by Nafiza Azad
Fatima Ghazala considers her options. She is not used to feeling so helpless, so weak. She thinks about Zulfikar and feels, curiously, along the bond, wondering where he is and what is happening with the Raees. How long has she been asleep? Frustrated, Fatima Ghazala yanks along the bond, wishing she could magic the Emir in front of her. Much to her surprise, she feels his response to her mental yanking. She feels his worry and his relief when he realizes her presence.
Not ten minutes have passed when the door flies open. Zulfikar comes stalking in. He is breathing hard, his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks more bedraggled than Fatima Ghazala has ever seen him. He is looking at her as though for the very first time. A few seconds later, he strides forward, sits on the bed, and wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly. Fatima Ghazala can feel his heart pounding. He kisses the hollow of her neck, and she breathes in sharply. She slips her arms around him and hugs him back, cautiously, before trying to pull away.
“Wait,” Zulfikar says, his arms tightening. “Open your mind to me.”
“What?” Fatima Ghazala wonders if she heard wrong.
“Open your mind, your consciousness, to me,” Zulfikar replies. “Please?”
It is the “please” that does it. Plus, she doesn’t have the strength to resist. Fatima Ghazala rests her head on Zulfikar’s shoulder and empties her mind, letting thoughts of the Emir fill her. A moment later, she breathes in and a feeling of well-being fills her. Underneath the bandages, her hands seem to heal, and the weariness in her bones fades. Fatima Ghazala pulls away from the Emir.
“What did you do to me?” she demands.
Zulfikar’s arms remain loosely around her, as if he can’t bear to let go. “I shared my strength with you. The Raees taught me how. It is one of the advantages of being bonded.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Fatima Ghazala ducks her head, suddenly aware of how close they are to each other. Her heart is racing, and her cheeks are warm. She reminds herself that it is not the time to act like a shy maiden. “How is the Raees? How long have I been asleep? I’m hungry.”
Zulfikar tucks a curl of her hair behind her ear and answers, “She is far better than any of us expected. Did you do something to the taint? She says she feels like she can breathe easily for the first time in months.”
“I cleaned her Name somewhat. Not entirely, mind you. I wonder if I can clean her Name completely. Maybe I can try.”
“First you need to recover. You’ve been sleeping for two days. The Ifrit healer said you may not wake up. Your body almost failed you during the Naming.” There are shadows under his eyes. “I called for food.”
Fatima Ghazala frowns. Zulfikar is working hard to remain cheerful, but there is something worrying him. She can feel his anxiety nibbling on his thoughts. “What is the matter, Zulfikar?” When she sees that he will dismiss her question, she interrupts him, “I know you are not telling me something.”
The Emir looks reluctant but finally confesses, “Shayateen were sighted at the northern gates. We are currently searching for them.”
The world falls away at his words, and Fatima Ghazala is on her feet ready to rush away. She needs to collect her family: the Alifs, Sunaina, Achal Kaur, Laali. She needs to keep them safe. What if the screaming begins again? What will she do?
“Listen to me!” Zulfikar grabs her shoulders, and with a start, Fatima Ghazala realizes he has been talking to her. “We are looking for them. The Shayateen may—”
A knock on the door interrupts Zulfikar, and he immediately moves to answer it. A moment later, he returns to the bedroom. “They have picked up the trail. I need to go. I have posted extra guards around the mahal, so please, habibti, be safe.” He presses a kiss on her lips and is gone.
Fatima Ghazala, with help from a maid, takes the bandages off her hands. She finds her burns healed though her skin is tender. She looks down at the scars on her hands and wonders how she will explain them to her family. After a meal and a shower, she makes up the prayers she has missed. Finally, there is nothing left to do but greet the thin-faced Raees she Named two days ago. She makes her way to the west wing on the second floor of the Northern Aftab, where the Raees is staying. The mahal is oddly silent; none of the domestic staff sing as they clean. The few maids she does see are walking with their heads lowered. Fatima Ghazala knocks on the closed door to the Raees’s rooms, and a gruff voice bids her enter. Before she can pull the door open, though, someone screams her name from the entrance of the mahal. Fatima Ghazala turns around and runs to the staircase that leads to the first floor. She knows this voice.
