by Nafiza Azad
The Raees looks much better than she did before, breathing far more easily now than she had not five minutes ago.
“What did you do?” the leader of the Ifrit demands.
“I removed some of the taint,” Fatima Ghazala replies wearily. She would like nothing more than to close her eyes. “Did it help?”
“How can you do that?” The Raees turns to Zulfikar. “Did you know she could do that?”
“No, Raees. Neither of us had any idea.”
The older woman looks contemplative before her features sharpen. “What’s the report, Emir? What is happening in Noor City?”
Zulfikar stands at attention. In a voice devoid of emotion, he describes being called to the scene of the murder, what he saw, and Adila’s statement.
“Shayateen, then,” the Raees says with a shudder. “They called her an abomination. Did she have fire?”
“I am uncertain,” Zulfikar admits. “They called her a Si’lat mongrel, but I didn’t meet her before she was killed, so I am not certain of the veracity of that statement.”
“She was glowing blue last time I saw her. She spoke about Seeing things before they happened,” Fatima Ghazala says. The Raees and Zulfikar exchange glances.
“Si’lat they said?” The Raees has a frown on her face. “I have never heard of a child of a human and a Si’lat.”
“Si’lat?” Fatima Ghazala asks.
“They are a clan of Djinn known for their reticence to socialize with anyone other than those who belong to their clan. Even we, who live in the same world they do, know little about them. The idea that one or more of them came to earth and, what’s more, had relations with a human that led to a mixed child is surprising,” the Raees replies.
“Do you kill those born of human and Djinn?” Fatima Ghazala asks.
“No. But we do isolate them. Their potential to cause harm has been documented extensively. In your case, you were born human, so I suspect you will not develop the same symptoms. I suppose we will find out.”
“How can you know that?”
“I am the Raees, Name Giver. That much I can tell. Your human origin is probably the reason the taint doesn’t affect the Name you carry.” The older woman looks her over, as if noticing Fatima Ghazala’s fatigue for the first time. “Leave me now. I will rest.”
“If you asked, would the Raees remove the fire bond you have with me?” Fatima Ghazala asks suddenly. It is an hour after their meeting with the leader of the Ifrit. They are in their room in Northern Aftab; Fatima Ghazala has taken a shower and changed into the loose white shalwar kameez she sleeps in.
Zulfikar freezes at her words. He puts down a report he was reading and turns to face Fatima Ghazala. “I won’t ask her,” he says very firmly.
“But if you did, would she?” Fatima Ghazala persists. Zulfikar can see that his answer is important to her.
“If she judges my reasons for asking for the removal valid, she would,” he finally says.
Fatima Ghazala nods slowly. “I see.”
“What exactly do you see?” Zulfikar asks. A foreboding skitters down his spine.
“If our fire bond is gone, does that mean our marriage is dissolved?” Fatima Ghazala asks instead.
Zulfikar walks over to his wife and takes her hands into his. He pulls her down to sit on the bed beside him. “Do you no longer want to be married to me?”
Fatima Ghazala shakes her hand and pulls her hands from his. She wraps her arms around herself, withdrawing from Zulfikar. “My life is mired in losses. I just want to be prepared for the next one.” She draws a ragged breath. “I didn’t tell Laali goodbye. I thought I would have a chance before she left. How could I have been such a fool? I know better than that.”
Zulfikar pulls her into his arms and holds her as she cries. A little later, her breathing evens out, and he lays her on the bed, noting with concern the paleness of her cheeks and the tremor of her lips. He presses a kiss on her forehead and turns to look at the report he was reading. With another look at his Name Giver, Zulfikar leaves the room. The night is passing quickly, and the Emir of Noor City has much to do.
The stars glitter, smug in the security of their existence. Aarush considers the heavens with an envious gaze, wishing he, too, had the luxury of distance from earth and its humans and all the convolutions they are capable of. He shifts on his seat at a bench on the far side of the fire pit behind the barracks of the Ifrit army, aware that by venturing into Northern Aftab he has diverged from the accord agreed upon eight years back, but such is the time and such is his need.
