by Fuad Baloch
The magus laughed.
Shoki swallowed. “Say... do you experience the need to eat? I mean... being the djinn and all, do you... erm... eat... and...”
“Shit and fuck?”
Shoki felt himself blush, refused to look away. Wouldn't do to present himself weaker in front of the djinn regardless of what he felt. “Well, now that you mention that…” He raised a hand to cut off the djinn from interrupting him. “Don’t answer if you don’t feel like it but keep the snide comments to yourself.”
The djinn shook his head, his earrings and bangles glinting softly in the afternoon sunlight. Shoki’s eye fell on the bangle he had been carrying for the djinn. A chill ran down his spine. Why had Mara given him the relic in the first place?
No good wondering when he could just ask. “Um…”
“Yeah?”
“I… was wondering why you’d given me your relic?”
The magus tilted his head back again, his dark eyes unblinking, focused squarely on his face. “You know, for a city guard, you ask too many questions.”
“I... well, thank you, I guess.”
Mara clicked his tongue. “Have you ever gotten quiet for longer than ten breaths?”
Shoki opened his jaw to argue. Then he clenched it shut and looked away deliberately as if making a point.
The djinn laughed. Again, that unnatural feeling, the wrongness of sound and expression hit Shoki straight in the chest. He scratched his head, tried to shrug it off.
They continued to trudge forward, each ponderous step taking them closer to Algaria. Shoki licked his lips. Had the city seen its worse already? Or was life getting even harder for the inhabitants if rumors of Prince Kinas’s armies besieging the city were true? And what was with the Istani children’s fascination with a long dead prophet’s birthday anyway?
He shook his head. No good was to be found mulling over things he could not control, knew nothing about. He relaxed his shoulders. Ignoring his mind’s perennial confusion at not being able to see from his ruined eye—an eye he needed to cover up from the masses—Shoki put his thoughts instead on placing one foot after the other.
Left foot. Sigh. Right foot. Dodge the puddle. Repeat.
A black crow cawed up ahead. Another responded far behind them. Wings fluttered followed by more caws. Shoki licked his lips and wrapped both arms around his scrawny chest. Night would be falling soon, and these cursed wetland jungles weren't places to be without adequate cover if it continued to rain.
“How long until we’re at this town you mentioned?” Shoki asked.
“Not far,” replied the djinn noncommittally. Shoki gritted his teeth. Mara pointed at the hill up ahead. “It’s been a century since I last visited the area. Let’s crest that and see what’s on the other side.”
A century?
In between the constant pain, his body reduced to the desiccated shell of a rotten fruit, Shoki allowed a little sapling of hope to take root and grow. He’d crest the hill, see the town the gory-damned magus had been talking about for the last six hours, secure a nice inn, and lie down until all the battles and wars had been settled.
Where was Nuraya this moment?
The thought was so unexpected, so out of place that it caught him off-guard. Shoki shook his head, half-puzzled, half-exasperated.
The birds cawed once more, and the thoughts fled. Realizing he was the only one still walking, Shoki came to a stop, whirled around. Mara stood beside a tall neem tree, his bald head glistening under the drizzle.
“A crow got your feet, Sahib Djinn?”
The magus grunted. “I remember this tree.” He took a step forward, placed an almost reverent hand on the old bark, the fingers stretching out gently.
Shoki laughed. “You talk as if this tree has been around for a century.”
“Longer.”
Shoki felt the grin melt away. Not paying him any attention, the djinn continued to stare at the tree, his face a mixture of longing and melancholy. Shoki cleared his throat. “We... erm...should be on our way. Night’s catching up fast. Don’t want to turn up at the inn after they’ve shut their doors.”
The djinn’s lips were quivering, almost as if he was chanting once more, only this time he did so soundlessly.
Shoki felt the chill come on him again.
He was traveling with a djinn! Only the gods knew what a being like that saw in the world. Shoki began to turn when his eye fell upon carvings on the bark. The djinn’s hand covered most of the etchings, but not completely. Shoki stepped forward, squinted. “Is that... a word?”