Azizah, with her dupatta missing, her face ravaged by tearstains, is standing at the entrance, trembling violently. Fatima Ghazala runs to her and hears the sentence the youngest Alif is repeating.
“They killed Laali.”
Fatima Ghazala reaches out and grabs Azizah’s hand. The youngest Alif takes a shuddering breath. “Azizah, meethi, I’m here. Tell me what has happened.”
Between sobs, Azizah relates the events that have led her to Northern Aftab. A few hours ago, Adila took Laali her lunch and was sitting with her while she ate. When Adila didn’t return in an hour, Azizah, who was waiting for her, went to look for her. She found Laali on the floor, dead, and Adila bleeding beside her. Fatima Ghazala listens to Azizah without speaking, afraid that if she speaks, she will fall apart, and if she falls apart, she will be in too many pieces to ever be whole again. She cannot fall apart. Not just yet.
“Here is what we will do,” Fatima Ghazala says, holding on tight to Azizah’s hand. “I will call the best healer in the city for Adila. She will be all right.” No other alternative is acceptable. Fatima Ghazala beckons to a maid and asks her to take a message to Sunaina. She sends an Ifrit soldier hovering nearby to bring a healer to the Taaj Gul apartment building with as much haste as possible. After her sister, pale and shocked, arrives ten minutes later, they pile into a carriage that conveys them to Taaj Gul. Fatima Ghazala doesn’t speak; she’s not certain she can. She has retreated into that deepest part of herself, where all emotions are filtered through her thickest defenses. The distance allows her calm. It gives her sanity.
It takes them three-quarters of an hour to reach Taaj Gul. A small crowd of people are gathered outside the apartment building. They move toward the entrance of the building followed by three Ifrit soldiers who seem to be Fatima Ghazala’s personal guards. At the entrance, Fatima Ghazala suddenly falters. Fear, like a hurricane, threatens to sweep her off her feet and blow her off course. Sunaina, perhaps sensing this, grips her arm tighter, and Azizah squeezes her hand.
In the foyer, Azizah averts her eyes from the corridor leading to Laali’s room and tells them that she’ll wait for them upstairs. Sunaina and Fatima Ghazala are left frozen in the corridor, which is suddenly teeming with Ifrit soldiers. Fatima Ghazala gathers all her courage and moves toward the room, only to stop short when Zulfikar emerges from within it.
He walks over. “I just sent a soldier with a message.”
“Azizah came to get me,” Fatima Ghazala replies. Her voice seems to come from far away. “Can we see Laali?”
Fatima Ghazala meets the Emir’s eyes and sees the compassion in them. She grips her sister’s hand tighter, aware of a rending deep within her.
“Come this way,” Zulfikar says, leading them to the room.
Fatima Ghazala and Sunaina walk forward, almost as one. They pause at the door before going in. Laali’s room is in shambles: the windows are damaged, the furniture destroyed. Blood splatters the wall. Laali, sweet Laali, on the floor. Broken. Her frail body still, a slash across her face. Fatima Ghazala hears someone keening, then realizes the sound is coming from her. The pain seems too big for her body. Sunaina gathers her in her arms. All at once they are back in that moment eight years ago, trying to identify their parents’ bodies. The sight of the blood, the smell of the blood, the same broken song once again.
A minute later, when she is able to breathe without sobbing, she turns to Z
ulfikar. “Who did this to Laali? Why? Was it the Shayateen? Were they the ones who killed Laali?”
The Emir takes a deep breath. “From her wounds, it seems likely. We are waiting to question Adila.”
Fatima Ghazala remembers her friend, and she stumbles. Zulfikar catches her arm and pulls her to stand beside him. “Don’t panic, habibti. She is not as badly hurt as we feared, though she has yet to regain consciousness.”
“Didi …” Fatima Ghazala pauses and swallows. She is so afraid to see Adila. What will she do if another person is taken away from her?
“Let’s go see her now.” Her sister takes her hand.
The door to the Alif apartment is open, and Ali Abbu is standing outside it talking to a woman Fatima Ghazala doesn’t recognize. They look up as she and Sunaina approach. Ali Abbu’s face is gray with anxiety, though he still manages a smile when he sees them. Fatima Ghazala greets him and the woman who can only be the healer.
“How is she?” Sunaina asks for both of them.
