Chapter Two
ROOKH
As his feet touched the ground, Rookh’s wings disappeared and were replaced by a robe that fell in dark folds to the floor. He had landed in an open courtyard, but with a few long strides he stepped over the threshold into a dusty apartment and swept down a flight of stairs to an underground chamber.
It was as dark as a tomb, but at the click of his fingers flames sprang to life in the candelabra overhead, casting a thousand shadows on the vaulted ceiling above.
In a niche against one wall was a great stone urn. Rookh reached out to touch it. It was still warm.
“Casmerim.”
The name was soft and magical on his lips.
There was a portrait on the wall of a dark woman, shaded by the spreading branches of a tree. He almost felt his heart ache. Trapped in the dark, like a dead thing. The thought rose unbidden in his mind.
He shuddered.
“So you thought you could trick me, did you?” he whispered, pressing his clenched fist against the unyielding stone of the urn. “Thought you could escape?”
There was no reply of course. Casmerim was asleep – would remain asleep for as long as Rookh required it. He couldn’t kill her. He’d tried. All he could do was make sure that she never woke to see the light of day.
Fury gnawed at his belly. Of course he knew he shouldn’t feel betrayed. What else could he have expected? That she would thank him for kidnapping her and making her his queen? No. She’d been a queen already. Queen of the Forest. Queen of the Jinnis. Queen of Aruanda. Until he’d taken her power and made her his slave. His prisoner. His wife.
Drawing back his shoulders, his eyes flickered by the light of the flames. He thought he heard a sigh from deep inside the urn, but he didn’t open the lid in case she woke and looked back up at him with pity in her eyes.
“You’ll never escape me now,” he warned the woman in the picture. “Not now I know your plan.”
It had been the Queen’s fragrant handmaid who’d told him. Taunting him with her secret.
“You think you’re so powerful, enslaving all the jinnis,” she’d said. “But you didn’t get us all. There was one who escaped you.”
Rookh had stiffened. “Who?” he’d demanded.
“He’s called the Prince of Jinnis,” whispered the slave. “Nobody knows where he is. Some say he lies sleeping deep below the city. Others claim he still lives in Aruanda. Or it may be that he walks the earth, protected by magic from knowing eyes. But wherever he is, when the time is ripe, a white tiger will lead him back to the City of Jewels to free the Queen of the Forest. And when that happens, the Empire will fall, and you will fall with it.”
A prophecy, spells, jinni magic. Rookh was a stranger in this land, but he was inextricably tied up in it all. After all, it was he that had enslaved the Queen and her people, but he was also a man of science, of reason. Surely he could change his fate. Why should he wait until this jinni prince came to destroy him?
“Is there nothing I can do?” he’d asked.
The handmaid’s eyes had glittered. She was no friend of the Queen of the Forest.
“To keep your empire safe you must find the tiger,” she’d said. “Only then can you stop the hidden prince from fulfiling his destiny.”
In perfumed whispers she had told him what to do. Sweetening her words with kisses. He’d almost forgotten Casmerim.
Now, he looked at the picture again. Such beauty. Such strength. Such innocence. And yet, to him, she’d been as cold as ice. He felt his heart contract.
“I’ll catch this hidden prince, just like I caught you,” he swore. “He’ll be my slave like all the rest.”
And what then? whispered the voice that came from deep inside him. You already own the Empire.
A familiar hunger gnawed at Rookh’s heart.
“Then I’ll conquer the world,” he hissed in answer to his own question. “Every jewel, every ounce of gold, every man, woman and jinni that walks the earth will be mine!”
Chapter Three
HUSSEIN
Sharat woke early the next day to the sound of holy men calling the faithful to morning prayers. Next to him Emira lay purring in her sleep. Yawning, he squeezed his eyes shut and burrowed his head into her soft fur, but it was no use. Before long a rooster began to crow and soon a pack of dogs joined in with the dawn chorus.
