by Fuad Baloch
“W-what are you doing here?” asked Shoki dumbly, staring at the neighbor he would have expected to see at Algaria, his hunger momentarily forgotten.
A shadow crossed over the old woman’s face, the massive bosom heaving. “Oh, come here!” Gohara advanced and before Shoki could react, his face was being crushed against her bosom.
At first, Shoki tried to extricate himself. But Gohara Bano seemed to have the strength of ten men, and she held onto him as if clinging to dear life, crying all the while.
When she finally stepped away, tears still streaming down her face, Shoki was out of breath. His heart thudding, he asked, “How are Mother and Father?”
“Oh, my dear little boy,” she said, her voice breaking down once more. “They’re... they’re… they are gone.”
“Gone...” echoed Shoki, feeling the ground slip away underneath him.
“The mob... they couldn't escape in time... their house... the neighborhood… it’s all gone!”
“W-when you say g-gone... what do you mean?” he croaked.
Gohara wailed, pointed at the mud. “Back to the gods.”
Shoki shook his head, not believing her words. How could it be?
“Who did that to my parents?” he asked, his voice hollow, coming from far.
“Who knows? Kinas’s sympathizers... Ahasan’s soldiers... common people baying for blood?” she said. “Gods be my witness, both of them were good people. Took you and cared for you like one of their own!”
Shoki was shaking his head, a tremble having crept into his fingers. His heart burned, a sharp unrestrained pain tearing through it, shedding what felt like a cocoon that had guarded him all his life. Something snagged at him and he inclined his chin. “Took me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gohara Bano wiped her face. “They were good people. Known them all my life. But... they weren't your parents, my boy. Adopted you when you were a wee little baby, brought you up better than any I’d ever known.”
Shaking his head, Shoki stepped away from her. “You’re lying! About everything. They’re alive, my parents.” He pointed at the tents. “Are they here? In this very city?”
“Come here, son,” she said, reaching out for him.
Shoki raised a hand. “Where are they?” Panic rose. “Where?” he bellowed. Gohara sobbed, pushed her hands away. “You won’t tell me? Fine, I’ll find them myself!”
Wheeling about, tears leaking from his eyes, Shoki started running.
Chapter 16
Nuraya
If there was anything men loved more than eating and drinking, it was hearing the sound of their own voices. Nuraya forced yet another smile at something Ameer Zakhtun said that elicited laughs from the sycophants around him. Then, rolling her eyes, she looked out the windows.
The vaulted chamber overflowed with ingratiating men in richly embroidered robes and ship-like hats. They hung upon their lord’s every word. They laughed when the ameer’s tone lightened and grew somber and deadly quiet when he frowned.
She had seen these reactions all her life, of course. Men had a habit of groveling when it suited their agendas. But there were major differences here. Whenever Abba had spoken, other men fell silent, not out of fear, but for the need to ponder his words. This old uncle of hers, cursed with a halting voice and fading eyesight, couldn't look past the flattery these men used, to lather him up for pathetic favors.
Her heart ached again at the memory of Abba atop the Peacock Throne, his unblinking, bright eyes watching, judging. No one would have dared these fake, honeyed words with him, except at great peril.
Nuraya exhaled. She had waited long enough. The time had come to force events.
She turned toward the cluster of men surrounding Ameer Zakhtun, then cleared her throat noisily. “Uncle,” she said, her loud, shrill voice cutting through the din like a knife through butter, “ten days have passed since my arrival here.” More faces turned, conversations petering out. Azrar tilted his head to the side, his fingers playing with the silk hem of his richly appointed robes. “We cannot waste any more time while the queen, your sister, remains imprisoned at her own palace!”
One of the ameer’s senior commanders, a siphsalar, frowned at her and straightened his back. The other salars, taking his lead, inclined their own chins. Ameer Zakhtun glared at her, the wispy ends of his scraggly beard twitching.
“My dear girl,” wheezed the ameer. “That’s precisely why we’ve gathered here. We must plan our actions carefully. This isn't the time to be taking rash decisions when the Reratish Kingdom is amassing forces at our border and supplies from Orsa are short in coming.”
Anger flared through her. Stomping forward, she yanked a baton from a tall salar, then thrust it toward the map of the Istani Sultanate spread out on the massive table beside the ameer. “The Istani princess has heard enough! Enough, I declare!” They were all watching her now. Some, their mouths hanging loose. Others, mostly the young sons of Nizams and nobility of Nikhtun, leering at her. She caught a glimpse of Maharis standing at the far window, his frail body swaying to and fro as if unable to stand still.
She exhaled, jabbing at the map again. “Ameer Zakhtun, do I need to remind you that besides being your niece, I am also the daughter of your lord and as such outrank you?”
The men around her hissed, the air in the chambers suddenly becoming stuffy. Eyes flitted between her and the ameer. The servants, dressed in long white robes and green conical hats, froze, trays of food and drinks going still in their hands. One by one, they all turned to the ameer, as if waiting for his reaction.
