Lions of Istan

by Fuad Baloch

  She heard Mona shriek and turned her head. The sun still hung bright on the sky, but at the distant horizon, a dark cloud was rising, a mixture of red and orange. A sandstorm. She shook her head. Even nature mourned the passing of a great man.

  “We’d better go, my princess,” said Mona, leaning in to grab her by the arm again.

  “A good idea,” agreed the magus. He turned his eyes toward her. “I wish I could help you more.”

  Wind whipped against her peshwaz, setting her hair flowing behind her. She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “Magus, take me to my brother. It appears he and I need to have a talk.”

  Chapter 7

  Shoki

  Shoki sighed, watching the scholar and the inquisitor squabble. Something they’d been doing increasingly often since they’d set out three days ago.

  Tired, Shoki found no energy to pay them much mind. Enough that he was indoors at night, beside a warm crackling fire, his butt planted on soft cushions, a lute player plucking the strings softly in an inn whose name Shoki neither knew nor cared to.

  At least, the lute player was half-accomplished in the Kur’shi scale, emphasizing the third and sixth intervals without fail.

  “I thought you were in a hurry to get to Ghulamia,” rumbled Mara Carsa.

  “I am,” replied the inquisitor.

  The scholar crossed his arms across his bare chest, glaring at the inquisitor.

  “Not that I am in any hurry to get any further from Algaria,” said Shoki, fighting his drooping eyelids. “But remind me why are we in this inn again?”

  “To meet an old acquaintance I wish to consult,” declared Altamish Aboor, “without prying ears.”

  Shoki spread his arms. “No worries on my accounts. Just get me a room and you’ll have all the peace and quiet you want.”

  The half-naked scholar smirked. Shoki shook his head. Who traveled without a shirt all the way across Istan? Even the Atishi priests wore the loin cloth only when carrying out religious services.

  A half-formed thought rose. Could the scholar have been an Atishi priest in the past? Shoki pushed the idea away. The Atishi priests were well-known for their Nirdu diction. Mara, with his strange guttural accent, would never have found home with them.

  The inquisitor raised his mug containing some pungent local beer. Shoki rolled his eyes. Not that he was one to judge others for their taste, a good trait his mother had definitely instilled in him, but the inquisitor could have ordered something a bit more, well, refined and in keeping with his stature.

  Exhaling, Shoki surveyed the inn. Old, judging by the rot in the wooden walls and the creaking floorboards. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling at haphazard angles, lending a gloomy cast to the surroundings. The inn-keep was a cranky old man, his heavily accented Nirdu a torture to listen to.

  The inquisitor raised a hand. Shoki twisted his neck toward the entrance. A dark-turbaned figure shuffled toward them, his face half-covered by a hood. Some four paces from them, he threw it back. Shoki blinked at the old, grandfatherly face with a patchy beard.

  “Sit over here,” said Altamish Aboor, motioning Shoki to make space. Shoki struggled to his feet, grunting just long enough to make his displeasure known.

  The newcomer sat down beside Shoki and leaned in conspiratorially toward the inquisitor. “Is it really true?”

  Shoki arched an eyebrow.

  “Possibly,” said the inquisitor, breathing so heavily through his nose it ruffled the hairs of his mustache. Then he snapped his fingers, his eyes settling on Shoki and the scholar. “Both of you, leave us!”

  “They may stay,” said the newcomer, heaving a sigh. “I’ve got nothing of import to share. Not even news of Dullah, who stood me up.”

  Altamish pursed his lips. The next second, he scoffed, raised his mug to the lips, and drained the contents in one big gulp. Belching, he set the mug back on the table with a thump.

  “Who are they anyway?” asked the newcomer, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

  Mara leaned back, offered a smile, the mug beside him casting a flickering shadow under the torchlight. “I’m Mara Carsa, a humble scholar of history,” he said, then pointed toward Shoki, “and this strapping young man is Shoki Malook, a city guard, all the way from Algaria.”

