Dark Djinn (The Darkness of Djinn Book 1)

by Tia Reed

  “He wants to go home,” Kordahla said, hugging Timak close to her. The boy was limp, staring after Sian. “Just let him take the girl home.”

  “I can’t do that. He’s killed a soldier,” deq Lungo said. “And I need to know why a Terlaani woman has made an illegal crossing into Myklaan with a Verdaani boy and two of the Hill Tribe people.”

  She needed to remember she was a princess. By Vae’oenka, she needed to act like one to have any chance of pulling this off. “We have business with Shah Ordosteen.”

  “The Shah is a busy man.”

  “He will want to see me.”

  “That I doubt. Tell your friend to come back to camp.”

  She called to Erok and shook her head. He gave a reply. She thought she knew what it might be, but what could she say?

  “You don’t speak their tongue?” deq Lungo asked. She could sense his curiosity brimming.

  “No.”

  His frown deepened as he gestured two of his men to fetch Erok. “How is it you come to wear their clothes and travel in their company?”

  “That is for the Shah’s ears alone.”

  Her answer displeased. She recognised the set of his jaw; determination to serve honour and duty. “It will never get that far if you do not account for yourselves,” the captain said. Alienating him would be a mistake, but how far could she trust this man, whose soldiers ran riot?

  In Erok’s arms, Sian stirred. The girl’s whimpers tore through Kordahla’s heart. The hunter glowered at anyone who ventured too close, and she thanked Vae’oenka the soldiers were sensitive enough to give them space. A little distant from the tents, Erok laid Sian down and knelt by her. She rolled over and curled up. Kordahla sat beside her, and brushed the hair from her face. It was not enough. She had nothing more to offer. After a time, Sian tilted her head back. Her hand went up and out to Daesoa. The small moon was sinking to the hills. Kordahla did not expect her to rise, or totter away from Erok.

  “She wants a knife,” Timak said.

  “And what, pray tell, does she intend with it?” the captain asked.

  “She wants a bone from the wolf.”

  “Give it to her,” Kordahla said. “What can a battered little girl do with a knife when she is surrounded by soldiers? You owe her this and more. Or is everything I hear about Myklaan a lie?”

  Captain deq Lungo raised an eyebrow. “Would you have me risk injury, either to my men or the child?”

  “She won’t. That’s not what she wants,” Kordahla said.

  “And you know this how?” the captain asked.

  “The genie said so,” said Timak. “The genie said she has to have that bone.”

  Kordahla put a hand on Timak’s shoulder. “It is a tradition among the hill tribe. Grant her this. There is little else that will be of comfort.”

  The captain stared at the boy. He nodded and spoke his permission to a curly-haired man taking inventory by one of the tents.

  Timak ran to get the knife and took it to Sian. The girl accepted it without acknowledgement. Her steps were slow and awkward. Kordahla could only imagine the pain she was suffering. Erok trailed her to the wolf, his scowl warning them all to back off. Kordahla felt compelled to follow and place a steadying hand on him. Devastated and furious, there was no telling what he might try. He bristled under her touch but kept his attention on Sian.

  The girl pressed the wolf’s paw to her lips. Throwing her head to the setting moons, she trilled a sound that sent shivers down Kordahla’s spine. In the sky, Daesoa and Dindarin flared. A moonbeam dropped from each, alighting on the wolf. Kordahla made the sign of the Vae. A couple of soldiers rubbed their eyes. Then the illusion was gone, the moons no longer full. Using careful, reverent strokes, Sian cut the paw and extracted a bone. When she was done, she dropped the knife and turned to Erok. He dived for the knife, was up and around before the soldiers could react. Sian dropped to her knees and spoke to him. Her eyes were unfocussed, her hand extended to Daesoa. The soldiers advanced. Erok hesitated. Sian spoke again and he dropped the knife. Then she keeled over and fell into a deep sleep. Kordahla gasped in wonder as the moonbeams travelled over her face in a tender caress. Once more the moons flared, yellow and green, before the beams retracted into the sky.