“Sit down, Nuraya,” said Ameer Zakhtun, mincing the syllables of her name in his heavily accented Nirdu. She remained where she was, towering over him as he sat, a rush of red-hot anger and fury washing over her. “We live in the real world here, one of consequences and political realities. Like it or not, another member of the Istani clan, your eldest brother intends to claim the throne for himself on the prophet’s birthday. You may be the late sultan’s daughter, but the man who sends me his missives demands me to acknowledge him as the sultan.”
Nuraya stared at her uncle in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re talking with his messengers? If they come bearing word from him, they deserve to have their heads lopped off to send the most appropriate message back.” She shook her head. “They’ve kidnapped your sister, your queen. How in Rabb’s name could you even entertain these... these treacherous talks?”
More gasps rose.
The ameer scratched his chin through his patchy beard. “Here are the facts. I have a captive sister that your brother promises to release if I acknowledge his claim. Moreover, he promises men to strengthen my borders, if I send mine to bolster him now.”
For a short breath, she glowered at her uncle. How could one who’d seen that many summers still be such a dunce? She scoffed. “Don’t fall for that. He promised me the same. And what did he do? Backstab me the first chance he had.”
Someone coughed. Two men beside her muttered to each other. She ignored them all, fixing her iron stare upon the man who had the power to help her, an idea forming in her head on the spot. “Uncle... if you do not intend to be involved personally, lend me your forces. Let me carry out justice in our name. Men like Ahasan know just one language. Force. Unless, he sees strength, he’s not going to give in.”
The lanky old man beside the ameer, a minor vizier coughed. “We can’t raise our swords against the Istani family. The very thought is preposterous!”
She raised her finger at the vizier, who took a step back. “No, you’d raise your sword beside the Istani princess to free the Istani queen!” She clenched her fist. “And it won’t come to a battle. I will see to it.”
Again, the voices fell silent as eyes fell back on their lord. Ameer Zakhtun wasn't known for being hasty at anything, something she had seen firsthand over these past days. Even now, he watched her thoughtfully, his rheumy eyes rising once to meet his dandy son’s before returning to her.
She trembled in rage. “How... can you be so... dense?” She took a menacing step forward, pointed the baton at the ameer’s weak chest. “Can’t you see what... all this waiting... means for your sister? Ahasan needs to be punished for what he’s done!” She pointed at the map. “Kinas is still at least a fortnight from Algaria, slowed down by his northern infantry not being used to hard marches across the desert. Isn't that what your salars concluded an hour ago? We have none of these concerns. Prepare a swift army of fast riders and I will personally lead them to redeem the pride of the Nikhtun people! For honor!”
One of the men nodded at that. She acknowledged him. Appealing to these men with warped ideas of chivalry and honor was the way to go about it. For all their claims to be wise and in control of their emotions, they really weren't any better than women who they derided for having soft underbellies.
An old Husalmin priest, dressed in the flowing garb of his order, stepped forward. “History guides us otherwise, my princess. Every brilliant spark in the Istani dynasty springs from the embers of the past.”
More men nodded at that.
Gritting her teeth, she sucked her teeth. “Shut up... with your... history and parables and all that meaningless prattle!” Not one nodded. Fearing she was floundering, Nuraya shook her head. “Whatever might happen between the two brothers… we… the Nikhtun people cannot let one of our most honored members, our queen, be used like a pawn by two greedy sons of the late sultan!”
“Fine words,” replied the priest, not retreating as the vizier had. “But if there is any comfort to be found, it’s in knowing that neither of the brothers should have cause to harm our honored ameer’s sister.”
Nuraya glowered at the priest. “The sultan’s wife, you mean. The queen. Not just the ameer’s sister.”
The men were muttering now, no longer hanging onto her words, no longer swayed by her appeals to nobler principles. A true leader left his imprint on the people that followed him. Despite their rich and proud traditions of honor and righteousness, these men of Nikhtun were afflicted by the same cowardice that ran in the veins of their leader.
“Uncle,” she said, turning to face him, her voice beginning to quiver, “we must rescue the queen.”
The ameer stared at her, his wide face impassive, just as bereft of emotions as her mother’s often was. Nuraya remembered running up to this man when she was a young girl, wriggling in his embrace. Now, it appeared time had reduced her once more to the little helpless girl, looking up to her uncle to come to her aid.
“Niece,” he said. “I wonder how much of what you say is really borne out of love for your mother instead of a desire to... inflict a wound upon the brother who slighted your pride.”
She blinked. Fury rose like a sharp, hot lance through her insides. “How... dare you doubt the purity of my intentions?”
The ameer didn't bother to respond, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. In that instant, she knew he thought he’d hit a nerve. The realization gave her pause. Could he be right? How much of her desire to avenge was really a burning urge to shame Ahasan, to teach him a lesson?
The world growing misty around her, she looked around the room. They watched her now. All these men taking delight in seeing someone of her high station cut down to their level. Not a lord anymore. A supplicant.
Nuraya wrung her hands. She was the Istani princess, daughter of one of the greatest sultans the empire had ever produced. And despite all that, she was truly powerless. All power and prestige she’d ever had was because of the man she had been related to. And now that another man, her brother, had snatched that from her, she’d been reduced to depending on other men all over again.
