The Curse of Zohreh

by Sophie Masson

  Farasha was sitting huddled on the floor, his wings drooping, his whiskers limp. ‘I understand,’ he said, ‘but it has never been done before. What will Brother Bikaj think?’

  Kareen snapped, ‘Farasha, are you a Jinn, or a miserable insect of no consequence?’

  Farasha glared up at her, his pop-eyes fierce. ‘How dare you, gypsy creature,’ he said haughtily. He flapped up onto Sharib’s shoulder. ‘I consent,’ he said, in the same haughty tone. ‘I will do whatever is needful for the house of my lord and his kinsmen.’

  ‘Well spoken,’ said Sharib, a smile playing around his lips. ‘Now, come into the garden. We must hurry.’

  Husam and Abdullah went out at a run, following Sharib and Farasha. Kareen glanced at Soheila, still lying on the bed. ‘You had better stay right here,’ she said in a harsh tone. ‘It’s my view they have been very forgiving with you. You told the truth, that I’ll grant, but your heart is still riven with bitterness, that I can see. I still don’t trust you, Soheila. Do you understand?’

  Soheila said nothing. Her stomach churned with sickness; her eyes ached. The Jinn looked at her, harrumphed, and went out, locking the door behind her. Soheila lay quite still for a moment. Then she began to weep hot, burning tears that fell down her thin cheeks like lava. Sobs shook her, years of bitterness about the wrongs done to her family rising in her throat like a terrible wave of black nausea. She sobbed as if her heart would break, as if her very being would crack. In her despair, she felt as if she was going to die, as if she wanted to die. Nothing had any meaning for her any more. She had lived for revenge and now it had been shown to be an ugly and vile and sordid thing. She had sent Khaled to his death at the hands of the hideous Mesomian secret police. She had taken away that kind old man’s only child. She had sinned against hospitality and kindness and truth, and what was more, she had failed utterly in her quest for justice. Zohreh would not be appeased, her spirit would not be put to rest, and because of what Soheila had done, the wrong committed against her ancestor would never be compensated. Of that she was sure. The al-Farouks had been more than kind to her, she knew that now. Kareen and Husam’s harshness was only what she deserved. And their last remaining shreds of kindness – how it would melt away when they discovered she had lured Khaled into the garden, following Zohreh’s instructions. None of them, not even the Jinn, knew about that.

  Nothing remained to her – not the thought of the Talisman; not the vision of Zohreh, for now she did not even want to try and call it up. The image of her ancestor did not fill her with admiration and a strong sense of an injustice that must be righted; instead, she felt a sense of creeping horror. Though the silk sachet of Zohreh’s ashes still lay against her breast, Soheila had no desire to speak with the old woman again. She could not face those burning, accusing, inhumanly demanding eyes again. And yet she was afraid that now the vengeful spirit would never let her go.

  Night falls swift and black in the desert. Soon it was pitch dark outside, with only the fire providing any light. The men still sat by it, playing cards and drinking whisky. They had got up to look at Khaled twice and he seemed to be sleeping so they had left him alone.

  But Khaled was not asleep. He was just waiting for them to completely relax. He had decided on a plan. This kind of tent had no floor, only the carpet on the sand. He would burrow out under the tent, out the back, near the dunes. He knew there was little chance of escape in the Howling Desert. He might get lost, or die of thirst. But it was night, and cool. And he knew he could not wait till the Mesomians’s boss arrived.

  Quietly, he crept to the flap of the tent and looked out. The two men were chatting, laughing, slapping the cards down on the sand. Now was the time … He began to burrow out under the tent. The sand was packed quite hard, but he soon managed to dig his way out, emerging at the back of the tent, right up against the dune.

  He held his breath and waited for a moment. He could hear the men’s voices, chattering companionably, and the sound of the radio. He looked up at the sky, orienting himself by the stars. South was Jumana. That was the direction he must go in.

  Suddenly, he thought he heard, far away, the sound of a powerful car engine. Noise travels a long distance in the desert and there was no telling how far away the car was. But Khaled knew he did not have much time left. He must leave straight away.

  The desert is a dangerous place. But Khaled’s people had lived in hardship in the desert for centuries before they had become wealthy and built great cities. They had never tamed the desert, but they had come to know it intimately.

