Blood Passage

by Heather Demetrios

  A true leader of his people, Raif thought, admiring. Calm under pressure, gracious, fearless. Like Nalia, he couldn’t help but think. Despite their differences, Samar was a good jinni, one Raif wanted on his side and in the fight.

  While the Dhoma began manifesting tents and supplies, Raif waited on the dune with Nalia as Zanari traveled the lines that led to the Dhoma. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, dazed.

  “They’re in Ithkar,” she said. “I don’t know how many survived the battle here or the journey. All I can see is smoke from the volcanoes and . . . and the prison camp.”

  Nalia went still. Bashil—of course. The brutality of the Ithkar camp was infamous. Raif had been surprised a child had survived it for as long as Bashil did. He imagined the Dhoma, injured from battling the Ifrit, reeling from being taken to the realm they’d shunned for so long.

  What a horrible way to see Arjinna for the first time, Raif thought.

  “I’ll tell Samar,” he said heavily.

  To his surprise, the Dhoma leader smiled. When he noticed Raif’s confusion he simply said, “Where there is life, there is hope.”

  Raif left Samar to his work and joined Nalia at the far edge of the makeshift camp, where she was manifesting their tent. Despite the horror the afternoon had brought, he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the sight of the temporary home he’d share with Nalia. They’d never been alone, not like that. He caught her eye and she smiled. He didn’t say a word—didn’t have to.

  They joined the others around a small fire in the center of their circle of tents. It was a far cry from the joyous gathering of musicians, singers, and dancers that he remembered from his time in the Dhoma camp. They were just settling down to a simple meal of bread and stew that they’d manifested when a screech in the air made Raif look up. The sight took some of the weight off his shoulders. The fawzel had escaped the Ifrit. They’d have more answers, maybe a few scraps of hope to share.

  The ebony birds circled the camp once, then swooped toward the earth in a swirl of evanescence. The Dhoma ran to their brethren. There was a shout of joy as Samar caught sight of his fawzel wife, Yezhud. Raif’s eyes smarted as he watched their reunion. He’d felt the same way when Nalia had survived the lightning, and again when she’d made it through the volcano’s fire unscathed. And then once more, when Malek became the Blood Passage.

  “So they’re not all dead?” Noqril said as he and the other Dhoma made their way back to the fire.

  Yezhud’s eyes filled with sadness. “Many are—we fought before we surrendered. The council members are in the godlands. I burned the bodies myself.”

  “All of them are gone?” Nalia asked, stricken.

  “They took their own lives,” one of the fawzel said. “We couldn’t risk Calar reading their minds. They were the only Dhoma other than us who knew about the sigil. We needed to keep it that way, no?”

  Raif sighed heavily. Nalia was right: this ring brought nothing but suffering.

  “After burning the camp, the Ifrit rounded everyone up and started walking into the desert,” Yezhud continued. “Then they went through the portal and . . .” She shook her head. “We didn’t dare follow until you’d returned.”

  Yezhud’s eyes fell on Nalia, and the fawzel made no effort to disguise her hatred. Raif remembered how she’d yelled at Nalia on the Sun Chaser.

  “It’s not her fault, Yezhud,” Raif said, careful to keep his voice even. “The Ifrit are your enemy, not us.”

  “It’s okay,” Nalia said. She stepped toward Yezhud. “Hif la’azi vi,” she whispered. My heart breaks for you.

  Yezhud’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded.

  Raif cleared his throat. “We want to do everything we can to help you. That being said, I must return to my soldiers. I’ve been away from them far too long. My hope is that you’ll come with us and that we’ll fight our common enemy together. With the ring and the power in our small group assembled here, I know we can be victorious.”

  “And what if we don’t want to fight your war?” Anso said.

  Nalia spoke before Raif could. “Then you don’t need to. I will help you free the Dhoma. I pledge my blood.” She turned to Raif. “And I know the tavrai will, too.”

  The silence was tense, filled with unspoken accusations, weighed down by the catastrophic loss.

  “It is pointless to fight about this. We couldn’t go to Arjinna even if we wanted to,” Yezhud said.

  “What do you mean?” Raif’s question came out as a bark.