“Her wounds are not serious. The cuts have not affected any of her internal organs, though I imagine the pain is intense. With rest and a lot of care, along with good nutrition, your sister should recover completely.” The healer smiles gently at them.
“Your payment,” Ali Abbu begins.
“The Emir took care of the compensation, sahib. Do not worry. Be with your daughters. I will be back tomorrow morning.” The healer excuses herself.
“Thank you for coming, Sunaina,” Ali says. “Come along, Fatima Ghazala, the girls will be happy to see you.”
The atmosphere inside the apartment is subdued. Fatima Ghazala breaks away from the other two and makes her way to the room at the end of the corridor. Asma Ammi, Azizah, and Amirah are standing at the door. They pull Fatima Ghazala into an embrace before they let her into the room. Adila is lying on a futon, her skin ashen and her eyes closed. Fatima Ghazala sits down on the floor beside the futon and picks up Adila’s hand; it is warm to the touch.
Fatima Ghazala does not know how much time passes. She is not aware of Sunaina looking in or the Alif family bringing her food or coming by frequently to simply check in on them. Even Zulfikar is there once though all he does is look in. The only time Fatima Ghazala rouses is in response to the azaan. She prays for Adila, for mercy, and for hope.
The day submits to the night. The stars parlay with the sky. Lamps are lit, concerned neighbors drop by with food and affection. Finally, Adila’s fingers twitch. Fatima Ghazala waits, hardly daring to hope. Adila’s eyes snap open, and she screams, a sound of pure panic. Everyone in the apartment rushes to the room, reassuring her of her safety. Adila looks around the room, her eyes stopping on each face, as if evaluating their well-being and reassuring herself of their continued existence.
“Laali,” she says, closing her eyes and lying back in exhaustion. Helpless tears escape her. “They killed Laali.”
“Call the Emir,” Ali suddenly says. Fatima Ghazala starts, surprised. She thought Zulfikar had left. “He will want to know who the perpetrators are.”
Zulfikar arrives and is shown into the room once again. He kneels beside the futon. “Please tell me everything you can remember,” he asks Adila gently.
She opens her eyes and looks at him, her eyes fierce. “They appeared suddenly. Opened the door and entered as if they had all the right to. Two of them, male, so beautiful. Yet there was no life in their eyes, no whites, just black. They called Laali an abomination, a Si’lat mongrel. I moved to defend her, but the one with the knife”—Adila swallows—“he would have killed me, but the other one said they would be discovered if they lingered. So they left. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I tried to help Laali, but I couldn’t. I …” Adila cries.
Zulfikar narrows his eyes, his jaw tense. “Thank you, sayyida. Please rest. I apologize for my failure in keeping you and the elder safe.” He gets to his feet and leaves the room. Fatima Ghazala squeezes Adila’s hand and follows Zulfikar out.
He leads them into the empty living room. “Shayateen?” Fatima Ghazala asks, her heart noisy.
Zulfikar nods, looking frustrated. “I don’t know how they could simply waltz in without regard for the danger they put themselves in. The Shayateen are usually not this foolhardy.”
Fatima Ghazala wraps her arms around herself. She feels ill. Her earlier strength is a thing of the past. “Are you well, Fatima Ghazala?” Zulfikar asks, his voice gentle.
She shakes her head, almost crying again. “Come home with me,” he says.
“I need to stay here.” How can she leave her family now? “I will be all right.”
“Go with him, beta,” Asma says from the entrance to the living room. Her eyes are tired, and new lines have embroidered today’s experiences on her face. “Adila may be the wounded one, but it is you who looks sick and”—she gives Zulfikar a narrow look—“I will find out why as soon as I can.”
“Ammi,” Fatima Ghazala says in protest.
“Tomorrow is Laali’s funeral. It will demand a lot from you. Stay over tomorrow if you have to, but go home today.” Asma Ammi leaves, confident of obedience.
While Zulfikar waits for her downstairs, Fatima Ghazala finds Sunaina at a neighbor’s apartment to tell her that she is returning to Aftab Mahal for the night. To her surprise, Sunaina gives her an unexpected hug. “The Emir told me you were ill when I came to see you the day after the wedding. What’s going on?”
“Didi …” Fatima Ghazala’s eyes fill with tears.