The djinn kept quiet. Shoki felt his hackles raise. He couldn't read the script, some cursive pictorial form he hadn't seen before, but that didn't matter anyway. What mattered was how long these words had been carved up here... and who had done that.
No answers presented themselves.
No flash of intuition either.
Shoki shuffled his weight, groaned, sighed, and went through a litany of physical expressions to show his displeasure even as a deep unease settled in his gut. The unmoving djinn remained at the bark, his eyelids closed. Wind rustled, a cool breeze ruffling Shoki’s long hair, matted down by the rain that had begun to lighten now.
Shoki licked his lips, unsure on whether he ought to break whatever spell the djinn had fallen under. The place meant something to him, that much was certain. But the longer they stayed pinned here, the more difficult it would be should either Ahasan’s men or the local bandits find them.
Finally, an eternity later, the djinn’s eyelids flicked open. He took a step back, eyes still plastered at the etchings.
“You were here?” asked Shoki.
The djinn turned, a hollowness in his eyes that gave Shoki pause. “Aye.”
“What does it say?” Shoki heard himself ask.
A rueful smile spread on Mara’s lips. “Azar and Zapani.”
Shoki chewed his lower lip, not following. Then his lone good eye widened. “Doesn't Azar mean fire in ancient Gharsi? If you’re a... djinn, and made of fire, that would be you. Who then is Zapani?”
Silence.
A long moment later, the djinn closed his eyes. “Someone I met here.”
The urge to snap built up within Shoki’s chest once more. The need to unleash. To let go. A feeling that terrified Shoki. Then, he saw the sultana’s face once more, felt its calming influence over him. He cleared his throat. “This Zapani... was she a djinn too?”
“Some things one ought to not answer. We should continue on our path.”
Shoki couldn't turn away now, not when a million questions raced through his mind. “A human, then?”
The djinn’s eyes fell upon the thick bangle he had given to Shoki for safekeeping. “Someone that knew me well. Knew my name. A pari.” The last few words were so quiet, so soft Shoki might not have heard them had he not been straining.
“A pari?”
Mara’s eyes took on the faraway look that Shoki had seen many a time on a poet’s face at the diwan-e-aam. “More beautiful than a thousand sunsets. Ankles smoother than expensive silks. The voice sweeter than an ocean of red sherbet.”
Shoki gaped at the djinn, shocked at the words coming from the djinn’s mouth. “Are you...?” He shook his head, still struggling to wrap his mind around the absurd thought. “In love with a pari?” The djinn didn't flinch but didn't reply either. Shoki swallowed. “Pari folk are stuff of legends. No one has seen them or heard from them for thousands of years, right? Surely, you j-jest with me.”
“Many hadn't heard from djinn in centuries either.”
Shoki had no answer to that. His stomach chose that moment to growl. “Is that why you’re here? In our world? What do you seek in Algaria?”
A shadow flickered in the djinn’s eyes. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon now, the last rays of light beginning to fade away to nothing. But Shoki saw the tiniest bit of indecision, a most human-like weakness take hold of the being in front of him.
“Maybe, I will tell
you why I am here, away from my beloved Nainwa. But not now.” Mara pointed at the hill, a smile appearing on his thick lips. “We’ve got an inn to raid first, don’t we?”
Shoki gave a nod.
Once more, the djinn took the lead, Shoki a half-step behind. Despite the gnawing hunger clamoring for his attention, his mind kept replaying Mara’s words. Djinn and pari were things he had heard about in bedtime stories from his mother. The Ahmin priests in the temple beside his hovel had a proclivity for sharing fantastical tales of Afrasiab and his dalliances with the non-humans, the so-called noble races—figments of fancy, his father had always held.
