The Ninety-Ninth Bride

by Catherine F. King

  Dunya’s breathing was coming very fast.

  “This much I know: You have a djinni somewhere. Does it live in one of the harem’s old lamps? An earring of yours? Anything is possible.” He leaned back a little. “By rights, you should already be in irons, for conspiring against your lawful Sultan. But I’ll strike a deal. Tell me where the djinni is and I’ll forgive you this ambition. But the djinni comes to me, or I will take it by force.”

  “And wish?” Dunya asked. “You’ll make wishes, I suppose? What more can you possibly want out of life?”

  “Of course I’ll make wishes. What a stupid question. What, if my wishes are sufficiently pure of heart, you’ll hand the djinni over?” He paused.

  “No.” Dunya was half-surprised by her answer.

  “No, you don’t care if I’m pure of heart?”

  “No, the djinni is not yours. She’s not mine to hand off.”

  “How noble of you.” He stepped away and took a few strides across the room. Dunya for the first time saw something on the floor—a large circle, drawn in chalk, with triangles and radiating lines within it. Dunya herself stood on the edge of the circumference. The Sultan went on, “I’m going to give you one more chance.”

  “Or else?” Dunya’s voice came out higher than usual. “Or else you’ll kill me? Like your first wife?”

  In two strides he crossed to her and struck her, hard, across the face.

  “Dunya!” Zahra cried.

  “There’s your chance,” the Sultan hissed through his teeth. “Now you’ll see how I punish usurpers.”

  “You kill them,” Dunya said. “It’s not hard to figure out.”

  The next blow struck her eye. Footsteps hurried to her. Zahra’s cool hands were on Dunya’s shoulders, helping her stand. “You’re out of your mind,” Zahra said to the Sultan. “There are no djinn here.”

  “Not yet. Step away from her, wife.” The Sultan waited. Zahra didn’t move. “I said, step away. You are helping a traitor and usurper to my throne.”

  “She’s not even fighting back,” Zahra said.

  “And why should she? The djinni will come when she truly has need.”

  Dunya’s panic rose, but she beat it down. She thought, I won’t call out. I won’t give Upalu a reason to come here. I won’t. I won’t.

  “Show mercy!” Zahra’s hands tightened on Dunya.

  The Sultan didn’t answer that. “Dunya,” he commanded, “Daughter of Shareef. Call the djinni.”

  Dunya turned towards him and spat on the floor.

  The Sultan moved quickly, so quickly. He seized Dunya’s hand and wrenched her out of Zahra’s hold. He took her arm, twisted it, and pinned her against the wall. Dunya bit her lip as pain exploded in her shoulder. He increased the pressure, and the world in Dunya’s eyes started to go red. Her only clear thought was, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m finally going to die.

  And abruptly, the pressure stopped. The hands on her arm released her. Dunya took a few deep breaths, and turned to look.

  Was it—had she hit her head? Was her good eye playing tricks on her? The Sultan stood there, his eyes unfocused, arms and legs as limp as an unused marionette. Zahra’s hands were passing over him, she was working magic.

  “Let it not be said,” she muttered, “that I have no sense of mercy. Upalu.”

  “How do you know her name?” Dunya asked just as a column of flame materialized to Dunya’s left, outside the circumference of the chalk circle.

  “Dunya!” the djinni cried, regaining her human form.

  “It’s not safe for her here any longer. Take Dunya away.” Zahra’s tone was a command.

  “But my magic—”

  “Is safer than his wrath. Go.”

  Dunya felt Upalu’s arms around her, and then the arms turned into fire.

  Fire surrounded her, out of nowhere, with no spark or source. The fire took a hold of her, and Dunya was brought up and carried in a whirlwind. She knew Upalu was with her. In her fear, that was enough. Upalu was taking her away.

  The heat was terrible. Dunya covered her face with her hands in a moment of self-preservation. When she caught glimpses between her fingers, she saw streets below her. They were moving very fast, ascending by the minute. Dunya squeezed her eyes shut and said, “You’re burning me.”