  The man nodded, then shook hands with them in the Nikhtun way, clasping Shoki’s hand with both of his, placing one moist hand over the other. “I’m Niazi Jhuman.” He arched an eyebrow at Shoki. “A Malook? Did you know there was a line of kings by that name way before the Istani took over these lands?” When Shoki shrugged, Niazi turned toward Mara. “Surprising to see a historian wander the backwaters when history is being written in Algaria as we sit here.”

  Mara Carsa snickered, his earrings swaying. “History is everywhere to be found.”

  “True,” grunted Niazi, then fell silent.

  “Erm…” said Shoki, feeling the awkward silence gnaw at him. “What do you do?”

  Niazi hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m a scholar as well.”

  “Really?” Mara leaned forward. “What do you study?”

  Niazi ran a hand through his thin, wispy beard. His eyes crossed over to meet the inquisitor’s who tapped at the table. “I study magic, a noble pursuit funded by the Kalb.”

  Shoki sat up straight, a cool blast of excitement stirring through him. “Study magic? Can you do magic as well?”

  Niazi laughed. “No, my boy. Just like all students of equestrian sport don’t turn into master horsemen, sadly, I cannot wield magic… or jadu as the common people call it.”

  Jadu. Shoki repeated the word in his mind, then raised an eyebrow. “What do you study, then?”

  Again, Niazi’s eyes wandered over to the inquisitor.

  “Go on, old man,” scoffed Altamish. “It’s not like what you do is a secret.”

  “Very well,” nodded Niazi. “For the past three decades or so, my colleagues at the Institute of Harapan and I have been investigating the dissipating of magic in the physical world.”

  Steel bangles clinked as Mara crossed his arms. “What do you mean by that?”

  Niazi raised his right hand, a motion that reminded Shoki immediately of a teacher pleased to find an attentive audience and wanting to draw out the moment.

  “You see, magic… jadu, unlike common misconception, isn't an infinite source,” said Niazi. “Like leeches, the magi draw their power from resources around them, draining these to strengthen themselves.” He scratched at his chin. “Now, despite the apparent abundance of such resources, and all other known factors seemingly unaffected, it’s most curious to find that the number of magi has been decreasing over time.”

  “Decreasing?” asked Shoki, his attention wavering. He raised a hand to his mouth, failing to suppress the yawn. Regardless of how passionate the topic might be for the learned man, the only true skill he had displayed so far was putting Shoki to sleep.

  “Oh, yes!” exclaimed Niazi then paused to scratch at his chin.

  Utilizing the lull, Shoki turned his head around, surveying the inn once more. The Sultan might have passed away in the capital, but these people didn’t seem too affected by the event. Licking his lips, Shoki motioned the inn-keep to refill their ca’ava mugs. So long as the inquisitor was footing the bill, he might as well have his fill.

  “There are few constants in the world that rival the certainty of growth,” continued Niazi. “All things, once well-established, thrive, gain strength. Using that guiding principle and considering factors like the growth of population, unprecedented decades of peace and prosperity, the… Kalb’s calming influence over the magi, the world should have more magi. A great deal more!” Niazi scrunched his nose. “Instead, the numbers of new children being detected as magi continues to decrease each year.”

  “Just like Nainwa,” whispered Mara Carsa, his eyes growing thoughtful, the words so low Shoki doubted anyone else heard him.

  Shoki fought another yawn. Wherever this place was that Mara men
tioned wasn't one he recognized. Perhaps, that explained the strange accent. Niazi Jhuman, completely oblivious to the fact that neither of the men was listening to him continued droning on about factors and probabilities and some such.

  Shoki watched his fingernails. All his life, growing up in and around the Mercantile quarter, he’d seen the magi, being herded by their Kalb inquisitors, from afar. But like any other child of Istan, he too had heard mythical tales of their feats. The great magus Afrasiab who could command weather. One day cursing enemy troops with muddy swamps to march through, ushering in bright sunlight the next day when the Istani Sultan asked for an end to the gloomy rain.

  “Sahib Niazi,” said Shoki, interrupting the teacher’s flow. “If the magi are so powerful, how come they... erm... cannot just fight their way out of the Kalb’s control?”

  The inquisitor stirred at that, fixed a glare at Shoki. Seven hells! Swallowing, Shoki turned back to his fingernails.