  ‘We lived in howling wildernesses like this one,’ thought Khaled. ‘We found God in them. And Father has often taken me into the desert; he always felt the al-Farouks should never lose sight of the fact it had once been our home. I will survive, God willing.’

  He climbed the dune, swiftly, silently. At the top he crouched down and looked back. Mahmoud and Tarik were still sitting by the fire. They had noticed nothing. Then he looked south and saw a pair of headlights coming over the desert, still a long way away. An icy hand gripped at his heart. He could not go south. He must go north – they would not expect him to go that way. A slight breeze had arisen, so the shifting sand would wipe out his footprints – but heading north was still a dangerous thing to do, for he had never been further north before and would have no idea where he was going.

  Suddenly, the thought came to him of Melkior, Zohreh’s ancestor, who had travelled so far to find the baby king of his prophecy, the prophecy of the stars. He remembered the warmth of the Talisman in his hand. It had been a thing of beauty and wonder, not a thing of revenge. There would be no point in trying to reach the spirit of Zohreh, for she was an unquiet, vengeful spirit, restlessly seeking the pain of others who had personally done nothing to her. But her great ancestor, the legendary Magvanda, he had been granted a great treasure, a thing born in love and peace. Perhaps, just perhaps …

  ‘I will restore it,’ he whispered to the silent stars. ‘I promise you, Melkior, I will make it my life’s work to find your family, restore your treasure to them, and repay them for the evil that was done. I promise, Melkior of the Stars, that honour and peace and comfort shall be theirs again.’

  It seemed to him that one star began to shine more brightly than the others. He thought he saw it spin, once, then remain still again, its light shining very brightly, hanging over the northern horizon like a guiding light.

  Twenty-three

  Soheila was lying face down on the bed, all her tears spent, when she heard a loud scrabbling noise, and someone sprang lithely into the room through the open window.

  He was one of the most striking-looking people Soheila had ever seen: a tall, powerful young man with amber eyes of unusual brilliance, an aquiline nose, and thick chestnut hair with one single lock of white in it, that framed a high-cheekboned, creamy-coloured face under a green turban. His teeth were very white and rather pointed. He was dressed in baggy green trousers, an embroidered green jacket fastened at the waist with a cummerbund, and a swirling black cloak. He had a thick chestnut moustache that drooped at the ends, and a single, large gold ring glittered on his powerful-looking hands. On the ring was a symbol Soheila recognised.

  ‘Who – who are you?’ she stammered, staring at him.

  He bowed. ‘I am Gur Thalab al Kutroob, of the Kirtis Mountains,’ he said in a low, beautiful voice. ‘Don’t be afraid. I was standing outside the window and heard everything. I have come to help you.’

  ‘To help me?’ said Soheila, finding her voice at last. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To help you repair what you have done.’

  ‘I – I don’t understand. Who are you?’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ said Gur, smiling faintly.

  ‘But –’ She looked at the ring, and the wolf’s head imprinted on it.

  ‘I am a werewolf,’ said Gur. ‘It is my curse, and my burden. I know what it is to be born to endless night, to be hostage to others’ sins. I know you are
suffering, and want with all your heart to repair the damage you have caused. And so I have come to help you.’

  Soheila looked up into his golden eyes. ‘But the White Wolves have taken Khaled.’

  ‘I heard that, too.’ The young man’s eyes glittered. ‘Even more reason for me to want to help you. I have accounts to settle with them, for though they are members of my own clan, they have betrayed me and many of my kin.’

  Soheila was about to speak when the door burst open and Husam came rushing in. ‘I heard a noise,’ he began, then stopped when he saw Gur Thalab. His eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Gur Thalab al Kutroob,’ said the werewolf lord. ‘You met me in the Gold Market, friend.’

  ‘Gur Thalab,’ said Husam, ‘but I thought –’

  ‘I was deep in melancholia then,’ said the werewolf. ‘The change had come on me and I did not want anyone to see me in the guise of a foul beast. But the carpet you and Khaled brought to my workshop has accomplished a miracle for me.’ He pointed out the window to the garden and said, ‘It is just outside. Come, I will show you.’

  Farasha shot up out of Husam’s pocket, where he had been hiding. ‘No, no, no! Don’t do as he says. It’s a trick.’

  ‘No trick, I promise, little Jinn,’ said Gur Thalab, smiling and showing his beautiful white teeth. ‘You come too, and protect them, if you’re worried.’