  Yezhud looked at him across the fire. “The Ifrit have closed the portal.”

  44

  ZANARI SPRANG TO HER FEET, AS THOUGH BEING UPRIGHT could somehow make her understand Yezhud’s words better. Nalia made a choking sound and Zanari caught a brief glimpse of the agony on her face before Nalia pressed her head against her knees and covered it with her arms. Her body shook with silent sobs. Raif stared at the fire, dazed.

  “That’s impossible,” Zanari said. “The portal has never been closed. Never.”

  She turned to Raif. He’d managed to put an arm around Nalia and pull her against him, but his face was expressionless. “Raif. Tell them.”

  He looked up at her. It was as if someone had sucked all the life out of him.

  “A portal is simply a door,” said one of the fawzel, his voice cold. “This one has been shut and locked from the inside. We’ve tried—it’s impossible to get through. But go over there, see for yourself.”

  “I will.” In seconds she was evanescing. Through the clouds of jade smoke, she noticed Phara watching her. The healer’s expression was unreadable.

  Zanari felt the weightlessness that always came with evanescing. Her body lost its form and she was spinning around, faster and faster until the earth became a blur, just swirls of color. Those few mindless seconds between the Dhoma camp and the portal were a sliver of peace, where Zanari had no thought, no consciousness; she simply existed, like a ray of light or a breath of air.

  If the portal was truly closed, she’d have to evanesce again and again and again, just to avoid thinking about what it meant to never go home. To never see the Three Widows or drink from the River Sorrow. To never know her mother’s fate or have a chance to say good-bye to the tavrai Zanari had bled with for years.

  She landed directly in front of where the portal should have been. Though it was night, there was a full moon and the desert was bright as day. The entrance that had once been cut into the air was gone. The only evidence of the border between the worlds was a lone tree from which a rotting corpse hung.

  Jordif.

  Zanari covered her nose, trying to block out the powerful stench of the body as she reached her arm through the place where the portal should be. All she could feel was the desert air. This wasn’t a closed door. It was a closed universe. It was as if Arjinna didn’t exist.

  She felt a shift in energy and when she turned, Phara was walking toward her out of a cloud of golden evanescence. She wrapped her arms around Zanari.

  “I’m so sorry,” Phara whispered.

  Zanari trembled against her. “It’s gone. There’s no other way home. What if they never open it again?”

  Phara hugged her tighter. “They will. They love human weapons too much—it’s the only way the Ifrit have been able to maintain their power. They’ll have to come back eventually.”

  “That could be hundreds of years! By then your family and everyone I know will be—”

  “Don’t say it,” Phara whispered. “Saying it makes it seem true. And it’s not. We’re going to save them.” Phara kissed the top of her head, then pulled away. “Come. Your brother needs you.”

  When they touched down at the Dhoma camp, Nalia and Raif looked up as one.

  “It’s gone,” Zanari whispered.

  Raif stood up. Turned around as though he were looking for something. Sat back down. He gripped his hair with his hands.

  The one bright spot in all of this: their mother wasn’t necessarily d
ead. The portal’s closure made any contact with Arjinna impossible.

  Nalia straightened. “There’s another way.”

  Raif’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “The Eye,” she said.

  “Nalia . . . that’s . . . suicide.” Zanari stared at her. “I know we need to get home, but, you know—we need to get home.”

  The Eye of Iblis: the Devil’s Eye. It was a swath of desert land shared by Arjinna and Earth, the only physical point at which the two realms met without the aid of a magical portal. The Eye was a land of utter darkness, like being inside a sealed box of horrors. The gods had abandoned the land or maybe they had never been there. On the Arjinnan side, an ancient gate made of solid, spelled iron stood where the Eye began, thick and high and impenetrable. From the top of the Qaf Mountains, Zanari had once seen how the light in the sky gradually disappeared as soon as it hit the gate, fading into the inky darkness that covered the Eye at all times. No moon, sun, or stars shone above that land. No fresh wind blew through it, and rain never fell onto its parched soil. Total sensory deprivation.

  “It’s only suicide if you intend to die,” Nalia said. “And I don’t.” She looked around the fire, her eyes blazing. “Calar has taken enough from me. From all of us. I’ll die before she bars me from my land.”