  It was some moments before the camp stirred to the soldiers’ murmurings. Unable to do more, sensing how truly inadequate the gesture was in the face of what one little girl had suffered, Kordahla took the bone from Sian’s hand. Erok only watched with cautious eyes.

  “Please,” she said to the captain, “May we have some water to boil this?”

  “What is this? What is it we have just seen?” he asked.

  “We believe she is a soothsayer,” Kordahla said.

  The captain watched the girl, her face troubled even in repose. “You need to speak to the Shah, you say.” He picked up a lantern. Casting a look at his men, he gestured her to follow him into the privacy of a tent. Two untidy bedrolls reeked of stale sweat and sour liquor, and tilted saddlepacks spilled tangled clothes onto the canvas. The captain hung the lantern from a hook in the centre of the roof. His back to her, he adopted a soldier’s pose, head erect, feet apart, hands clasped behind his back. She heard him take a deep breath before he turned to face her.

  “You present me with something of a problem. I have duties to perform, yet now I must return to Kaijoor.”

  “What occurred here is clear. We broke no laws when we defended ourselves, and if your soldiers turn renegade, you deserve the discipline of your superiors.”

  “It is precisely those renegades my superiors have commissioned me to weed out.”

  “Then we have assisted you. We are headed to Kaijoor. You owe us an escort since it is your men we have to fear.”

  “That you chose not to arrive via the Mykter Pass is reason enough to hold you, even had your party not displayed intriguing talents.”

  “We came by the most direct route. As for the talents of the children, it is the wish of the Vae.”

  “Your appearance is as rough as any Tribesman, yet your words are cultured. Your bearing has the air of the nobility about it, though you are still shaken. The girl is a soothsayer, the boy talks to a genie and the hunter is here to protect and guide. Where in all this do you fit, mistress?”

  Kordahla straightened. There were two secrets she could trust him with. The one about her neck was her only bargaining tool. And so she revealed the other. “I am Princess Kordahla, daughter of Shah Wilshem of Terlaan. I am in Myklaan to seek an audience with Shah Ordosteen.”

  His jaw dropped, though to his credit he snapped it back straight away. The redness that burned his cheeks, though, he could not hide. No doubt the implication of her predicament, the embarrassment that might have resulted had events played differently were running through his mind. At last he said, “How is it a princess of Terlaan comes to be in Myklaan unannounced and without a royal escort?”

  She held his gaze. It was not a difficult conclusion, even for a soldier. She could see his mind working over the facts, could tell he reached understanding long before he spoke.

  “Can you offer proof of what you claim?” he asked at length.

  “To Shah Ordosteen, yes. But only to him.”

  “If what you say is true, your actions will drag us into war.”

  “It is not for you to decide. This matter is for the Shah, and for him alone.”

  He nodded once. “I will escort you to Kaijoor. What will happen to you when we get there is for others to decide. Get some rest. We leave in a few hours.”

  She turned as he stepped past her and pulled the flap of the tent aside. “I will not travel with those ogres you call soldiers.

  “They come with us only as far as Mykter Fort. They will travel under a separate guard to Kaijoor.” He stepped through, then turned again. “You are lucky we were riding to San Sidris for provisions, and that I chose to reconnoitre the area myself. There may well have been no one on the plain to hear your screams. Your corpse
may have been picked clean by buzzards long before your skeleton was found.”

  When the flapped closed, Kordahla collapsed onto the stained bedroll. Captain deq Lungo had not addressed her by title. Neither had he indicated he believed her. But she was going to Kaijoor under escort. For a little longer, she was out of Ahkdul’s grasp.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Tonight, gibbous Dindarin loomed large and low, casting a ghostly green glow over the wooded banks of the upper Crystalite River. Vinsant was having trouble sleeping, and it had nothing to do with the light from the moons, the Majoria’s soft snores or the roar of the squat waterfall. The image of Kordahla, knife to her face, haunted him to distraction. Levi, insisting on the no-speaking-unless-spoken-to rule, was his usual font of no wisdom. Vinsant had wondered if he piped up enough whether they would go further than retrace their steps, and travel all the way back past Tarana and into Myklaan. One look at Levi and he abandoned the thought. Amazing how it was possible to tell the man’s mood even beneath the engulfing hood and robe.