Shoki shivered recalling those tales now. The djinn were tricksters, a race that, despite its noble heritage, seemed to begrudge the human race for taking over its place beside Rabb and the other gods of the pantheon. And then there were the pari folk; beings who lived within a mode of existence so different from humans that even basic communications between the species was only possible through the djinn as intermediaries.
And now he was walking beside a djinn who knew a pari!
Shoki swallowed and sucked his teeth. Mara had secrets. Far too many, most probably all too heavy for someone like Shoki to understand. A wise man would not have pushed his luck, would not have poked the ashes lest he stoked the fire by accident.
Shoki cleared his throat. “What happened between the two of you?”
A moment of hesitation. “Beginning of the end for my people.”
“Wait! Your people are suffering on account of this pari?”
The djinn kept quiet.
Shoki’s stomach growled once more. The night was fast encroaching, the pangs in his gut finally succeeding in shunning the curiosity.
“You want a lesson?” asked the djinn, his eyes staring at Shoki.
“Umm… why—”
“Learn when to stop, or you’ll get burned.”
Shoki cracked his knuckles and waited, but the djinn had fallen silent. Was that general advice? No, it didn’t feel like that, not when Mara could have said that before he answered his question about the pari. What then? A dig against what he felt for the sultana? He swallowed. Were his emotions this transparent?
Their feet scrunching on the fallen, damp leaves, they crested the hill, Shoki panting with the effort.
At the apex, Shoki stuttered to a stop.
The town burned ahead. Pillars of smoke rose between buildings consumed by tongues of yellow flame. Despite the slight drizzle, dark, thick smog hung over the city, shrouding its streets littered with boxes and sacks. The large dome of the city’s central temple was half-caved in, the remaining gold tiles reflecting the flames dancing around it.
“War has arrived here quicker than I thought,” mused Mara.
Shoki cleared his throat, unable to tear his eye away. Not just a town that was burning. The whole of Istan, it felt like. Something he had never thought possible. He took a step forward, a surprising anger rising within him, urging him to rush over and fix the mess.
Shoki stopped, unsure of where to even begin.
A part of him chided him at what it considered cowardice. Shoki inclined his chin, squinted at the upturned sacks in the distant streets. No, not sacks. He gasped. Bodies. Human bodies. Tiny and ant-like, wisps of smoke rising over them. All lying perfectly still.
“We should continue,” said the djinn, turning away.
Shoki swallowed, his bladder threatening to give way. “Aye.”
Chapter 32
Nuraya
Nuraya sat up straight in the saddle, her back hurting with the exertion of the hard march. Her clothes were stained with sweat, her thighs chafing, but she didn't complain. Maharis rode beside her, his two cronies trailing just behind, all three abominations silent as the wind.
Jinan and Vishan rode ahead, setting the pace for the demoralized men of the Sultana’s Hands. Her siphsalar refused to meet her eyes, a petulant man-child she had somehow ended up setting as the leader of her forces. A man who had proved himself vicious and ruthless when she hadn't expected, most incapable when she would have hoped otherwise.
“Go easy on him,” Mona had said some time after they had gotten on their horses.
Then there was her other salar, still going on and on about the need to head north, cocoon herself from the world like a hermit, gather strength in safety.
Safety! Nuraya shook her head. Nothing like that for her after all she had done to harm the sultanate. Another wave of dizziness crashed over. She swayed, caught herself at the last instant before she might have fallen off.
Maybe she should have taken Mona’s advice and spent this march of shame hidden from prying eyes of the men. Too late for that anyway. Mona was with the queen, the two of them tucked away within the confines of the gilded carriage. Close yet far.
Nuraya exhaled. She had done the right thing not hiding away. This was her shame to bear. She would not complain nor appear discomfited by all that had happened.
A scream bubbled inside her chest, threatening to burst out. She paid it no mind.
The smug Reratish ambassador had known all along what his king was planning. That visit hadn't really been to court her. More a spy she had invited to her camp, one she’d given ample opportunity to examine her numbers, take her measure, report back on the state of her men and provisions.