  Zanari winced slightly at the possessive: my. The more time she spent around Nalia, the more Zanari felt like she was in the presence of royalty. It wasn’t anything Nalia was consciously doing; Zanari was pretty sure of that. It was almost as if Malek’s death had unlocked something inside Nalia, something that was answering an ancient call. She wondered if Raif felt it, too. He hadn’t been himself since that last cavern, but there’d been no time to ask him about it.

  Samar leaned forward. “The human myths say that Muhammed visited the Qaf Mountains once to try to convert the jinn to Islam. They say he journeyed through the Eye to get there—a land without light. Their legends say that it would take a human four months to travel through this darkness, but surely it wouldn’t take us as long.”

  Nalia shook her head. “When Antharoe went through the Eye—”

  “Gods, not Antharoe again,” Noqril said. “Hasn’t your Ghan Aisouri given us enough trouble already?”

  “Let her talk,” Zanari growled.

  “As I was saying,” Nalia continued, “when Antharoe traveled through the Eye, she didn’t do it alone.” She glanced at Zanari. “Do you know the story?”

  Zanari was already shaking her head. “Don’t even think about it, Nalia. I know what you’re going to say.”

  “Antharoe and the Blind Seer.” Nalia leaned forward, her eyes on Zanari. Her words tumbled together in her excitement. “She had a jinni with her who had your voiqhif. Zanari, you found me when you were in Arjinna. You kept track of Haran while he roamed the whole Earth. You’re far more powerful than you give yourself credit for.”

  “First,” Zanari said, “we don’t know how much of this legend is true. Second, my voiqhif is hardly reliable. I mean, what if I end up getting us stranded in the middle of the Eye? We’d just be wandering around in complete darkness until we died. You really want to risk all of our lives for the slight chance I can get us to Arjinna?”

  “Yes,” Nalia said. “Because I believe in you. And because Calar won’t open that portal again. Not for a long time, anyway.”

  “To keep you out, of course,” Yezhud spat. “You said so yourself, she doesn’t want anyone challenging her for the throne.” She glared at Nalia. “We were fine until you came along. Safe and at peace. Now our people are gone—dead or enslaved because of you, because we saved your life.”

  Raif stood and when he spoke his voice was cold as steel. “You will stop speaking—now.” His fingers sparked with chiaan. “Or I will give you sufficient motivation.”

  Samar angled his body in front of Yezhud. “Are we going to do this, brother?”

  “I won’t have her speaking to Nalia that way.”

  “Raif—” Nalia began.

  He turned to her. “You’ve punished yourself enough, Nal. This isn’t your fault.”

  “My brother’s right,” Zanari said. “This is exactly what Calar does. She makes people so afraid, so desperate, that they’ll give up their own family members to save their skin.”

  “She isn’t our family!” Yezhud said.

  “But I am your empress.”

  Nalia gasped as soon as the words left her mouth, her fingers flying to her lips, as though she could somehow shove them back in.

  Zanari stared at her, then glanced at Raif. His eyes were wide.

  “I’m sorry,” Nalia whispered. “I don’t know where that came from.” She looked around her, dazed. “Shalinta.” Forgive me.

  Nalia sprinted into the darkness. Raif started after her, but Zanari grabbed his arm. “Let her go,” she said. “Just . . . first things first.”

  Gods, Zanari thought, if Nalia wants the throne we might as well give up right now. Or help her. Because one thing was for certain: whatever side Nalia was on would be victorious.

  Raif looked to where Nalia had gone, then turned back to his sister. “You were right—I’ve never given you enough credit. No one has. You can lead us through the Eye.”

  Raif’s eyes pleaded with her, eyes she’d never been able to say no to. Eyes full of a feverish, desperate hope. Zanari couldn’t bear to take that away from him. They’d come so far.

  Zanari eyed the jinn assembled around the fire. “I will do everything in my power to help us cross. I won’t lie—it’s incredibly dangerous. In Antharoe’s stories, ghouls live in the Eye and gods know what else. And there’s nothing there to draw power from. We can bring elements with us, but we’ll have to use them sparingly.”

