by K A Doore
All he had was a hope.
He ran. Yufit easily kept up. They dodged people and markets, but Amastan was no longer worried that the jaani would attack someone else. And just as he’d expected, it kept its focus on them. On him.
Thankfully, his destination was only a few platforms away. They arrived in the Seraf neighborhood with a few seconds of distance between them and the jaani. Amastan paused for a heartbeat at the platform’s center, searching for a familiar door.
There. The door was propped open next to a shuttered storefront. Beyond the door was a staircase. Amastan flew up these stairs, then hesitated on the next landing. He needed a moment to line up the doors in front of him with the windows outside. He’d never come this way before. But he couldn’t exactly scale the wall and climb in through the window with Yufit at his side.
He knocked on the third door. He glanced behind him as they waited. He’d bought some time with their full-out run, but not enough. The jaani would catch up to them at any moment. Them—Amastan glanced at Yufit, suddenly conscious of his presence. How would he explain—?
Menna threw the door open, eyes wide with worry, and gestured for them to enter. She locked the door behind them and turned to Amastan, her mouth already opening, but he beat her to it.
“Are your doors warded? Your windows?” He scanned the doorframe as he asked, but he didn’t see any charms.
Menna scuffed a spot beneath the door with her foot. “Of course. What’s wrong”—her eyes cut to Yufit and back again—“friend?”
Yufit looked to Amastan as well, a similar question in his eyes. The window on the opposite side of the small, sparse space rattled. Yufit took a step back and grabbed for Amastan’s arm, but his hand fell short and he didn’t make a second attempt. Menna glanced at the window, eyebrows creased in a frown. But the worry was leaching away, replaced with confused concern.
“What do you know about angry jaan?” asked Amastan.
“Oh, I swear by all things holy—you brought a jaani? Here?”
“You’re a marabi,” said Amastan. “You must know something. The jaani chased us all the way from the Aeser neighborhood.”
“I do know something. I know how to quiet a tethered jaani. But what you’ve brought me is a wild jaani. I’ve told you, I can’t quiet a wild jaani.” Menna wrung her hands, glancing from the door to the window. “How did you even get the jaani to come here?”
“It followed us.”
“Jaan don’t follow,” said Menna, annoyed. “The wind blows them about and they attack whatever’s closest.”
“But this one did,” said Yufit. “Something’s different about this one.”
“Sands.” Menna bit her lower lip. The window rattled harder. “A jaani shouldn’t have that kind of will. It shouldn’t have any will at all.”
“The jaan on the sands might not,” said Yufit. “But this one’s different. It’s stronger. I—” he glanced at Amastan, as if for permission. When Amastan nodded, he continued, “I’ve met it before. In an alley just two nights ago. Asaf saved me. I wonder if that’s why it chased him now?”
Menna threw up her hands. “I don’t know! I’m not a jaani expert! I don’t have them over for tea and ask them how they’ve been or what they’re thinking.”
Amastan had never seen her so rattled before. He tried to keep his voice level and calm, even as his own fear flared. “Please. You know more about jaan than either of us. There must be a way to protect ourselves from it or—or send it away.”
“Not quiet it,” said Menna, softer now.
“No. You’re right, it’s too late for that.”
“It’s … maybe … but I’d have to ask Elder Dessin, and I don’t have time for that.” She glanced at the window. “If it’s somehow stronger than a normal jaani, then my wards won’t keep it out long. I might be able to drive it away, but whatever I do won’t stick. It’ll come back.”
“Even then, that gives us time to find a real solution.”
“Hopefully,” said Menna grimly. But then a smile tweaked the corner of her lips and she started rolling up her sleeves. “I guess this counts as exciting, huh? Right. Whatever water you two have, I’ll need it.”
Amastan unhooked his water skin, still full from the pumphouse, and handed it over, but Yufit hesitated. Menna held out her hand.
“What, you’ll run into a woman’s room but you won’t trust her with your water? Typical.” Menna opened and closed her hand impatiently. “Asaf brought you here because I’m a marabi. I know what I’m doing.”