Sharat opened his eyes. Grey light had started appearing through cracks in the tent. With a sigh he wriggled out from between Emira’s paws, wrapped a cloth around his waist and slipped outside.
It was a cool morning, but the sky was brightening fast and the sinister events of the previous night seemed unimportant in the light of day.
There was a trumpeting noise, followed by the sound of splashing. The circus elephants were washing while the rest of the crew still snored in their beds.
Hacking open a coconut, Sharat gulped down its juice and scooped the meat into his mouth. Then, tossing aside the shell, he went down to the river to wash.
Tara the she-elephant lay on her side with her eyes blissfully shut while Hussein, the mahout, scrubbed her down with a stiff brush. Nearby, Baba the bull-elephant wallowed in the shallows, waiting for his turn. Next to them lay the last of the bananas.
Hussein had been an army mahout for years, training elephants for the old Emperor, but tiring of battles and blood he’d left the army long ago to join the circus. He was Lemo’s oldest friend.
“Good morning!” called Sharat as he reached out and stole a banana.
Baba trumpeted, and Tara opened her eyes to wink at him.
The mahout looked up. He was bald and stocky, and his scalp was dented with scars. A slow smile spread across his face.
“There you are!” he said. “What happened to you last night? I wanted to congratulate you. You saved Risa’s life!”
Sharat grinned. “I’m glad somebody noticed.”
“It was difficult to miss,” replied Hussein. “Risa owes you one.”
Sharat gave a short laugh. “Tell that to Pias,” he said. “He thinks I was the one that untied the trapeze.”
Baba blew a raspberry.
Hussein laughed, but there was a look of concern in his eyes. “Did you?” he asked.
“Of course not,” said Sharat, rolling his eyes. “Pias is an idiot.”
Hussein sat back on his heels as he studied Sharat. The boy had a wide face and his hair hung carelessly over his skinny shoulders. In many ways he looked like a typical circus child, and yet there was something different about him – something about his eyes.
“In that case, what did happen with the trapeze?” he asked.
Sharat hesitated, wary of his promise to his father.
“It’s all right, you can tell me,” said Hussein. “Lemo told me you saw something in the rigging.”
Sharat couldn’t help feeling relieved. “I did see something,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure what it was.”
“What did it look like?”
Sharat frowned. “It was small and black,” he said. “At first I thought it must be a monkey, but it didn’t move like a monkey. It didn’t look like a monkey either.” He paused. “Ram said it might be a jinni.”
He was expecting Hussein to scoff and dismiss the suggestion, but instead a look of worry crossed his face.
“A jinni?” he said. “Of course.”
Sharat looked at him in surprise. “Do you think it really was a jinni?” he asked.
Hussein nodded slowly. “It could well have been. After all, this place was once called the City of Jinnis.”
Sharat felt a thrill of fear. “Why was it called that?”
Hussein lowered his voice. “They say that long ago, before men took over, jinnis ruled this land,” he said. “Then when people began to live here the name stuck. It was only changed when they cut down the forests to mine for jewels.”
Sharat nodded. He knew about the jewels. Thanks to the mines, the City of Jewels was the capital of the riche
st empire in the world.
“But why would a jinni want to untie Risa’s trapeze?” he asked.
Hussein hesitated. “I can’t say for sure,” he said, “but there are dark forces at work in this city. It was very different the last time we were here. The old town used to be famous for its gardens, and there were forests as far as the eye could see.” He shook his head sadly. “Now look at it.”
Sharat glanced at the wastelands surrounding the city. For the first time he noticed that there wasn’t a single tree on the horizon.
“What happened?” he asked.
“All I know is that there was some kind of revolution,” Hussein told him. “I just hope we didn’t make a mistake coming back.”
Sharat shifted uneasily. “What do you mean?”
Hussein shook his head. “It’s an old story,” he said. “Perhaps it’s best not to talk about it.”
“You have to tell me now!” protested Sharat.