  Tossing and turning was no use. Vinsant got up from the hard ground he was gradually becoming accustomed to and padded to the river. If only he knew the magic word Levi had uttered to conjure the image of his sister. With it, he was sure he could duplicate the feat.

  Above him, the water churned over boulders, crashing down into the rock-strewn river, splashing up spray and barring the way to the boat. Without a still pool, there was no hope of steadying an image. Up on the fall, large rocks sequestered bodies of water that trickled over the edge when they filled to overflowing. Groping at shadowed knobs and crevices, Vinsant hauled himself up. Scraped knees and scratched arms added to the adventure. Calling yourself brave was not an option without them and, Vinsant had decided, if there was one quality a mahktashaan needed more than obedience it was bravery. When he next saw Kordahla, in Myklaan if the Vae possessed any mercy, he needed to sport a few scars to embellish his tale.

  At the top of the falls, he edged along the mossy boulders. The water sluiced between the largest of them, leaving a damp and slippery path. As luck would have it, the far side held the gentler current. Reaching the middle of the wide river entailed no more than getting his feet wet. From there a wide chasm between the rocks acted as a funnel for the water. Vinsant eyed the eddies that clouded the pool below. They might have been the safer option. He stepped away from the edge, testing the depth with his toe. From the look of the water, the most passable route lay further back. He leapt for a crag. His foot twisted as he landed. He slipped and went splashing into the water. The current pummelled him under and up and under, driving him towards the edge, toward the craggy, spine-breaking rocks at the bottom of the fall. Panic and instinct took control. He needed magic, but the only trick that came to mind was the force to drive the boat.

  “Impellimos,” he yelled above the din of the falls, picturing himself rather than the boat. “Impellimos,” he repeated, closing his eyes and remembering the glade. By the unbelievable grace of Mahktos, he held steady. He risked a quick glance to check his position, and almost lost his concentration. Suspended just at the drop, he had missed plummeting to his death by a mere second. Only Levi’s voice repeating his command thirty-nine times had saved him. He fought to keep the god-awe in him, to clear his mind, to straighten his limbs. “Impellimos,” he repeated and repeated and repeated, and concentrated, really concentrated, on beating the current. Forward and up he edged, straining to sustain movement. The effort to sling a hand over a rock was almost too much. He dragged himself up over the lichen covered surface, and turned onto his side to fill himself with air, too exhausted to do more than collapse. He rolled onto his back. His arm flailed. The movement carried him over the other side of the rock, and he fell through the air beside the falls.

  His leg smashed into a branch lying across a pit. The jarring impact halted his fall. Vinsant breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted a leg to step across, onto rock. His movement snapped the branch, and he toppled. He landed heavily on one leg, and cried out. Standing was agony, but he forced himself to clench his jaw and explore the pit. The sides of the boulders were worn smooth and devoid of grappling roots. Without a handhold, he was never going to get out by himself. Was Levi ever going to make him pay for this. There was nothing for it but to shout for the Majoria. Typical of his cursed luck, the sound was drowned by the roar of the falls.

  Five minutes later, his leg shooting pain up his spine and into his jaw – terrible, dreadful pain beyond what a brave mahktashaan should have to endure – Vinsant sat on the damp leaf litter, resigned to wait until his presence was missed. He brushed aside decaying clumps and, wouldn’t you know it, a murky puddle emerged. Since he was hardly able to land in deeper trouble, he concentrated on the memory of that ride in the boat, trying to hear the magic word he had missed in his concentration. Daesoa’s yellow beam stroked his face, prompting the Levi in his memory to whisper his spell. Impature. His agony and fatigue would have to wait until after he had exhausted the last vestige of concentration. Impature. The surface of the murky puddle rippled and stilled. Reflected in it was not his own freckled face, but Kordahla, a knife at her throat. He had to still the shakes. He had to push time forward, so he could discover what followed. He could concentrate, he knew he could. He was concentrating, but the image didn’t change. The water was supposed to show him what happened, not to sizzle and evaporate in a column of steam. He swept the debris aside. Nothing but mud lay beneath it. He slumped against a rock. He was too tired to try again right now.