“What brings you here, Rajah? And at this time of the night?” The Emir emerges from the darkness, and Aarush starts. He gets to his feet warily as the Ifrit comes closer.
“Was it the Shayateen?” he asks the Emir abruptly. He doesn’t need to specify what he is talking about. There is little else being discussed everywhere in Noor. The Ifrit’s jaw clenches, and what warmth had remained in his eyes disappears.
“Yes,” he replies, and Aarush sags. “That is not all. Spies, either in the Ifrit army or the human, have leaked the details of the incident, and my sources tell me that someone is going around questioning the necessity or usefulness of the Ifrit when we apparently cannot even save an old woman from the dreaded Shayateen.”
Aarush meets the Emir’s eyes. “The same people behind the rebels in the forest provinces?”
“Indeed. So, Rajah, what are you going to do about your group of traitors and the army they are gathering?” the Emir asks.
“I don’t know what to do,” Aarush admits quietly.
“Of course you do,” the Emir replies. “The question is, do you have the strength to do it?”
“You chose to be the Emir. I didn’t choose to be the maharajah. It was a role foisted upon me. I do not want it. I have never wanted it,” Aarush snaps, annoyed at the Ifrit.
“Then walk away. What is stopping you? What point is duty if your heart is not in it?”
“I am the king of this country. I cannot simply walk away!” Aarush hisses, keeping his voice down with some effort.
“Then behave like a king instead of a boy pretending to be one,” the Emir replies, entirely without mercy. “I will bid you farewell here. I must join my soldiers on their patrols.” The Ifrit returns to the darkness from which he emerged, and Aarush is left listening to the crackles of the flames in the fire pit.
In the city of Noor, Sunaina observes, death is not treated like a stranger that, in the depths of the night, steals that which is not his. No, death is very much a family member, granted the same respect and ritual that life is, a seat at the same table that life sits at. So when death comes calling, no matter what shape he takes, people have rituals to fall back upon while their emotions process the loss and label it grief.
Laali’s body is washed by the women who took turns caring for her when she was alive. It is then wrapped gently in a shroud. Sunaina makes her a garland of sweet-smelling chameli and marigold. Anu plucks some tulsi from the little plant she grows in a pot in her kitchen and tucks it into the casket. And so, Sunaina’s adopted grandmother, the woman whose sudden appearance in their lives perhaps saved them, is readied for her final journey.
The funeral procession moves from Taaj Gul to the cremation grounds late in the morning, and despite the growing heat of the day, thousands of people line the streets to witness the passing of the casket. Sunaina looks at the people as she walks; all faces are somber and some are visibly scared. Some people are even crying though Sunaina cannot remember seeing them before.
The many pallbearers take turns carrying Laali’s body to the cremation grounds located just outside the southern gates. The funeral procession moves slowly, according respect to the more infirm who insist on accompanying the casket. A sizable crowd gathers at the cremation grounds. Bhavya is present, along with the maharani, the maharajah, and their many guards. The Emir, along with his soldiers, stands at the back, guarding against possible Shayateen attacks.
Sunaina looks around the crowd and is thankful that she somehow persuaded Fatima Ghazala to remain and guard the Alifs instead of forcing herself to attend. Though her sister’s color looks better today, there’s a new frailty to her that worries Sunaina.
She is roused from her thoughts when the pundit asks who the karta is. She steps forward, accepting the duty as one of the two people Laali was closest to after the massacre. Laali’s body is placed carefully on the pyre, her head to the north and her feet facing the south. Sunaina did not get to complete the funeral rites for her parents; they were impossible to identify. So though it is Laali’s body lying on the pyre, she is not the only one being released in Sunaina’s mind.