Hussein sighed. “I suppose it does concern you,” he said. “It’s about Emira.”
“Emira?” Sharat frowned. “What’s she got to do with it?”
“Emira comes from the City of Jewels,” explained Hussein. “Someone gave her to Lemo the last time we were here.”
Sharat shrugged. “So what?”
“When we were given Emira for the circus, it was on one condition,” Hussein told him. “Lemo had to promise never to come back.”
Sharat felt his skin prickle. “Why?”
“I’m not sure,” said Hussein. He hesitated. “I have to admit that I’ve always wondered whether Emira was stolen.”
“Stolen?” Sharat looked at Hussein in alarm. “What makes you think that?”
“Emira came to the circus at the beginning of the revolution,” Hussein told him. “It’s possible she may have belonged to one of the noble families who were in power before the Empire. A prince maybe, or a princess. They like to have exotic pets.”
Sharat felt the stirrings of fear. It had never occurred to him that Emira might have belonged to anyone else.
“So do you think that what happened in the rigging was some kind of revenge?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” said Hussein. “Or it could have been a warning.” He shook his head. “Either way, I don’t like it.”
With a shiver, Sharat thought about the man in black. Was he Emira’s real owner?
“Why did Lemo break his promise?” he asked.
“Money,” Hussein told him. “We can make more in one night performing for the Emperor than we’d make in one week on the road.”
“But why do we need so much money?”
Hussein sighed. “Lemo’s a great showman, but he’s not the best businessman,” he said. “Recently Pias threatened to take Emira and give her to Ram, unless Lemo found a way to pay him.”
Sharat felt fury rising up inside him. “Ram can’t take Emira, she mine!” he said.
Hussein nodded. “That’s what Lemo told him,” he said, “but Pias disputes your rights.”
Sharat pressed his lips together. He knew Hussein was referring to his birth. Lemo hadn’t been married to his mother, and Pias never let him forget it. Not that it mattered. His mother had died in childbirth.
Feeling anxious, he stood up. “I think I’d better go and check on Emira,” he said.
“Good idea,” said Hussein. “I’m sure things will be fine if you keep an eye on her. After all, it was a long time ago.”
Bending down, he started scrubbing Tara again. The elephant’s ears flapped appreciatively. Then she lifted her trunk and reached back, gently caressing the top of his bald head. The mahout pretended not to notice, so Tara lifted her trunk and blew Sharat a noisy kiss instead.
Sharat couldn’t help laughing. Still, Hussein’s words had disturbed him. He’d better put Emira back in her cage before Lemo found out she was missing.
He hurried back up towards the campsite.
“Get up, you lazy beast!” he called once he reached the tent. But, as he stuck his head through a flap in the canvas his heart dropped. There was no sign of the tiger.
He spun round in alarm.
“Emira?” he called, his voice sharp. “Emira! Where are you?”
There was no reply.
Trying to stay calm, Sharat ran swiftly around the campsite, whistling and calling as he checked the tents and caravans, but Emira was nowhere to be seen. With a growing sense of panic, he stopped and looked out at the city and beyond. His tiger always came when he called her. Where could she be?
Chapter Four
AYA
Aya squatted by the river with a look of fierce concentration on her face as she slid her hand into the water, fingers wriggling. Moments later, she was rewarded by a cold, muscular body moving in towards her palm and she felt a surge of excitement. It was a big one.
“Tickle, tickle, little fish,” she sang under her breath, waiting for the creature to settle into her hand. Then, with one swift move, she grabbed its tail and slammed it against a rock.
“Gotcha!” she cried in triumph. The fish lay dead, killed by the blow. A grin of satisfaction lit her face. “Breakfast!” she whispered. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation.
Quickly, she gutted her catch, trying not to grimace as she tossed the waste into the river. She was just building a fire to cook it, when suddenly she heard a low growl behind her.
For a moment she froze, the skin on the back of her neck prickling in warning. Then, slowly and carefully, she turned around.