  When he woke, dawn was nowhere in sight, his throbbing leg had swollen to twice its normal size, and his throat was parched into soreness. Adventure time was long over. He yelled for the Majoria. No surprise his only answer was an echo. Squeezing his eyes shut, he beseeched Mahktos, felt a shift in his mind and sensed the presence of his strict mentor nudge through his thoughts.

  Ten minutes later Levi’s silhouette appeared at the pit. Vinsant scrambled up, careful to keep his weight off his bad leg.

  “All honour to you, Majoria,” he greeted in the meekest voice he had ever used. He waited for the tirade.

  “Levitos,” the Majoria said, the rasp of his breath all that betrayed his ire.

  The cool command levitated Vinsant right off the floor. “Thank–” he started. Scum of a hopper, the evil son of two malicious djinn dropped him back in the hole. He landed on his bad leg, and cried out.

  “Get up and concentrate,” Levi said, his voice dripping with spite.

  Long after his callous master should have summoned him lunch, Vinsant floated himself out of the hole. Remaining just off the ground to ease the throb in his leg, he bowed his head. At a gesture from Levi, he fell, collapsing under the agony of his own weight.

  “Bring the boat and come,” Levi commanded. The Majoria levitated to the top of the falls. Vinsant struggled up, levitated himself, and then reached for the boat. He felt it wobble into the air, smiled, then crashed onto the rocks, the double task beyond his skill.

  “You will walk,” Levi hissed from the top of the boulders.

  No doubt a day of physical torture was his penance. Vinsant hobbled up the cliff, taking as much of his weight as he could on his arms. He waited until his agonising leg was on dry, firm, root-bound land before he tried to bring up the boat. It was just as well Levi added his guidance. In his exhausted state Vinsant would have dropped the boat right into the splintering fall.

  “Draw your sword,” Levi said, when the boat was moored.

  Stifling an inward groan, Vinsant adopted a defensive stance. He knew very well how to do that one-legged, but in his opinion he deserved a medal for suffering a multitude of bruises without a single complaint as Levi knocked him down again and again.

  After magic practice, they ate a portion of the dried meat ration they carried. Vinsant fell asleep before he had taken the last bite.

  “You may choose one act of magic to learn,” Levi said when he woke.

  The offer was so un
like the Majoria, Vinsant stared into the black hood, stunned. In his muddled sleepiness, he nearly blurted his desire to scry. He caught himself just in time. This generosity could be a trap. He needed a different way to help Kordahla.

  “Thoughtspeak,” he said.

  “Why do you wish to learn thoughtspeak?”

  “In case I need to call you when you can’t hear me.”

  “You presume too far, apprentice.”

  An invisible kick in the back pushed Vinsant onto his hands and knees. He hadn’t meant he intended to be reckless.

  Levi stood. “And you have pledged not to lie.”

  Vinsant knelt and wiped the gravel embedded in his palms. “I want to talk to the Minoria,” he said.

  “Why?” Levi demanded.

  “So that I can find out what happens to Kordahla.” And because I’m sick of having nobody to talk to, he added silently.

  To his surprise, the Majoria acquiesced, forcing him to practice the technique over and over until he had perfected it, of course.

  “You are not to use thoughtspeak without permission,” Levi said, calling a rest.

  “May I contact Arun?” Vinsant asked.

  For three breaths the Majoria considered, then gave a slow nod. “This once.”

  Yippee! He hadn’t been so happy in days! Vinsant reached for the Minoria. A remote connection when the other person remained ignorant of the attempt proved a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. Under considerable guidance from Levi he felt the familiar calmness of the Minoria.

  Vinsant, a pleasantly surprised Arun greeted him, followed a moment later by All honour to you, Majoria.

  Vinsant’s spirits sank. This was to be no private conversation. Have you found Kordahla? he asked, opting to be direct because he was not sure how long he could sustain the link.

  Our journey has been plagued by unexpected interruptions. We’ve had to take the indirect route because of unseasonable flooding. We are not yet at the Termyk pass.