hands.
“And when your father dies, what happens to me? What if your father hides my vessel with me in it? Or gives it to a favorite son who chooses to move away? What then?” He returned the same argument I had spat at him so long ago.
“I don’t want to talk about this!” I shouted. Sitting up and scooting away from him.
“You must!” His voice was loud and harsh. He sat up and glared at me. “You cannot run from this, Emel! You must decide what it is you want so that you can be gone from this place.”
“And leave you? Leave us?” Tears pricked my eyes. I buried my hands in my hair as my mind churned with ideas, groping for anything that could serve as a solution to our complicated puzzle. He came over and pulled me to him again.
“Not all masters lose their jinni with a wish. We don’t know that you would leave me,” he murmured.
I pressed on his chest so that he lay back down.
“We don’t know that I won’t.” I climbed atop him, laying my cheek against his chest, listening to the whoosh of his breaths, the beating of his
heart. “Anyway, I am not yet convinced it is my freedom that I want the most.”
“What do you mean?”
“What about yours?”
His body hardened under mine. It was no longer welcoming, soft. He rolled me off of him, grunting in disapproval of the conversation.
“No.” His words were stern, serious.
“Can I even ask for it? Can I free you from your prison? What would happen?”
“Yes, it can be done, though none but my master can free me.”
I slumped forward.
“And once freed, I would certainly be gone from here.” He pointed to the village around us. “I would be someone else entirely. I’d remember very little. Like my ability to know the tenor of another’s wants, I would just know the sense of my past, none of the details. Even if I was within an arm’s reach of you, I wouldn’t know you. But you would remember me and . . .” His words trailed off.
“But you would remain a little bit you?”
His expression was agonized at my words, the lines of his face hardened. He hated the path our conversation had taken.
“I will be what I was before and only have the memories that Masira grants me.” Like Firoz and Rashid and their hazy feeling of being in trouble.
He took a long breath, his eyes suddenly sad. “And Emel, I am sure they would not be of you. And even if they were, how would our paths ever cross? You’d still be an ahira with the same fate—locked in the palace until a suitor snatches you up, which would happen quickly, I’m sure. So even if I wanted to come find you, you’d be gone by the time I arrived. So please, love, do not think of my freedom.” He looked over to me with eyes pleading. “It would be torture to leave you like this.”
“You want me to ask for my freedom but I don’t know how. I am scared that I will be taken from here, far away from you. Or that when I ask for my freedom, I’ll be strung by my heels just as Firoz . . . as Sabra.”
Daughter of the Salt King Page 30