She stifled a gasp. She was looking into the face of an enormous white tiger.
Too shocked to be afraid, Aya just stared. Then, with a steady hand, she reached out and picked up the fish.
“Do you … do you want it?” she offered, lifting it towards the beast.
For a few seconds, the tiger examined her with interest, but instead of bounding over to take the fish, or indeed to eat her, it just sniffed the air and growled once more. Then, to her relief, it turned its tail to carry on upriver.
Aya remained frozen as she watched the great cat make its way towards the temple. As soon as it had disappeared, she dropped the fish and allowed herself to breathe again. Her heart was pounding with excitement. She’d just seen a white tiger!
A nursery rhyme her mother used to tell her ran through her head:
Earthbound, breathled, firefound and watermet,
Brought to his fate by tiger white, and called by name from death to life,
The Prince of Jinnis will come again,
To overthrow the rule of men,
And save our queen from slavery,
So all her creatures can be free.
The Prince of Jinnis.
Everyone else thought jinnis were wicked and dangerous, but Aya’s mother had always told her otherwise.
“This place was called the City of Jinnis,” she’d said. “It used to be ruled by a beautiful queen called the Queen of the Forest. And when the jinnis were free, the people were happy and the land was fertile and green.”
Aya knew those days were gone. Nowadays the land was barren, the trees had been cut down, and all the jinnis that used to live here had been enslaved. With a beating heart, she turned to look up at Shergarh. Even from the outskirts of town the fortress seemed to possess some sinister power.
And yet she had just seen a white tiger.
Her heart leapt in hope.
The Prince of Jinnis will come again, to overthrow the rule of men…
“Long live the Prince of Jinnis!” she whispered.
Sharat was furious with himself for leaving Emira on her own. He looked around the bleak landscape wondering which way she’d gone. To the west he saw nothing but empty fields, nowhere for a cat to hunt or hide. To the east was the river. The tiger loved to swim, but only in lively mountain streams where she could fish. Here the water was sluggish, muddy-brown, and crossed by boats and barges, too deep and dirty for the fastidious Emira. To the south was the city. She hated cities. She must have gone nor
th – back in the direction of the mountains.
Praying that nobody would see him, he ducked away from the circus camp and ran along the river. Soon he passed a travellers’ inn. Here, a group of traders sat in the shade playing dice while their mangy camels dozed in the sun.
He stopped in front of them, panting. “Have any of you seen a white tiger?” he gasped. “She’s escaped from the circus.”
A leathery little man glanced at his companions as if he’d just won a bet. Then he smiled at Sharat with a flash of gold teeth and pointed towards the river and the north.
“She went that way,” he said.
Sharat felt a rush of relief. He was on the right track.
“Thank you!” he called, as he dodged past the camels and continued upriver.
Further along, he saw a little girl in a ragged dress lighting a fire next to the skeleton of a banyan tree. About seven or eight years old, she was crowned by a mop of unruly curls and there was a look of concentration on her face.
Sharat stopped again. “I’m looking for my white tiger,” he blurted out. “Have you seen her?”
The little girl’s head shot up with a look of excitement. “Is she yours?” she said.
“Yes,” said Sharat. “She’s run away. We’re from the circus.”
The girl’s face dropped. “The circus?” She sounded disappointed, but Sharat barely noticed.
“Did you see which way she went?” he asked. “I’ve got to get her back or I’ll really be in trouble.”
The girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a small bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I think I know where she’s gone,” she said. “Follow me.”
Running lightly on bare feet, she led him along the cracked mud pathway that wound around the huts and down towards the riverbank. Soon they stopped next to a stone staircase that led down into the water. A majestic, tiered temple, covered in carvings of voluptuous goddesses, mighty warriors and marching elephants, rose up further along the bank. Nearby, several bonfires smouldered, their smoke rising straight to heaven in the stillness of the day. A cloying smell hung heavy in the air; the smell of roasting flesh.
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