“You can’t tell me?” Her usually stoic sister is weeping silently. “Please look after yourself. What will I do if something happens to you?”
Fatima Ghazala clings to her sister for a minute. Sunaina is the first to pull away.
“The soldiers have released Laali’s body. I’ll stay with the Alifs tonight. Anu and the others will help me prepare Laali for the funeral.” Sunaina pats Fatima Ghazala’s cheeks.
“I will help too.”
“No, Fatima, it is not yet your turn to do these things. Go. I will see you tomorrow early.”
Fatima Ghazala looks in on Adila; she’s sleeping more peacefully than before. After assuring Azizah and Amirah that she’ll be back the next day, she makes her way downstairs to where Zulfikar is waiting.
They don’t talk as Zulfikar mounts his horse and pulls Fatima Ghazala up in front of him. She leans against him, savoring his warmth. The city is still full of life, still full of beauty, but all Fatima Ghazala can see is the cruelty inherent in the actions that stole Laali. Laali who was in the gloaming of her life anyway.
By the time they reach the mahal, Fatima Ghazala has a raging headache and all she wants to do is crawl into bed. But the day isn’t over. As soon as they step inside, an Amir soldier standing guard at the bottom of the staircase tells them that the Raees has commanded their presence as soon as they return. So they make their way to the Raees’s suite, knock, and are admitted. Fatima Ghazala stops on the threshold of the room when she sees Anwar.
“I refuse to be in the same room as the Wazir.” Fatima Ghazala addresses the imperious Ifrit woman sitting on a chair in the center of the room, which has been stripped of most of its luxurious trimmings. The Raees is flinty-eyed, tall even while sitting, and dressed in a plain white tunic and shalwar. Her hair is bound in a turban, and her eyes are kohled. Her skin looks gray, and her face is gaunt.
“He is my son, Name Giver,” the Raees, her voice raspy. A disbelieving laugh escapes Fatima Ghazala. She turns to Zulfikar, and he makes an apologetic face.
“Is that supposed to exonerate his crimes? He killed Shuruq, Raees. Your grandchild, in case you have forgotten,” she tells the leader of the Ifrit. Fatima Ghazala feels none of the qualms she thought she would when meeting the Raees. Just a weary defiance.
The Raees bows her head. “You may leave, Anwar.” Fatima Ghazala does not watch the Wazir leave. She feels him glance at her, a whiff of something toxic. And then he is gone, and she is able to breathe again.
&n
bsp; Fatima Ghazala glances at Zulfikar. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
He looks chagrined. “I might have forgotten to mention that the Raees is my mother’s oldest sister, which makes her my aunt.”
Fatima Ghazala briefly closes her eyes. “And my mother-in-law of sorts?”
“I suppose?” Zulfikar has the grace to look apologetic, but Fatima Ghazala doesn’t think she is going to forgive him too easily.
“I wonder what it is about you that caused my normally stoic nephew to lose his head and my daughter-in-law to sacrifice her life,” the Raees says. “We don’t know who your family is, what kind of people you originated from. We may never know.” As Name Giver, Fatima Ghazala knows she is almost equal in status to the Raees. The fact that she is an outsider with little knowledge of Ifrit tradition must grate on the older woman.
“Today I lost an adopted grandmother, Raees. She presented a bridge we could cross freely to learn of the people we were, to the histories we could claim. Without her, we may as well have no history. You are right. I may never know who my parents were and why they died. But, Raees, in Noor City, you are not limited to those who share your blood when creating a family. I may not know who or what kind of people I come from, but the family I have currently, the people I belong to, and the people who belong to me, if even a smidgen of their goodness has rubbed off on me, I deserve everything you say you wonder about.”
“Is that so?” To Fatima Ghazala’s surprise, the Raees smiles.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” The older woman spasms suddenly, her palm flat on her chest where her Name is. Fatima Ghazala lets her vision darken and watches as the taint spreads on the Name, trying to change what it says. Her eyebrows draw together, and without realizing she is doing so, she steps forward and coaxes the Name forward, not removing it from Raees and freeing her fire but bringing it to the surface. She scratches at the taint and like before, it flakes away. However, the process takes a lot of energy and she is still weak, so she is not able to remove as much taint as she wants to before she has to stop.