Yufit reluctantly set his skin in Menna’s open hand. She turned and went to a low table pushed against one wall and cleared a space on its cluttered surface. She pulled a glass bowl from the shelf and dumped the contents of both skins into it. The combined water came to within an inch of the bowl’s lip.
A loud crack rent the room and Amastan spun, heart hammering. A fine line now stretched from one corner of the window to the other. Red filled the crack like putty and air sputtered into the room.
Menna didn’t turn. Her lips moved soundlessly as she leaned over the table and began filling a sheet of vellum with looping letters. When it was full of black ink, she dunked the vellum into the bowl and swished it around. The ink leached into the water, turning it first gray, then black. When Menna pulled the vellum out, the sheet was clean of words.
She passed her hands over the bowl and the rattling stopped, only to start up again a heartbeat later. She frowned, then cast about the room.
“I need a fire,” she said, more to the room than to them.
“Do you have oil?” asked Yufit.
Menna nodded, pointed. Yufit let go of Amastan’s hand to retrieve a glass jar from the low shelf. Amastan looked around as well, trying to piece together what Yufit was doing. They still needed something for the fire to catch on. Amastan didn’t see any balled tinder, but he did see cloth.
When he grabbed the sheet from Menna’s bed, she didn’t object. When he began ripping it into strips, she winced but still didn’t say anything. Instead, she scattered salt beneath the window, then in a circle on the floor. She pointed and Amastan dropped the cloth strips within the circle. Yufit drenched them with oil. Menna rustled through her drawers until she found a striker. She let a spark fall onto the pile.
The oil caught and flared and almost immediately died down, but the cloth kept the fire going. In a few moments, they had a flashing hot fire in the center of Menna’s room, oily smoke curling upward and pouring toward the ceiling. Menna pulled her wrap over her mouth and retrieved the bowl of water. She gestured for Yufit to add more oil to the fire, then pointed Amastan toward the window. Amastan stared, disbelieving. Menna gestured again, this time with more emphasis.
Amastan edged toward the window as if it might shatter at any moment. The closer he got, the stronger the smell of spent candles and hot iron grew. He reached out with one shaking hand for the latch, which rattled and shook along with the rest of the window. Using a single finger, he undid the latch and jumped back. The window slammed open and the glass shattered and fell.
The angry jaani filled the room and brought the wind with it. The fire spun in the center of the room, tight as a rope as it reached for the ceiling. Menna ignored the jaani and the wind and drizzled inky water over the fire. It sputtered with annoyance, sending up great gouts of smoke—and steam.
The first burst of steam hit the jaani and it flinched, its color fading for a moment before flaring back redder than before. Then the next cloud of steam rolled into it and this time the jaani reared back, spreading outward as if it might go around the steam.
Menna dumped the rest of the water onto the fire, which sputtered and went out—but not without first sending a last, great burst of steam through the room.
Amastan’s teeth and skull sang in pain. Yufit clutched his head and Menna gritted her teeth. The red was thinning, dispersing, the wind in the room dying down, until all that was left was the three of them, their wraps sticky with steam,
and an open window. The pain tapered off, becoming a pounding memory instead.
Menna looked between the two of them as water dripped from the smoke-stained ceiling. “Well. That was fun.”
15
Yufit stood at the window, staring out as if the jaani might come back at any moment. Amastan kept a careful distance from the glass, keenly aware of his naked neck. A soft breeze circulated the room and the moisture in the air soon thinned and dissipated completely.
Amastan looked at Menna for what felt like the first time. Her wrap stuck to her skin, streaked with soot and sweat. “What did you do?”
Menna nudged the pile of wet, charred cloth with her toe. “I banished it.” She sounded dazed, but when she looked up, her face glowed with excitement. “I banished it, ’Sta—Asaf. I’ve never done that before. I didn’t even know it would work. I just threw something together. But look!” She opened her arms to encompass the mess of her room. “I did it! I’m amazing. Dessin’s gonna see stars when I tell him.”