Was that the fate of women? Bartered for tribal alliances into marriages that were ill-suited on all accounts, then discarded when the men they were connected to lost power, life, leverage?
The vizier she had chastened earlier whispered in the ameer’s ear. The ameer grunted, then shook his head. The salars pointed at the map again.
She still stood between them all, but she might as well have disappeared.
“—embassy and demands—”
“—parlay and a chance for tax relief—”
“—with Orsa gutted, we must get forces sent from Firumin to shore up the borders—”
“—the city walls fallen in disrepair—”
She swayed on her feet. Not everyone had turned away from her. Some of the young men still watched her, their lustful eyes setting her skin to crawl. In her, they still saw opportunity, a short and quick way to share some of the glory associated with the Istani name.
Through the open doors, she saw a salar march in, his boots tapping loudly on the marbled floor, his uniform dusty. Again, the conversations faded away as he walked over to the ameer and bowed.
“What did you find out?” asked the ameer.
“Bad news, I’m afraid, my ameer,” replied the officer. “It appears the Zakhanan Empire is amassing at the eastern borders too.”
The vizier grew pale. “Why would both the Reratish and Zakhanan gather at our borders?”
“Because they smell blood in the water,” declared the ameer, his eyes meeting hers briefly. “With the Istani brothers pulling forces from strategic locations, the task of protecting the sultanate’s western front falls to us.”
“History repeats itself. When lions fight over the pride, the hyenas discover strength,” said the priest with a sigh.
Nuraya heard their discussions, her mind acknowledging the words, the heart disbelieving. Zakhanan and Reratish were puny, annoying splinters in the great toes of Istan. Could it be really true they were beginning to get other ideas?
This was all Ahasan’s doing. Despoiling the honor of Istan’s queen was the surest sign of rot within the mighty sultanate.
Or so it would appear to others.
“Reach out to the fortress at Firumin for assistance,” said Ameer Zakhtun. “We need to shore up our defenses and we lack both men and provisions.”
The world was changing, things happening way too fast for her to come to terms with. And increasingly, it did so with little care for her concerns.
She finally saw why these men behaved the way they did. They had high stakes. The long night of the interregnum was upon them. And they all worried about living through the dark hours and being well-prepared for what came after.
Distantly, she recalled news Mona had been hearing from the refugees. Algaria, her beautiful, grand city was in strife. Husalmin and Atishi were fighting, fueled by differences of religion. The various races that lived in the city were at each other’s throats, barely restrained by the overstretched City Guard. Crime was rampant, unchecked through the rich and poor districts alike. The Shahi Qilla remained under the iron grip of the Sultan’s Body as they stood undecided on whether to support Ahasan or Kinas.
The Peacock Throne, for the moment, remained unoccupied.
She’d heard Mona’s words, hadn't thought much of them, until her friend had given the crises at Algaria a human face. Shoki, the city guard with the twinkle in his eyes had lost his parents in the civil war. His neighborhood had been burned down. His wasn't the only loss, but his story was one that had appealed to her, had diverted her mind to acknowledging the bigger picture that was forming up.
It was all Ahasan’s fault. He shouldn't have imprisoned her mother. Shouldn't have insulted his sister.
He was going to pay.
A useless, trivial thought rose in her mind. Should she have sent condolences to the affected? Seen some of them, like Shoki, personally to assure them she’d avenge them all? A part of her, one she didn't really know that well, called he
r to do just that.
She scoffed. Actions spoke louder than words. She’d show them her vengeance.
Her eyes fell at the view outside the windows again. Another beautiful overcast day. Up this high, clouds seemed to be a mere jump away. Had this been the Shahi Qilla, she’d have celebrated the clouds like everyone did in the desert city. Now though, the sight failed to cheer her up, instead filling her with gloom.
Exhaling, Nuraya turned around and stormed out of the room. Someone called for her. A half-hearted attempt. She ignored it, continuing to march in a straight line, no real destination in mind, her bangles clinking softly.
She had to get away, remove herself from these people who made her feel like the little girl she had been reduced to. The world she had assumed would exist forever wasn't just crumbling. It was gone.
And unless she did something about it, she’d be left behind as a mere footnote.
Jinan Hoshbar, you better have some good news for me.
Nuraya came to a stop under a tall, gilded arch looking out into the serene gardens just beyond. The lords of Nikhtun liked to surround their chambers with massive gardens, moats of vast green grass and carefully manicured hedges.
Five days, Jinan had said before he’d bring her news. He was late. However, if he did return with the men he promised he could recruit in her name, that would be a delay worth putting up with. Another reason not to depend on her uncle. She stood straight, clenching her teeth so tight, her jaw hurt.
Another part of her called out for attention, warning her of tainting as noble a mission as hers with fickle mercenaries with no clear loyalty to her cause.
Not right! she told herself firmly. They had a cause. Her cause. She was binding them to her. Besides, without possessing any levers of power or legions of well-trained soldiers, she had to make do with she had.
That was what a wise leader would do too—make do with the pawns one had.