The timing of how the events had unfolded at Buzdar felt off to her. Almost as if someone had been feeding exact information to the Reratish. Was it possible they had spies within her ranks?
Balling her fingers into a fist, she pressed hard until the pain grew unbearable. She had been played like a fiddle. Again. Even after using her, for purposes of their own all her life, men still continued to impose their will through her, over her.
And she continued to let them.
Nuraya swayed on the saddle, the world growing dark for a breath, reducing to the hypnotic clacking of horse hooves.
She was alone, a fangless, declawed lioness, foaming at the mouth. Regrets rose. Even if she had pulled her men down the hill to defend Buzdar, no matter how brave and motivated her men might have been fighting beside their sultana, wouldn't it still have been impossible to face down such a numerically superior force?
She was alone in more ways as well. Like the silent, thankless river sustaining lives along its banks, she had no one to share her concerns and misgivings with. Now that she had taken the highest pedestal of them all, not even Mona could give her counsel.
If only there was someone she could have talked with, maybe they could have helped turn her away from making these mistakes! Or did becoming a monarch mean an end to being vulnerable as well? Wasn’t this the mistake Abba had made, letting in her mother, allowing her to see his weaknesses?
She clenched the reins. Did the sun or the moon share their glory with other heavenly bodies? Her fate was similar too. She might have been temporarily eclipsed, but she’d blaze full once more.
Turning her head back, she watched the tired, wretched faces of the mercenaries who'd decided to follow her path. Did they now regret their choice? Even laden with booty, did they fear for their lands and families lying undefended from the Reratish forces?
Just the thought of the infidel westerners crawling over the sacred lands set her skin crawling.
She licked her lips, let her mind drift.
The men talked about her, she knew that much. Nothing good either, she was certain. Did they call her young and foolish, one ruled so much by the heart that she could make no sane decisions?
She should have been heading east all along. Why even turn west? Was it really strategy, or a petulant child’s wish to avenge petty slights hurled her way?
The annoying, chiding voice rose once more, scolding her for dwelling on her misfortunes even as the whole sultanate faced mortal dangers.
She shivered. Had she always been like this, consumed by her own ambition? Was this nature, something she’d inherited from her mother, or nurture?
Why did she,
in her darkest moments, discover traits she had in common with her mother and not Abba?
Nuraya shook the thoughts away. The day was beautiful, a gentle breeze blowing from the north, the sun neither too hot nor too weak.
A day one wished for when wanting to parade as victors.
Once more, guilt rose.
Like a bearer carrying over a platter of food, she had delivered not just the west but the whole unguarded middle of the sultanate to the Reratish Kingdom. With the garrison of Orsa depleted, there would be no help for Buzdar or the nearby provinces.
No army between the infidels and the innocents of the realm.
None but hers.
Nuraya pulled on her reins. Vengeance snorted. She clicked her tongue and the horse fell silent almost as if aware of her dark mood. Realizing she had stopped, the magi pulled up beside her. Vishan turned his head, then wheeled his horse about.
Men shouted and grunted, horses whinnying behind her.
“My sultana is something the matter?” asked Vishan, his tone carefully guarded. Respectful, but not deferential.
“We cannot leave the Reratish to take over Nikhtun. Once they establish a foothold there, there would be no end to their ambition.”
Vishan scratched his nose and exchanged a glance with Jinan who watched the proceedings from a distance. “That... might not be the wisest of courses, considering the... circumstances.”
She gritted her teeth. Underneath all this shame, she still found fire deep within her belly. Something to be glad for. Something to not let die. “I am not going to rule my sultanate with its western half shorn off!”
“Truth be told, even if you push back the Reratish somehow, you’d be facing one of your brothers soon, stuck behind shattered walls.”
Nuraya growled. Vishan didn't back away. Instead, he watched her with an expression that was a mix between amusement and pity.
“The west is gone for now,” he said. “Once you sit on the Peacock Throne, you can muster the entire strength of the sultanate to regain it.”