As karta, Sunaina walks counterclockwise around the pyre three times; with every turn she lets go of her pain. The next step is to sprinkle holy water on the pyre and on Laali’s body. The final step is to touch the torch to the pyre, and Sunaina does, crying when the flames take Laali. She cries for her parents, for her city, and for the life that was taken from her.
Fatima Ghazala allowed Sunaina to persuade her to stay behind. A feeling, a foreboding deep within her, tells her that something is going to happen while everyone else is distracted by the funeral. Ifrit soldiers are stationed outside and inside the building to provide a modicum of safety, and the Alif parents, at least, are reassured. Fatima Ghazala, though, feels danger approach with the passing of every single second. When the knock sounds on the door, they are all crammed into the room Adila is resting in.
“I will go see who it is,” Ali Abbu says, but Fatima Ghazala shakes her head. That feeling of danger has now bloomed into certainty. Whoever waits on the other side of the closed door is no friend.
“Let me, Abbu. I am probably the strongest of us.” She smiles at the stern-faced man. “I need you to protect your ladies. Unless I explicitly say so, please do not come out of the room.”
“Api … ?” Azizah says uncertainly.
Fatima Ghazala pats her head on her way out. It is with a sense of inevitability that she opens the door and finds the fair-faced Shaitan standing outside. Fatima Ghazala looks him over for a minute, then steps across the threshold, and pulls the apartment door closed behind her.
Her nightmare has reneged on the treaty between day and night and spilled into reality.
Fatima Ghazala stares at the Shaitan, intensely aware of the distance at which he stands from her, the space he occupies, and his capacity for violence. She is the only one standing between the Shaitan and the Alifs. Fatima Ghazala will be damned before she lets any harm come to them. She’ll bleed first.
“I have a proposition for you,” the Shaitan says suddenly. The disparity between the beauty of his face and the malice emanating from him is pronounced in the fear that suddenly shocks her. Through the fire bond she can feel Zulfikar’s concern, so she tamps down her emotions, cognizant, on some level, that her reaction could mean the difference between a bloodbath and a conversation.
“Go on,” Fatima Ghazala says more coolly than she expected. Her new courage comes from her fire, of course. She knows she is no longer as helpless as she used to be. She knows exactly how she will disarm and possibly kill this Shaitan should he make a move toward violence.
But he disappoints her. “It is dangerous to talk here. Follow me.” The Shaitan abruptly whirls around and walks down the corridor. Fatima Ghazala stares after him for a long minute before she decides to trust her fate to her Creator.
They end up on the roof. The sun is relentless, but she barely feels the heat. The Shaitan seems just as unaffected.
“Come with me to where our leader is, and we will let the people you protect live,” the Shaitan says in a flat voice devoid of all emotion.
“Do you think that we are entirely without power?” Fatima Ghazala barely stops herself from showing her teeth. “We can protect our own.”
“We won’t be the only ones striking the matches in the upcoming war,” the Shaitan replies, unaffected by her venom.
“What do you mean, war?” Fatima Ghazala demands. She thinks desperately of the on-goings in the city but can think of no specific event that augurs war. “Why would there be a war?”
“Humans always make war, Name Giver. Their reasons are scarcely important. But this is the first time that we have allied ourselves with humans … or the rebels, as they call themselves.”
The world comes to a screeching halt. All of Fatima Ghazala’s attention hones in on what the Shaitan said. Rebels. She thinks back to the conversation on the rooftop, what seems like an age ago. The rebels are the natives of Qirat who want the Ifrit to surrender their half of the country and leave. Why would the Shayateen ally themselves with humans? And more importantly …
“You are willing to betray your alliance with the humans. Why?”
“You will have to come with me to find out.” The Shaitan curls his lip. “The choice is yours.”
How can she not go when staying would mean the possible death of the city? Can she trust Zulfikar to catch the Shayateen before they kill anyone? What would Firdaus have done? Can she take the risk that everything will work out for the best? And if it doesn’t, how will she live with herself? It isn’t a choice. It never is a choice. “I will go with you.”