  “I’m sorry,” replied the flame, and cold desert winds broke through, enough to keep Dunya from burning.

  How long they traveled, Dunya never knew. Maybe she passed out. She came to again, on a sand dune, and slid downward before coming to a stop. Upalu’s hands were tearing at her. “Your robe!” she exclaimed. “Wake up! Help me!”

  Dunya realized her outer robe was on fire. She shuffled it off as quickly as she could. The burning cloth soon lay in a heap on the sand. Dunya realized her blue headscarf, Zahra’s precious gift, was burning, too. Unthinking, she leapt for it, but Upalu pulled her back. Dunya’s strength ebbed. She sagged in Upalu’s arms.

  The djinni scanned the horizon. “Where is he?” she asked.

  A cold wind brushed over them. Dunya shivered. “I’m cold,” she muttered.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  The sound of hooves approached. Dunya looked—her eyes were caught by the thousands of stars high above—and there, in the distance, lay a large camp. Coming close to were two horses, bearing men, and the first man—

  “Munir?” Dunya asked.

  “About time,” Upalu muttered with relief. She laid Dunya on the ground and crouched by her.

  Munir’s horse shied; Munir dismounted and ran towards them. “Dunya, Upalu, what are you doing here?”

  “She’s hurt,” Upalu said. “You have to help us.”

  “Of course,” Munir said. “Help me get her onto the horse… ”

  “Horses don’t like me,” Upalu said. Munir picked Dunya up.

  “Gently!” Upalu urged.

  “She’s burning up… ” Munir, after setting Dunya on his horse, looked at Upalu and asked, “Can you follow us?”

  “Yes.”

  “I saw—I saw fire land here.—What are you?”

  “I’m a djinni,” Upalu said. “We should have told you before.”

  “It’s all right.” Munir mounted his horse and said to his companion, “Hussein, ride ahead and alert the medical tent.” He clicked his tongue, and his horse began to walk, turning back towards the lights of camp, at a pace that was steady but didn’t hurt Dunya.

  Dunya lolled her head back. “So many stars,” she mumbled.

  “Yes, it’s very pretty, isn’t it?” Munir said. “Keep talking, Dunya. Stay with us now.”

  A gleam of light behind them caught Dunya’s eye. She looked and saw Upalu, brilliant and fire-wreathed, leap into the sky and fly onwards towards camp.

  “So that’s what she really looks like,” Dunya said, slurring a bit.

  “We’ll get you someplace safe in a moment,” Munir said. “Just keep talking.”

  “Keep talking. Stay alive. That’s a story I know.”

  “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  Softly, Dunya said, “I’m not worried. You two are looking after me.”

  Part Three

  The Desert

  There are perils of traveling with djinn in the shape of fire.

  When Dunya was brought to the medical tent, she had a raging fever. Munir called for the head medic to tend to her. As she was lain on a pallet, Upalu arrived in human form again.

  “Where did she come from?” asked the head medic.

  “Al-Rayyan. Of course,” Munir replied. His face was bloodless and drawn.

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “It was an emergency. I had no other choice.” Upalu fretted as she watched Dunya. “If she dies from the fever, I’ll never forgive myself.”

/>   “Both of you, out,” said the head medic. “You’re not helping. Wait outside.”

  So they went outside of the tent, regarded each other warily, and waited. Munir sat on the ground, and Upalu paced to and fro.

  In the tent, Dunya passed in and out of consciousness. The candles of the medical tent flickered, and the head medic ordered the brazier’s fire built up. She sighed gladly when he laid a cool cloth on her forehead.

  “Thank you, Sittou,” she murmured.

  “You’re welcome,” replied the head medic gruffly.

  Dunya tried to focus on him. It wasn’t her grandmother; he was only half of a whole shape. He was a nasnas. No, now he had scales and whiskers—a merman. The fire dimmed for a moment, and for Dunya the shadows deepened. She heard the sound of trickling water. And the sound of keening cut into her ears…

  “I tried,” she said to the tree in the reservoir. “I tried, but what can I do? I tried, I’m sorry, please, leave me!”

