by Renee Ahdieh
“Help me move this chest aside.” She placed her palms against the dark wood.
“Why?” Tariq countered.
“I don’t have time to explain!” She pursed her lips. “Do you want the guard to summon Jalal?”
Tariq’s eyes flashed, but he directed her back before shoving the chest aside with a grunt.
The hidden door Khalid had mentioned less than two weeks ago was visible now. Shahrzad grasped the brass ring and turned it three times to the right, two times to the left, and three more times to the right before using all her weight to push it open.
“My God,” Rahim said. “How did you know about this?”
“Khalid told me.” She tried to dismiss the strange look he gave her. “It’s dark, so tread with care.” Concealing her trepidation, she moved down the stairs leading to the passageway.
The trio hugged the walls of earth and stone as they scurried like vermin under the ground. At the end of the tunnel was a small ladder leading up to a wooden trapdoor. Shahrzad tried to open it, but it refused to budge. Rahim pressed both palms to the rough-hewn surface, and the door eventually swung aside with a whining creak.
They emerged in a shadowed corner of the palace stables.
And a boom of thunder rattled through the earth at their feet. The horses whinnied and thrashed about in their stalls.
“Pick one,” Shahrzad stated.
Rahim whistled. “Really? Because I’m told the madman has a black al-Khamsa from the first of the five. That horse is a prize in and of itself.”
Shahrzad whirled on him. “Not Ardeshir. You can take any horse from this stable, but not that one.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because you are not taking his horse!” Her composure was hanging by a thread.
Rahim put up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “What’s wrong with you, Shazi?” Concern marred his features.
“He’s not even here.” Tariq spoke quietly from the shadows. “The horse is not here. Nor is its master.”
“What?” Rahim turned to Tariq.
“Where is he, Shahrzad?” Tariq asked, striding toward her.
“On his way home, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad,” a male voice intoned from behind them.
Jalal.
When the captain of the guard emerged from the darkness, he aimed a malicious grin at Tariq.
“I would count yourself lucky,” Jalal continued. “Because if Khalid found you with Shahrzad, death would be the least of your worries.”
• • •
Tariq reached for his bow, intent on his next course of action.
And Shahrzad launched herself in his path, clutching both his wrists.
“No!” Her face was awash in terror.
Tariq’s pain compounded further. Now she was even defending the boy-king’s family. Defending them against him.
Captain al-Khoury’s scimitar was unsheathed at his side. He was alone. It would take a single arrow to rid them of his nuisance.
When the boy-king’s arrogant cousin strode closer, Shahrzad turned to face him, still holding one of Tariq’s wrists in a death grip.
“Jalal,” she said, “I can explain.”
“There’s no need.”
“I’m not—”
“I told you; there’s no need.” He spoke simply. “I trust you.”
Her grip on Tariq’s wrist tightened impossibly further.
“It’s Nasir al-Ziyad’s son I don’t trust.” Captain al-Khoury raised his weapon, its edge gleaming white.
“You can trust him.”
“No,” Tariq interrupted, “he can’t.”
Shahrzad glanced over her shoulder, her eyes laced with admonition.
“What are you doing here, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad?” Captain al-Khoury took a step forward, his sword at the ready.
“That should be obvious. I’m here for Shahrzad.”
Captain al-Khoury snorted. “Are you? And did you think you could just leave the city with the Calipha of Khorasan? With my cousin’s wife?”
“Shahrzad is not staying here. I am not leaving the girl I love in the arms of a monster.”
“That’s funny. One would think the girl had a choice in the matter.”
“You must be joking,” Rahim said in a gravelly tone. “Do you honestly think she would choose a madman over Tariq?”
“Enough, Rahim,” Tariq cautioned.
“Ask her,” Captain al-Khoury said softly. “Ask her if she truly plans to leave Rey with you. Because I know something you are either too stupid or too blind to see.”
“And what is that?” Rahim demanded.