The Shaitan bares his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “You chose well. Let us leave.”
“Not right now. If I leave now, the Emir will tear the city apart searching for me. Come for me at midnight. Right here.”
The Shaitan nods, and Fatima Ghazala leaves, thinking about the lies she will need to tell everyone.
Hours later, Zulfikar arrives in Taaj Gul to check in with Fatima Ghazala. She is waiting for him in front of the entrance, wearing a white shalwar kameez and a slight smile that battles against the weariness that threatens to overpower her expression. Zulfikar feels his breath hitch, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when seeing her will no longer feel like a gift. He grimaces at his thoughts and is glad no one can witness his extreme lovesickness. Getting off his horse in one easy movement, he walks over to the Name Giver and barely stops himself from pulling her into his arms for a hug he so desperately wants to give her.
“You were scared during the day?” He settles for grabbing her hand, allowing her to pull him into the relative privacy of the stairway. At this time of the day, it is all but deserted.
“Just grieving,” she replies softly, resting her head on his shoulder. Zulfikar gives in and slips his arms around her. “I’m going to stay the night with the Alifs,” she tells him.
“Are you sure you’re well enough?” Zulfikar pulls away from her and looks into her face, wishing he could demand that she go home with him.
“Physically, there’s nothing wrong with me,” Fatima Ghazala says. “Emotionally …” She shrugs. “I just need to be with my family for a bit. I will come back.”
“Of course you will. I am only sharing you for one night,” Zulfikar mutters, and is relieved to see her grin at his words.
Her smile fades, however, and she considers him with an expression he cannot read, even through their bond. “I want you to know that even though we began our lives together for reasons other than love, I could have loved you.”
“Could have? Do you not intend to any longer?” Zulfikar demands.
“No, I just mean we do not know what turns our lives will take, and whether we will have the chance to love. Laali’s death has taught me not to leave things unsaid,” Fatima Ghazala replies.
“In that case, let me tell you that I love you. It is a fiery kind of love that I didn’t know I was capable of, but I am. I want to possess all of you: your heart, mind, and body. I want you to be mine just as much as I want to be yours. I do not know if it is the fire bond that led me to feeling this way, but if it is, then I am glad because I don’t think I can be myself without you.” Zulfikar feels his cheeks heat as he finishes his short impassioned speech and is glad for the falling darkness that hides them.
As a reply, Fati
ma Ghazala rises on her toes and presses a soft kiss to his lips, surprising him. He deepens the short kiss, grateful that she allowed him the contact, fleeting though it is.
“I will send you a carriage at midday tomorrow,” he says, his arms still around her, loath to be apart.
“All right,” she replies.
“I suppose I should go now. Mansoor is waiting for me to join him for a patrol.” Zulfikar is reluctant.
Fatima Ghazala nods. She offers him a smile, a softening of the darkness, and he embraces her once again. He presses a final kiss on her lips and gestures for her to return upstairs. Once he is certain she is safe with the Alifs, he leaves.
A strange morning dawns, lighting the spires of Aftab Mahal, making them transcendent, not that Sunaina’s workshop shows it, shrouded as it is in shadows. She returned to Southern Aftab late the night before, weary and wanting nothing else but the quiet. She spent the time since lying in bed trying to sleep and, when that failed, out in the workroom in her favorite chair with a cup of chai she brewed. She left the door to the workroom slightly ajar so she can see who walks past in the corridor outside.
Laali’s death, a tragedy though it was, has left Sunaina feeling strangely untethered. Fatima Ghazala is married and her own person, her parents are gone, and Sunaina no longer has obligations to Laali. The walls of Noor City are suddenly suffocating, and her workroom, once a beloved space of her own, feels like a prison. Sunaina doesn’t know how to bear these feelings, so she sits still and quiet in the darkness, hoping they will pass.