  “There, there,” said the medic. “Drink this. It will be all right. Rest.”

  Dunya drank the medicine he offered and drifted off. But her sleep was uneasy. The keening noise followed her through arabesques, mosaics, and the little warren of rooms that had belonged to her grandmother.

  Things grew clearer—she was back at the feast, the Sultan’s wedding feast, and she watched as the singing tree was presented by the bride’s father. The tree grew out of its pot, and put down roots in the banquet hall. The guests continued to laugh and toast, and only Dunya could see how the roots were tangling into everything, burrowing, snarling, choking—

  She had a moment of clarity—she was in an unknown place, a tent, and there was a glow of sunlight through the cloth. “Where am I?” Dunya asked.

  There was no one there to answer. Then she appeared: her hair falling in a wave of silver and black, her face lined with the ghosts of many smiles. But she wasn’t smiling now.

  “Morgiana,” Dunya said, and reached for her. But her shaking hand passed through Morgiana, as though through mist.

  “You are in Captain Munir’s camp,” Morgiana said to Dunya. “North of the city. Recover, but don’t take too long.”

  “I have not forgotten you,” Dunya said.

  “Then help me,” said Morgiana. “Help me.” Roots twined up her throat, around her hands. Leaves grew from her hair.

  Then she was gone. Dunya called her name, but there was no returning apparition.

  Dunya slept deeply. The next time she awoke, her head was clear and her fever had broken. She lay there, in the sunlight, for some time before the head medic entered.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  She managed a small shrug.

  “You must be hungry. I’m Dr. Samaq. Captain Munir and that young woman will be very happy to hear you’ve woken up.”

  “The young woman?”

  “Strange sort. She doesn’t seem to need to sleep, but she eats like a fire… ”

  “Upalu,” Dunya said happily. She settled back.

  “Are you curious as to where you are?” asked Dr. Samaq.

  “The camp—I mean, maybe it’s a town now. The one on the borderlands.”

  “A town in progress.” The doctor bent down and examined Dunya’s black eye. “On the mend,” he said. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

  “Can I see my friends?”

  “Yes. But sit back. Rest. Rest,” he said, scowling until Dunya lay back again.

  “Yes. Of course.” Dunya struggled to sit up, until the doctor told her to rest. He disappeared through the tent flap, and Dunya had a moment to take in the strange new setting.

  The flap opened and Upalu came in, followed by Munir, ducking under the low ceiling.

  “You’re awake! I was so afraid.” Upalu knelt by Dunya and clasped her hands. “It was my magic that cast the fever, I was so afraid, but the Sultan would have killed you. Are you well?”

  “I’m fine,” Dunya answered.

  Another medic, not Dr. Samaq, entered with a plate of bread and herbed olive oil, setting it down beside Dunya. She took a bit of bread and realized she was ravenous.

  “Get your strength up,” Upalu said to her. “What was happening in the Palace?”

  “Where were you?” Dunya asked. “I looked all over for you. The kitchens, that café you like—the harem was being raided.”

  “Yes. When the Sultan entered the harem—it was late morning, I think—I knew it was time to leave. I waited by the First Gate, I waited for you, but you didn’t show. I was about to leave when something summoned me to the Palace.”

  “I didn’t. I wouldn’t have… ”

  “Was it Zahra, then? I don’t understand. What was happening?”

  Munir said, “Upalu told me that she saw you with the Sultan and Zahra, and the Sultan was threatening you, so she took you away.”

  “Not only that, you forgot,” Upalu chided him. “There was an arcane circle on the floor.”

  “The chalk circle?” Dunya asked.

  “That’s the one. The Sultan has been reading up. He wanted to bind me.”

  “That’s… exactly it,” Dunya admitted. “He somehow figured out that there was a djinni in his Palace. He confiscated the lamps of the harem because he thought you lived in one of them. And he was trying to… ” Dunya raised a hand to her black eye.