“Murderer, monster, madman . . . Khalid may very well be all of those things. But he’s also loved. By me and by my father. But, most of all, by Shazi. With her, he is as fiercely loved as he loves.”
Shahrzad’s body trembled in front of Tariq. Her hold on his wrist was flagging.
“Is he telling the truth?” Rahim asked, bristling at the captain of the guard’s familiarity.
She glanced once more over her shoulder, and her eyes shimmered with tears that threatened to course down her cheeks. “Tariq.”
No. He could not listen to her say it. Would never listen to her say such a thing.
He dropped the bow and drew her against him. “I know this isn’t you. I know something must have happened. But we can fix it. I can fix it. Come home with me. Every day we are apart is a day closer to death. A day wasted on what might have been. I can’t stomach it any longer. Come home.”
“But,” she whispered, “I am home.”
“Shazi!” Rahim’s face twisted in disbelief. “How can you say that?”
“I’m so sorry. I never, ever wanted to hurt either of you. It’s just that—”
“He killed Shiva!” Tariq exploded. “How can you want the boy who killed your best friend? How can you want a cold bastard who killed dozens of young girls and disappears on a lark while his city burns?”
“What did you say?” Shahrzad’s voice was deathly quiet. “The city is—burning?”
Tariq’s brow furrowed. “The lightning. It caught several buildings on fire.”
At this news, Shahrzad shoved Tariq aside and raced to the stable entrance. She hauled back the wooden gate.
And collapsed at the sight.
Half the city was consumed in flames. Smoke billowed into the sky, backlit by flashes of silver lightning. The scent of burning ash mingled with a cloud of rosebushes nearby.
Captain al-Khoury sheathed his sword and crouched beside Shahrzad.
Her look of abject suffering stopped Tariq short.
“Jalal. What have we done?” Her face was unfaltering in its agony.
“No, delam. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Captain al-Khoury placed each of his hands on either side of her face.
“You have to—” Shahrzad released a shaky breath. “We have to stop this. Before anyone else dies.”
“I will do no such thing,” Captain al-Khoury replied.
“What have we done?” It was a pathetic, soul-searing entreaty.
Captain al-Khoury hoisted Shahrzad to her feet. “Nothing. You’ve done nothing.”
She shook her head, her features lost and bleak. “Khalid . . . will have to—”
“No. He would never.”
“But how can we live like this?” she cried. “I can’t. He can’t!”
Tariq could stand it no longer. “What are you talking about?”
“Tariq Imran al-Ziyad.” Captain al-Khoury continued studying Shahrzad while he spoke. “I have a request.”
“The answer is no.”
“Don’t you want to hear it first?”
Tariq glowered at him in silence.
Captain al-Khoury twisted his head to meet Tariq’s gaze. “Take Shahrzad out of Rey.”
“That was always my intention.”
Shahrzad’s eyes glistened. “Jalal—”
“Take her with you.” Captain al-Khoury gripped Shahrzad’s sho
ulders.
“No. I can’t leave.” She fought to set her quaking jaw. “I won’t leave. I’m not . . . afraid.”
Captain al-Khoury faced her. “Listen to me. For once. I beg you.”
Shahrzad began to protest, and a gust of hot air blew back at them, further dispersing the strange perfume of sweet roses and harsh smoke. She closed her eyes tight and pressed a hand to her chest.
“Tariq. Where is my father?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“Beyond the city,” he replied. “Waiting . . . atop a hill.”
Her eyes flew open, and she stared at Tariq with an eerie, newfound certainty.
“Take me to him.” Without waiting for a response, she brushed past Captain al-Khoury and walked into the stables to saddle a horse.
Tariq turned to watch as she disappeared into the darkness, her posture stiff and her stride perfunctory. He had only begun to process his confusion when Captain al-Khoury seized him by the arm.
Tariq knocked away the arrogant boy’s hand. “What—”
“Do you still love her?” He spoke in an urgent whisper.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Answer me, you fool. Do you?”