  “A good question!” declared Niazi, then clapped Shoki on the back, startling him. “Alas, it’s something we don’t understand fully except for the fact that a magus’s blood can be used to hunt him.”

  Shoki licked his lower lip. Did Niazi truly not know or did he not want to say much in front of the inquisitor who seemed occupied with his empty mug?

  “C-could you tell me a bit more about jadu and how it works instead?”

  Niazi laughed. “Ah, I see we’ve a keen one in our midst. Magic, a gift from the creator for some, a curse in many people’s estimation, is both mysterious and understandable.” He raised three fingers. “Magic, known magic exists in three forms. Zyadi is the form where a magus enhances the basic intent of an object. For example, strengthen the fruit’s tendency to remain sweet. The Jaman on the other hand leech, steal energy from various resources around them, then expel it with great effect.” Niazi paused to take a breath. “And then there are the Ajeeb, rarest of the magi. They can leech one resource, then use it to override the intent of another object.”

  Shoki whistled, feeling his eyes widen. He’d always considered jadu as an esoteric thing, but here was a man who seemed to have almost codified it into neat systems. To their right, the musician struck up another tune. Shoki spread his hands. “I wonder what it would be like to have all this power!”

  Niazi shook his head. “Like the battle between free will and fatalism, it appears none of the three types of magic is without limits, my boy.”

  Shoki thought for a second. “Tell me of the Zyadi. Are there limits to what they can enhance?”

  “The Zyadi can influence only one base material, such as wood or water, and only so long as they are in close proximity to it. Also, the more they influence, the purer a well they require, and in even greater quantities.”

  Shoki nodded, surprised to find the talk riveting. “Sounds simple enough.”

  “The Jaman are also usually bound to one well. Unlike a Zyadi who enhances, a Jaman might leech away the sweetness of a mango, storing it an artifact he carries, then produce it on demand.” Niazi smiled. “Sounds good in theory, eh? In practice, if they continue to store energy for too long, they can leak it in dangerous ways. Also, the artifact can be stolen, or worse destroyed. They also cannot use another’s stores.”

  “Hmm,” said Shoki. “That’s two of them. What of the Ajeeb?”

  “Ah...” Niazi trailed away. “We know extraordinarily little about them. Rarest of the rare, they can swap the purpose of two disparate entities using mental connections.” Again, he paused. “All they need is the willpower to change the world around them, and the capability to see it through.”

  Shoki shook his head. “I don’t understand how their power works.”

  “An Ajeeb can steal the intent of the ripe mango to be sweet, then swap it with a fish’s desire to swim. If the connection is strong enough, a mango swims in water, the fish becomes sweet to the taste.” Shoki raised his hand, but Niazi kept talking. “That connection is not easy to draw. Do it wrong, and all sorts of things can go wrong.”

  The inquisitor scoffed. “Doesn’t matter what type they might be, they are all pests.”

  Shoki scratched his thigh, his mind going through what Niazi had said. “Was the famed magus, Afrasiab a Zyadi magus then? It’s said he could draw rain from the clouds, make the sun shine brighter?”

  “Maybe,” beamed Niazi. “But he could have been a Jaman as well, leeching good weather from one region over time, unleashing it at some other place. Or, even an Ajeeb, draining energy and purpose from one resource, then swapping it with another. No magus shares his well lest an opponent might get an edge over him, so we’d likely never know the extent of Afrasiab’s powers.”

  A cold, unexpected shiver ran through Shoki’s spine. He looked around. The inn-keep whispered to a patron sitting beside him. The lute player had fallen quiet now, his head bobbing as he leaned back against the wall. Altamish Aboor continued to drink, his thick eyelids half-closed.

  “Such power...” Shoki whispered.

  “Not without checks though as I said,” chuckled Niazi, pointing at the inquisitor. “No matter how powerful a magus, once a Kalb inquisitor gets hold of his or her blood, the magus’s effect can be neutralized, their presence located.”