  Farasha puffed himself up. ‘That I will.’

  ‘We will all feel much safer then,’ said Husam, winking at Soheila. She gave a tiny smile, as if hardly daring to.

  There lay the carpet, unrolled on the path and Husam could not help staring. It was completely different. Not only was it clean but the birds on it looked much finer, much more subtle, their colours rich and glowing, not garish and gaudy any more. Gur Thalab smiled at his astonishment.

  ‘I have my own very potent mixtures of magical herbs – a mixture of marshland and mountain plants – to clean flying carpets, and as I worked on it, I discovered that the design that was apparent to the naked eye actually overlaid another.’ He knelt down to the carpet and gently touched the beautiful red-gold plumage of the woven birds. Whether it was her imagination or not, Soheila thought that the birds moved a little under the werewolf prince’s touch. ‘These are true firebirds,’ he said. ‘Their real shape was hidden under the other clumsy design, to hide their real purpose from the eyes of traitors and spies and informers.’ He looked up at them with shining eyes. ‘This carpet was made by a very great Enchantress. Though she was young, its spirit is very old. It not only helps whoever flies on it to go wherever it is he needs to go; it also infuses whoever touches it with courage and strength.’

  ‘But,’ said Husam uncertainly, ‘it – er – well, it failed us, dumped us in Shideh instead of taking us all the way to Jumana. We had to take a ship instead, over the gulf.’

  ‘Could it be that the carpet took you where you needed to go, not precisely where you wanted to go? Perhaps you were needed in Shideh for some reason, and so the carpet homed in there.’

  ‘I doubt it!’ snorted Husam and was about to go on when the expression in Soheila’s eyes stopped him. Very softly, her eyes on the carpet, the girl said, ‘Whatever it was, I am glad. For otherwise I would not have met you.’

  ‘I do not know if it was intended. But no matter,’ said Gur Thalab. ‘Flying carpets are like silent Jinn,’ he went on, looking sideways at an intent Farasha, who was minutely examining the carpet design. ‘They are programmed to fulfil a particular task, carefully calibrated to fly where you want to go. But this one –’ he stroked one of the birds again, and this time Soheila distinctly saw plumage ripple under his hand – ‘has yet another feature. The Carpet Enchantress wove a special formula into it, which I recognised at once, for it is the motto of my house: Touch if you dare. It is a motto that has been banned from sight in Mesomia since The Vampire took over, killed my father the Arga and installed my usurping uncle in his place. The carpet was calling to me, my friends! And I knew at once that the long wait was over; that my country needed me; that I must travel to the Marshlands and find the Enchantress who had made the carpet. This discovery is what broke through my melancholia and made the wolf-madness leave me so soon.’ He looked at them, eyebrows raised, a smile on his handsome face. ‘I must confess, I wanted the carpet to fly me to the Marshlands straight away, but it took me here, where I obviously needed to be.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Husam, ‘if that thief in Kapalau had realised what a beauty it was, he’d never have let it go for what we paid for it!’

  Just then, Kareen, Sharib and Abdullah came rushing into the garden. They stopped abruptly, and stared at the carpet and Gur Thalab. Husam thought that it was the first time he had ever seen Kareen disconcerted.

  ‘What a fool! How could I have been so blind?’ Kareen said without preamble, shaking her head. She looked at Gur Thalab. ‘You are the one who did this?’

  ‘I am,’ he said.

  ‘You are the carpet mechanic? Yet by your accent and dress, you are a prince of the Kirtis Mountains,’ Abdullah said, bewildered, coming towards Gur Thalab.

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Kareen impatiently, squatting down to look closely at the carpet, ‘he is both, that’s all. And he is of the legendary werewolf clan. I have heard much of your people,’ she went on. ‘I am glad you are on our side.’

  ‘Not all of us are,’ acknowledged Gur Thalab. ‘There is no time to lose now. We should take the flying carpet and go and find Khaled. I will come with you.’ He bared his teeth. ‘I will be glad to have the chance to fight the White Wolves once more. I have hidden myself away for too long.’

  Husam said, ‘Have you found the precise directions yet, Sharib?’

  Sharib sighed. ‘I’ve had difficulties because the White Wolf who abducted Khaled didn’t leave behind any objects that he touched. Farasha’s tried hard to focus extra power on the Jinns but so far we’ve come up with nothing.’