Tariq clenched his teeth, returning the captain of the Royal Guard’s fierce glare.
“Always.”
“Then make sure she never comes back.”
BURNING EMBERS
THE TWO RIDERS MET IN THE MIDDLE OF A SKY-darkened desert.
One atop a simple steed of grey, and the other astride a magnificent white stallion.
Behind each stood a cadre of armed soldiers.
The rider with the white stallion spoke first. “I am told we share a common enemy.” His voice was rich and patently false.
The other rider returned his measured study.
“So it would seem, my lord.”
The first rider smiled with unctuous slowness. “You are as they described, Reza bin-Latief.”
“As are you, my lord.”
The Sultan of Parthia laughed. “I will take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as such, my lord. Forgive me for failing to convey the sentiment properly, but I did not agree to this meeting for the purpose of exchanging banter with you.”
The sultan’s laughter echoed into the night. “A man of candor. I am pleased. Shall we cease with the pleasantries and proceed to business?”
“By all means, my lord.”
“What are your intentions regarding my bastard nephew?”
“Suffering. And annihilation.”
The sultan’s eyes gleamed with a martial light. “I see.”
“And what are yours?”
“Humiliation . . . followed by annihilation. Perhaps we could assist one another in our shared objective?”
“My assistance depends on what you have to offer, my lord.”
“For now, I can offer money and weapons. Once you secure the border and strengthen your existing forces, I will be open in my support, but until that time, I cannot risk pressing the boy’s wrath any further.”
“Understandable.”
The sultan gestured behind him, and a pair of guards brought forth a small sealed trunk. “A gesture of gold faith. Once these funds are depleted, send word, and I will dispatch more.”
Reza nodded. He glanced over his shoulder at his retinue, and two hooded figures stepped forward to collect the gold.
As one figure bent to lift the trunk, the light of a blue desert moon struck against the skin of his forearm.
On it was the mark of the scarab.
• • •
Shahrzad,
I’ve failed you several times. But there was one moment I failed you beyond measure. It was the day we met. The moment I took your hand and you looked up at me, with the glory of hate in your eyes. I should have sent you home to your family. But I didn’t. There was honesty in your hatred. Fearlessness in your pain. In your honesty, I saw a reflection of myself. Or rather, of the man I longed to be. So I failed you. I didn’t stay away. Then, later, I thought if I had answers, it would be enough. I would no longer care. You would no longer matter. So I continued failing you. Continued wanting more. And now I can’t find the words to say what must be said. To convey to you the least of what I owe. When I think of you, I can’t find the air to breathe. And now, though you are gone, there is no pain or fear. All I am left with is gratitude.
When I was a boy, my mother would tell me that one of the best things in life is the knowledge that your story isn’t over yet. Our story may have come to a close, but your story is still yet to be told.
Make it a story worthy of you.
I failed you in one last thing. Here is my chance to rectify it. It was never because I didn’t feel it. It was because I swore I would never say it, and a man is nothing if he can’t keep his promises.
So I write it to the sky—
I love you, a thousand times over. And I will never apologize for it.
Khalid
Khalid stood at the railing of the rooftop terrace, watching the sun rise across a clear horizon.
His broken palace of marble and stone still smoldered at the edges, cleaved on many sides.
His city was a wasteland of dark plumes and rubble. Of lost promises and heartbreak.
For a breath, he closed his eyes to the ruin.
But only for a breath.
Because it was his city. His choice. His responsibility.
He would never hide from it again.
With renewed purpose, he took the single piece of parchment and held it to the flickering torch nearby.
A corner of the page began to fold into ash, and the flames licked up the sides in shades of azure and orange.
Khalid held the burning letter before him.
Then he released its embers into the wind.
Into a glorious dawn.