Her smile could have lit up the night. Amastan couldn’t help but feel a little of her excitement. It was a welcome relief after so much panic.
“So … it’ll be back?” asked Yufit.
Menna’s smile faded. “Well, yes. But that gives us time to figure out how to quiet a wild jaani. And not just any wild jaani, I might add. The ones we’ve been taught how to deal with are weak and thin. This one was not only much, much stronger, but fixated. I don’t know why. I need to find out.”
“Maybe it just hasn’t lost its strength yet,” said Yufit, turning away from the window. “Someone must’ve died and their jaani wasn’t quieted in time.”
Amastan and Menna shared a glance. She took his lead and didn’t mention Yanniq. Yufit couldn’t know about the drum chief’s unquieted jaani. Instead, she set her bowl back on its shelf, lips pursed in thought.
“I’ll talk to the other marab later,” said Menna. “In the meantime, the jaani shouldn’t come after you for … well, normally that kind of banishment would take centuries for the jaani to recover from. But this one? I’d say you’ve got a day, maybe two, tops. Go to Salid’s first thing and get yourselves new charms. They won’t do much, but they might give you enough time to get away.”
Amastan nodded, but he made no move toward the door. Despite Menna’s assurances, he was wary of leaving the room. What if she was wrong? What if the jaani was waiting outside for them?
Menna looked between them again, then frowned and shooed them toward the door. “Go! This isn’t an inn and the jaani’s gone for now. In case you forgot, you’re in my home and I still have work to do.”
“Okay, okay,” said Amastan, hands raised in defense as he edged toward the door.
“Are you sure you don’t need help cleaning up?” asked Yufit.
Menna glanced over the mess of her room with disdain. Then she rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I’m fine. It’ll help me think. I need to do a lot of that, right now.”
Yufit grabbed her hand and held it between his. Menna startled, started to pull away, but then stopped when Yufit said, “Thank you for your help, ma. You saved us. We’re in your debt.”
Menna laughed, her sand-brown cheeks darkening. Yufit let her hand slip away as he straightened, his eyes still on Menna. Amastan cleared his throat, inexplicably annoyed with the display.
“Come on, Yufit,” he said. But he caught Menna’s eye before turning and she winked.
He opened the door without waiting to see if Yufit followed. He took the stairs two at a time, suddenly craving to be outside again. The lingering humidity from the fire and water stuck in his throat and he couldn’t shake the acrid smell of burnt cloth.
Yufit caught up to him just outside the bakery. His warm hand found Amastan’s forearm and his touch sent a cold shock across Amastan’s skin. Amastan slowed down and turned.
“I guess now I owe you some tea,” said Amastan. “I’m sorry I didn’t quite make our meeting.”
“I’d begun to worry about you.” Yufit’s smile was hesitant. “Seems I was right to.”
“I was lucky you were there,” said Amastan.
“Well…” Yufit shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know how much luck has to do with it. I was on my way back after deciding you’d lost the nerve to see me. I saw the jaani throw you over the side of the bridge. Now you owe me: an explanation, at the very least, and another chance to show you some fun. Although it looks like you were having enough of that on your own.”
“What explanation?”
“Why did a jaani shove you over the side of a bridge?”
“It was chasing me,” said Amastan.
Yufit crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. He waited.
Amastan swallowed, casting for a plausible excuse that didn’t start with a drink in Idir’s inn seated across a table from Megar. If he was going to ask about Megar, he wanted to do so when his questions wouldn’t be colored by what had just happened. “It found me on my way over. I was already a few minutes late, and then I had to stop for water. When I came out of the pumphouse, the jaani was there. I ran, but it followed. I don’t know how or why, except that it must’ve remembered me from when I saved you. I thought I could wear it out—or something.”
“Instead you fell off a bridge.” Yufit clapped his hands together. “Well done.”