  ‘What about me?’ said Soheila suddenly. ‘He touched me, remember.’

  Everyone stared at her. Sharib hit his forehead and gave a loud cry. ‘What a fool I’ve been!’ he said. ‘Of course, you’re quite right. Let’s go to the very spot where he attacked you, Soheila, and we’ll direct the Jinns from you. Oh, and take the carpet too. You might need to take off very quickly.’

  Sharib wound the watch back to the approximate time Soheila had been attacked and asked the Jinn of the Watch to show them what had happened at that time. He stood with Farasha on his shoulder and a hand on one of Soheila’s shoulder, holding the Jinn of the Watch in his other hand. Everyone crowded around. Just visible in one corner of the watch face was the garden wall, and a black-clad figure slipping down it.

  ‘Quick, Soheila, the Jinn of the Phone, get it out of my top pocket, we want to hear what’s going on.’

  Soheila did as she was told. ‘Hit the button,’ said Sharib, and as soon as she did, the Jinn of the Phone said, ‘I am the Jinn of the Phone, and your faithful servant. What do you want to hear?’

  ‘Everything that moves in the watch face,’ said Sharib, and all at once, spookily, they could hear sounds – a foot scraping the wall, a breath, the swish of a rope ladder. The figure in the watch face turned. They saw a black-veiled face and yellow, gleaming, cruel eyes.

  Gur Thalab stiffened and a low growl began in his throat. Sharib pushed the mobile closer to the watch so that it hung almost directly over the spot where the man was sliding down into the garden. A stone shifted against his feet, a twig cracked. The mobile crackled and they suddenly heard, clear and cold, a voice, cursing in accented Aksaran.

  ‘That is a man from my land,’ said Gur. ‘It is a man from my own werewolf clan.’

  ‘The glasses,’ panted Sharib, ‘Husam, they’re on my arm, quick, unhook them, put them on my nose.’

  Husam did so and Sharib, the glasses on his nose, bent over the watch and said, ‘Jinn of the Glasses, do not lose that man from sight, whatever you do.’

>   ‘I hear and obey,’ came the voice of the Jinn, and the lenses clouded over at once, then went reflective, mirroring the action in the watch face.

  Soheila came into the garden and was set upon, and Khaled tried to rescue her, the sound of his struggle clearly heard over the phone. Combining the power of all the Jinns, as if he were an earth to electrical current, Sharib was sweating and panting, his face losing all colour, his limbs beginning to shake; this was clearly not an easy task for him. On his shoulder, Farasha shook and shivered, all his tiny being concentrated on pushing his fellow Jinns further and further, deepening their power. The thug was just over the wall with his burden when suddenly Sharib gave a hoarse cry and fell, the watch flying out of his hands, the glasses off his nose. Farasha flapped weakly off his shoulder. The phone, which Soheila was still holding, gave a great crackling spurt, a roar, then flew out of her hand and came to rest by Sharib, sputtering and blinking to itself.

  ‘Sharib!’ They all knelt by him. The Jinn master was out cold.

  ‘We’ll lose them!’ shouted Abdullah, beside himself.

  Gur Thalab bent down and picked up the glasses, pushed them onto his nose, and shouted imperiously, ‘Keep that man in sight, as your master said.’

  Amazingly, Farasha lifted up his head and said, ‘Wait, I will help you, wolf prince.’ Painfully, he crept up to Gur Thalab’s arm. ‘Oh Jinn of the Glasses,’ he croaked, ‘this is the most important task you’ve ever done. Concentrate, concentrate! Harder! I will help you!’

  ‘I hear and obey,’ said the Jinn meekly.

  In the twin mirrors of the glasses they could see the driver of the car, Khaled being thrown into the boot, and his abductor jumping into the front seat and slamming the door. The car took off at great speed, racing through the streets of Jumana towards the north. They saw it leave the city limits, saw it tearing up the highway, then turn off onto the sidetrack. They saw a black tent loom up. Khaled was bundled out and marched to the tent. All at once, the lenses went blank again, and though Gur shook them, the picture obstinately refused to come back. Abdullah, who had been watching impatiently, said, ‘Enough! We know he was taken to the Howling Desert – I know the direction they went. We must go at once and rescue him.’