GLOSSARY
Akhal-Teke—a breed of horse noted for its metallic sheen; Rahim’s horse
al-Khamsa—a desert-bred bloodline of Arabian horse, translated as “the five”; Tariq’s horse; Khalid’s horse, Ardeshir
Amardha—the biggest city in Parthia; the city in which Salim Ali el-Sharif resides
astragali dice—bone dice of quadruped knucklebones, originally used in astragalomancy, a form of divination
Badawi tribe—nomadic desert tribe, controlled by a sheikh
caliph—the ruler of Khorasan, a term synonymous with “king”; Khalid Ibn al-Rashid
calipha—the wife of the caliph; a term synonymous with “queen”; Shahrzad al-Khayzuran
caliphate—the region ruled by the caliph; Khorasan
Chagatai—a dead language of Central Asian origin
cuirass—upper-body armor consisting of a breastplate and a backplate fastened together
delam—a term of endearment meaning “my heart”
dinar—a form of currency made from gold bullion
effendi—a suffix attached to a name to denote respect
emir—a nobleman of Khorasan, akin to a duke; one of the caliph’s bannermen; Nasir al-Ziyad
faqir—a scholar of magic and mysticism
Fida’i—a mercenary marked by the brand of a scarab on the inner forearm
ghalyan—a hookah or water pipe
jahkesh—an insult meaning “whoremonger” or “master pimp”
jan—a term of endearment, a suffix attached to a name to mean “my dear”
joonam—a term of endearment meaning “my everything”
kamancheh—a stringed instrument resembling a violin
Khorasan—a wealthy kingdom, currently ruled by an eighteen-year-old caliph with a murderous past
kohl—an eye cosmetic, traditionally made from ground galena
lavash bread—a type of very thin flatbread
magus—a sorcerer; Musa Zaragoza
malik—the ruler of Assyria, a term synonymous with “king”
mankalah—a leather cuff that spans from wrist to elbow, as
sociated with falconry
mantle—a loose-fitting robe, usually made of an elaborate material such as damask, typically worn by royalty
marg-bahr—a wish of ill will, specifically death or destruction to someone or something
ney—a wind instrument resembling a flute
Parthia—the smaller kingdom adjacent to Khorasan, ruled by Salim Ali el-Sharif
qamis—a loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirt, worn by men and women alike, typically made of linen
Rajput—member of a warrior class; Vikram
Rey—the greatest city of Khorasan; the city of Shahrzad’s birth
rida’—a cloak worn over a man’s shoulder, covering his shirt; can also include a hood to conceal his face
sahib—a title used in deference, often to denote rank
sama—a practice associated with whirling dervishes
santur—a stringed instrument also known as a hammered dulcimer, struck with a small mallet to produce sound
sayyidi—a term of respect used when addressing the caliph; translated as “my liege” or “my lord”
scimitar—a single-edged, curved sword; Tariq’s sword; Jalal’s sword
Shahrban of Rey—the highest-ranking general in Khorasan, second only to the caliph; General Aref al-Khoury
shamla—an embroidered dressing gown or robe
shamshir—a slender saber with a rather sharp curve to it; Khalid’s sword
sheikh—the leader of a Badawi tribe; Omar al-Sadiq
sirwal trowsers—voluminous pants worn by men and women alike, typically gathered at the ankle and secured at the waist by a sash
souk—outdoor market
sultan—the ruler of Parthia, a term synonymous with “king”; Salim Ali el-Sharif
tabarzin—a battle-axe
Taleqan—the fortress of Emir Nasir al-Ziyad; the fourth-richest stronghold in Khorasan; Tariq’s home
talwar—a type of curved sword or saber originating from Hindustan; the Rajput’s sword
Thebes—a large city in central Greece
tikka sash—a long sash tied about the hips, largely decorative, worn by men and women alike
Tirazis—a city in Khorasan famous for its stone quarries
tombak—a drum resting on the hip
vizier—an advisor to the caliph
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I REMEMBER ONCE HEARING THE WORD “JOURNEY” AS being among the most overused to ascribe to a creative endeavor.