  Zanari turned to Anso. “With your power, Anso, we might actually be able to defeat them. What you did to Haraja—maybe you can do that on a bigger scale.” She smiled. “It’d be good practice before we face the Ifrit army, anyway.”

  Anso nodded. “I could try.”

  “We won’t make it across without an army,” Raif said.

  “Where are we going to find an army?” said Noqril.

  Raif had already told Zanari about his plans. Before the Dhoma had been captured, she’d thought they’d never agree to helping them fight. But now, they had no choice.

  “There’s our army,” Raif said, pointing to the pile of bottles they’d brought up from the cave.

  “You can’t be serious,” Yezhud said, but Samar’s eyes were on the bottles, thoughtful.

  “You said these jinn were being punished for rebelling against Solomon, correct?” Raif said.

  Samar nodded. “Yes. And we have reason to believe they were soldiers—their leader had been forced to command a jinn army on behalf of Solomon, to fight the Master King’s wars. In my family, the story is that all of these jinn were under this jinn leader’s command and had agreed to rise up against Solomon.” Samar glanced at the bottles again, his eyes dark. “But they could not fight against the power of the ring.”

  “We don’t know what shape they’re in, of course,” Raif said, “but right now it looks like we have two thousand trained soldiers who, I’m guessing, might be more than a little happy to let off some aggression. If I were them, I’d be pretty upset after being forced into a bottle for three thousand years. A fight might be just what they need.”

  Samar looked at the Dhoma and, one by one, they turned their hands so that their palms faced up. He stood and crossed to Raif, then held out his hand.

  “We will help you across the Eye, Raif Djan’Urbi. In exchange, you and your tavrai must help us free the Dhoma who have been imprisoned in Ithkar. You will have to ask the jinn in the bottles yourself about joining your army. I cannot speak for them but I, for one, simply want to free my people. I’ll fight with you against the Ifrit until my people are rescued and the portal is open.”

  Zanari knew it wasn’t quite the agreement Raif was hoping for, but it was the best he could get.
/>
  Raif shook the Dhoma leader’s hand. “Deal.”

  45

  NALIA SAT ATOP ONE OF THE DUNES BORDERING THE camp. The Sahara lay before her, calm and silver in the light of the full moon. Its immensity was comforting. She liked being a tiny speck on the surface of its vast, ever-changing skin. The desert reminded her that the universe was bigger than she was, bigger than portals and Calar and dead masters and murdered brothers. She lay on her back and closed her eyes, her fingers automatically straying to Bashil’s worry stone. It was cold out here, far away from the warmth of the Dhoma fire, but there was no wind and she’d manifested a thick shawl to cover her sawala. The tunic and leggings were comfortable, yet elegant. No more clothes from Earth for her; she wanted to feel like a jinni again, not a slave to human wishmakers.

  The problem was, Nalia didn’t know what that meant anymore. Being suddenly free after years of exile and slavery was disorienting. She had become so used to being the Nalia Earth had forced her to be that she had no idea who she really was. The girl she’d been before the coup had died in that cellar with the other Ghan Aisouri. The slave who’d been desperate to free her brother had burned with his body. The stoic warrior who’d fought her way to Solomon’s sigil was no longer under the compulsion of a wish or a promise. And now . . . .

  Nalia kept hearing herself say those awful words to Yezhud: I am your empress.

  Where had that come from? It’d been as if someone had stolen Nalia’s voice and spoken for her. There’d been no thrill of power when the words left her mouth: just a calm certainty, a rightness. But how could asserting her claim to the throne feel right when Nalia had no desire to rule Arjinna? The Amethyst Crown held no allure for her. She agreed with Raif—Arjinna was better served being ruled by its jinn. To her, the palace was nothing more than a graveyard now.

  She dreaded returning to the tent she shared with Raif. How could she explain what she’d said by the fire if she didn’t even understand it herself? He hated the royal family. He believed the monarchy was evil and had spent his whole life fighting against such consolidated power. How could he trust that she wasn’t a threat to his revolution after what she’d said? It didn’t matter that the words long live the empress had slipped past his lips—neither of them would live very long if he said them when anyone else was around.