“It pushed me,” said Amastan, his voice quiet. The words started as defense, but ended as realization. The jaani had pulled at his wrap, had shoved Megar. It shouldn’t have been able to do either. He tagged that information as something he needed to tell Menna. Menna, who was waiting for him upstairs.
She could wait a little longer.
Yufit stepped closer. “That still doesn’t explain why you were over an hour late.”
Amastan looked at Yufit’s hands instead of his eyes. Most of the ink stains were gone, the skin scrubbed clean. Even his fingernails were pristine. “I lost track of time at work.”
The corner of Yufit’s eye crinkled with a smirk. “I don’t believe you.”
Amastan made the mistake of looking into those eyes. He forgot to breathe.
With a sigh, Yufit dropped his gaze, releasing Amastan. “I’ll let you keep your secrets, Asaf. It makes you more interesting. Besides, I’d rather not believe you sat with dusty scrolls for an entire hour instead of coming to see me, even if that’s the truth of it.”
Amastan’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t risk losing Yufit, not yet. He still needed Yufit. He might suspect Megar, but he needed more than mere suspicions. Yufit could help him find the connections between Basil, Yanniq, Tamella, and Emet. And there might be something else he had missed. Besides, before the jaani had attacked, Megar had been almost too eagar to talk with Yufit. Amastan should keep an eye on him. For his own safety.
“I did,” said Amastan. “I really— There was a deadline. I have to have this project done by season’s end. I really did lose track of time. I’m sorry.”
“Sadly, I believe you.” But Yufit’s tone had an edge of amusement to it.
“We can try again. I—I’m curious about what you were going to show me.”
“I’ll give you another chance,” said Yufit, smiling. “But not tonight. It’s too late for what I’d had in mind. Tomorrow I’m busy with something else, but—the night after? Will that work for you and your demanding schedule?”
“Yes.” Amastan breathed out. “Okay.”
Still smiling, Yufit glanced toward the stairs leading up to Menna’s. “And by then maybe your friend will have figured out how we can both avoid another run-in with a jaani. We can’t keep meeting like this.”
Amastan’s ears warmed. Some of his embarrassment must have been obvious because Yufit laughed.
“Stay safe, Asaf.” Still chuckling, Yufit took off.
Amastan watched him go, sauntering down the street like a man who owned half the city. Yufit had more confidence in his sandals than Amastan had in his entire body. Only when Yufit di
sappeared around a corner was Amastan able to breathe freely again. It had to be the responsibility of finding Yanniq’s killer that made him feel a little breathless and a little nervous around Yufit. That was all.
The glass may have been gone, but Menna had shuttered her window. Amastan perched on the sill outside and knocked politely. Before he could finish knocking, Menna had unlocked the shutters and swung them open. She was dressed in a different wrap, this one clean and a darker gray than her marabi wrap. She’d covered her puff of black hair with a purple cloth and wiped away the smoke and dirt from her face—all of it except for a smudge just below one eye.
“Took you long enough.” Menna finished knotting her belt. “What were you doing? Proclaiming your undying love to each other for all to hear?”
“That’s Yanniq’s scribe,” said Amastan. “Or, was.”
Menna paused in her preparations. Then, with complete seriousness, she said, “So he might know who killed Emet.”
Amastan nodded.
“Fine. I won’t tease.” She finished checking her belt and wiped her hands on her wrap. “It’s late, but Elder Dessin should still be awake. You’re coming with me. This jaani problem is getting out of control and it’ll help if you can give Dessin a firsthand account of what happened. Jaan don’t follow. They just— They don’t have the will for it.” Menna moved toward the window.
“The jaani pushed me,” said Amastan.
Menna started for the door, then stopped. She turned completely around and stared at Amastan. “Jaan don’t push.”
“This one did. It hit someone else who was trying to help me, and it pushed me off a bridge.”
“Jaan don’t push,” she repeated. “They physically can’t. They don’t have anything to push with. Unless…” She trailed off and her thoughts crossed her face, clear as light. Amastan wanted to look away, but he couldn’t help but watch as first consideration, then realization, then horror contorted her features.