  “Beat the truth out of you?” Upalu asked sharply.

  “He wanted me to give up the power of the djinn. I said that you weren’t mine to hand over. And Zahra intervened. She said something—did something to the Sultan. She enchanted him, turned him into some kind of puppet.”

  “Could… could she do that all along?” Munir asked. “Why didn’t she do that earlier?”

  “I think Zahra was the one who summoned you,” Dunya said to Upalu.

  “Well, then,” Upalu nodded, “I’m grateful to her. And now we are out of Al-Rayyan—which is where I wanted to be—and we’re all fine, and we can just stay in this camp. Right, Munir?”

  “Absolutely,” Munir replied at once. “You are my honored guests. You can stay here, make your home here, if you want. I won’t say it’s the same life you’re used to, but I would be glad to have you here.”

  Dunya kept eating bread with oil, and didn’t say anything.

  “But first,” Munir said to her, “You will rest.”

  Dunya left the medical tent the next day. The desert wind whistled in her ears. The camp had its noises to be sure—the pounding at the smithy, the goats and horses braying, the conversation everywhere—but beyond that was a profound quiet. It was the silence of the desert.

  Upalu helped her through the camp. At her approach, goats leapt away and horses whinnied.

  “Oh, shush, you,” she would say to all of the animals.

  There were structures going up, but most of the camp’s residents remained in tents, and it was a tent that Upalu had conjured up with magic. It was stationed close to the medical tent, just in case, and colored a warm orange, like banking embers. The men and women who had lived at the camp a longer time glanced curiously at the vibrant newcomers, but neither Upalu nor Dunya paid them any mind.

  The tent was a little barren on the inside, but it had carpets and braziers, sleeping rolls and kitchenware. “Did you conjure all this up?” Dunya asked her friend.

  “Munir provided the furnishings,” Upalu admitted. “He says they were surplus. My magic isn’t limitless, you know.”

  After Dunya settled in and had changed into new clothes—clothes that didn’t smell of smoke—Upalu said, “Well, come on, we’ve got to go to market.”

  “Why? What do we need to buy?”

  “Not to buy. To work. Would you rather rest, though?”

  “No, no, I’ll come with you.”

  Dunya followed her to
the market in the center of the camp. Upalu explained to Dunya that while the hall of justice was still being built, the marketplace served as the center of government, such as it was. “Munir asked me to help out. Can you guess why?”

  “Because you’ve become friends in my absence?” Dunya asked.

  “No. Well, kind of. But look around.”

  Dunya looked. They were passing by the forge. Dunya looked in the forge, and saw men toiling at work with the flames, except—

  “They’re djinn,” Dunya said, pausing to watch the one smith with fire curling around his arms.

  “Very good. And over there?”

  Dunya looked. The workers trading jokes as they laid foundations for a building—they had goats’ legs.

  “Satyrs?”

  “Just the same, from pretty far west. There are even a couple of mermaids who have set up shop in the river bend. People have been leaving Al-Rayyan in droves, and some of them came here.”

  “Is that so,” Dunya said. Now that she knew what she was looking for, the camp had more than its fair share of not-quite-human folk. She tried not to stare.

  Upalu went on, “But the ifrits want a better share of land, and Munir wants a… what would you say, an interpreter, maybe, or just someone to smooth out the negotiations. Hence, me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dunya said.

  “It was my idea,” Upalu said, as they ducked to enter a large tent. People were seated in a circle on carpets. Munir sat opposite the door, and on his right side were six ifrits, ranging in appearance from enormously tall and horned to petite with the whiskers of a tiger. Upalu bowed to them—Dunya followed her lead—and they sat in the space provided.

  Dunya listened to the negotiations with half an ear. She observed how well Munir listened, how seriously Upalu took her task. She smiled with pride at her friends, and thought, So this is a growing town. A new town, without even a name yet. Maybe I can live here, and be happy.