  Shoki nodded. Was that what the inquisitor carried on his person at all times then—blood of magi who might have gone missing? Niazi was still saying something, but Shoki’s mind had drifted away. Shoki swallowed, dread settling deep in his gut. What in the gods’ names was he doing in the midst of all this?

  “... and the pari were—”

  Shoki’s eyes pricked up. “What of the djinn and the pari? Can they do magic just as well as the humans? Are they even real?”

  Niazi shrugged, scratched his chin. “There is no written record of humans interacting with the pari folk. Myths largely. As for the djinn, it is understood that by the virtue of being fashioned out of smoke and ash, only they can wield control over fire. There have been instances of djinn and humans interacting, but it’s difficult to peel back the legends to get to the core of it all.”

  A shiver ran up Shoki’s spine. Who’d have thought that he, a mere city guard, would be sitting hundreds of miles from the capital, late at night, discussing topics like these with a real scholar?

  Oblivious, Niazi continued. “Of course, despite each magus’s natural or trained affinity to draw power, they can augment themselves through utilizing magical artifacts.”

  “Artifacts?” repeated Shoki.

  “Aye. Gain an Asghar artifact and your well increases. Gain an Akbar artifact though and you can acquire new wells.” The scholar leaned in. “Apocryphal notes record a third stone as well. An Akbar stone so rare, so powerful, it grants dominion across the worlds to any who might possess it.”

  Shoki blinked, licked his lips, no longer able to keep the question he’d been wanting to ask for some time. “Erm... how does... one become a magus?”

  Niazi chuckled, clapped Shoki on the shoulder. “How does a babe know how to draw a breath, eh? Don’t you worry on your account, though. All magi are found by the time they turn four, an age where their magic is beyond their ability to mask it.”

  Feeling his cheeks redden, Shoki coughed, prayed the moment would hasten into oblivion.

  Mara cleared his throat, the deep-set features animated in the weak light. “You said magic should be thriving. Why isn't it?”

  “Ah, someone else has been paying attention as well,” said Niazi delightedly. The inquisitor grunted to himself. “Well, all things being equal, growth should happen in ideal circumstances. If, however, these conditions do not produce the results, it reveals one of two possibilities.” He raised a finger. “Our basic assumption was wrong about ideal conditions helping the growth of magic in the world. An unlikely thought one must entertain, nonetheless, to keep the logicians at bay.” He raised another finger. “Or there’s another variable out there we do not know about that is stemming the growth.”

  “A blight,” cr
oaked Mara.

  “Aye,” nodded Niazi. “An apt descriptor. Sometimes, when rot kicks in, the surface continues to look hale even as the insides get hollowed out. We might be looking at something that could’ve started a long time ago.”

  “And when two similar plants exhibit the same rot when displaced by distance,” said Mara, “it strengthens the argument for a universal blight.”

  Niazi nodded. “Indeed.”

  The sound of the mug thumping the table startled Shoki.

  “Enough rest,” growled the inquisitor. “Mara, time to show us how well you really know the back-roads. Get up. We’re off.”

  “Off?” asked Shoki, rubbing his eyes. “We haven't even had a chance to lie down yet.”

  “Too bad,” said Altamish, rising, wiping a hand over his mouth. He reached into his pockets, dropped off a dozen silver sikka coins on the wooden table. “Time’s slipping away.”

  “Ah...” whined Shoki. He looked up at Mara to support him. The scholar rose without a word. Cursing his luck and both his companions, Shoki struggled up.

  Only Niazi remained seated. “Good hunting, Inquisitor. Apologies if I couldn't be of more help on the other matter.”

  “I’m growing accustomed to it. Not something I like!” The inquisitor glared at Niazi one last time, then marched off to the doors.

  Shoki exhaled, cast a regretful look at the comfortable inn, then trudged toward the exit where the cool, dark night waited for him. Maybe, if he could tie himself to the saddle, he might catch a wink or two without falling off.

  Chapter 8

  Nuraya

  Nuraya stomped through the wide corridors, guards and servants shrinking away from her sight. Mona, sniffling and whimpering, could barely keep up with her. Maharis led six guards a step behind her, their hard leather boots clomping on the smooth marble floors.