by J F Mehentee
8
By the time they reached Baka’s west-facing ramparts, the sun had begun to set behind the high magus’s encampment. It shone behind the five golems and cast long grey shadows across the sand.
For the past six hours, the djinn had used magic to restore the city’s battlements. All five hundred of them now occupied over half of its buildings. To the east, out on the water, two triremes, their sails furled, lay anchored. Emad had overseen their construction. One of them was now home to the djinn’s children. Should guardsmen overrun the city, the ships were the djinn’s final means of escape.
Except for those on guard, most of the djinn had retired to their new homes. They occupied only the upper floors as a precaution ordered by Emad. Rope-and-plank walkways, strung between all the buildings, converged on the ziggurat, the djinn’s fallback. If guardsmen breached the battlements, the ziggurat was where they’d make their last stand before Emad gave the order to retreat to the ships.
Thanks to their magic, they’d achieved so much.
‘They won’t be easy to stop,’ Roshan said.
Navid frowned.
‘Who are you talking about?’
Roshan stared at the golems in their different stages of completion.
‘The golem inside Iram was a fraction of their size. If I hadn’t channelled more energy into Behrouz, it would have been unstoppable. Everyone is pleased with what they’ve achieved. I’m not sure they understand how dangerous those things are.’
Navid chewed his lower lip.
‘They’re just tired. Speaking of which, you look exhausted. You should get more rest.’
What she wanted to do was to fight. If she took off her bracelet and disconnected herself from the djinn, she’d wipe away those golems with a thought and then rescue Yesfir and the daevas. If it didn’t take all her energy just to stand upright and walk in a straight line, she would have.
‘You’re right,’ she said, hiding her frustration. ‘We should go back.’
Roshan turned to go. With her back to Navid, she glanced at her hands. The change had started around noontime and soon after he’d announced the king’s death. More orange strands of shimmering light appeared beneath her blue-grey skin around mid-afternoon. As they applied themselves to their tasks, she’d felt their work draw more of her energy.
Domain power will replenish the energy you pass on, leaving your aura filled with sabaoth energy, Manah had said. He’d also said it would leave her tired, but he’d never explained how it would change her.
They reached the stairs leading down to the city’s doors, their surfaces covered with thick sheets of copper. Wards pressed into the metal protected the doors from human magic and battering rams. A dozen djinn sat with their backs against the doors, shovels at their feet, waiting for darkness to descend so they could leave the city.
As Roshan and Navid made their way to their room overlooking the ziggurat and square, not everyone had disappeared into their appointed homes. A group worked outside a storeroom suspended above dozens of short pillars. While pairs of djinn conjured grain, others shovelled the cereal into portals, their destination windows directly above three chutes in the storeroom’s roof. They stopped work when they saw Roshan, and bowed.
The djinn returned to work, and the strands of orange that covered the back of Roshan’s hands whirled and brightened. She slid her hands into her tunic’s pockets to avoid anyone noticing.
Closer to the ziggurat, they stopped at one of the inactive wells. Three djinn had climbed down into it, using a ladder with a dozen rungs. She joined Navid, who peered over the well’s edge. All three shovelled sand into a portal, its glowing rim illuminating the bottom of the shallow well.
‘It looks like there’s a granite base,’ Navid said. He examined the well’s sides. ‘There’s nowhere for water to permeate.’
Roshan yawned.
Navid led her away by the elbow.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Solving the mystery of Baka’s wells will have to wait.’
Firestones, hung from under the rope walkways, began to glow the deeper they went into the city. The djinn sat on their roofs, huddled around activated firestones, and spoke in thin murmurs. The sound reminded Roshan of when she was a novice and shared a dormitory. Some novices would continue talking after firestones out, and Roshan would fall asleep to the sound. Her eyelids grew heavy at the memory.
‘Navid, Roshan.’
Roshan glanced up. Zana’s head gazed down at them.
‘We’re on our way home,’ Navid said. ‘Roshan’s tired.’
Roshan smiled at Navid calling the room home.
Above her, Zana’s expression hinted at disappointment and some annoyance.
Her guilt over what had happened to Yesfir jerked her back into wakefulness.
‘It’s all right,’ she said to both of them. ‘We can go up—just for a little while.’
She ignored Navid when he shook his head.
‘The door’s open,’ Zana said, and then disappeared.
The second floor of the terraced house was open-plan. Except for the hearth, scattered rugs covered the stone floor. Between the hearth and the bed pressed against the back wall sat a semicircle of divans. Windows in three of the walls let in natural light. Above them, firestones lined an alcove that circled the room and filled it with peach-coloured light.
Roshan’s chest ached. This was the home Behrouz wanted to share with Yesfir.
They found him and Zana on the roof. Behrouz sat on a cushion in front of a low table. A jug and some glasses sat on the tabletop.
He’s shrunk, Roshan thought.
Behrouz stood and gave them a sad smile. He waved them over.
‘Come, sit,’ he said. ‘I’ve just woven some pomegranate juice. It’s Yesfir’s favourite, but Zana can’t stand it. I’m still trying to perfect the sweetness.’
Roshan positioned her cushion so she could sit closer to Behrouz. She waited until he’d poured them a drink. Zana declined a refill. The juice was cool and sweet.
‘It’s good,’ Navid said. ‘I think the sweetness is just right.’
Behrouz’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Roshan saw how his right knee bounced beneath the table.
‘How are you?’ she said, then placed her hand on his.
He shrugged.
‘I can’t feel her with this.’ He tapped his bracelet. ‘But I know she’s in that encampment. She’s here, but outside the city.’
Roshan touched her bracelet. Sure enough, all she registered was Yesfir’s existence, nothing to suggest her physical or mental state.
‘She must be under a dome of protection,’ Navid said.
Behrouz nodded. His knee-bouncing increased.
‘Emad came to see me,’ Behrouz said. He stared at his glass. ‘He said that, for now, there’s nothing we can do for Yesfir. And then he told me what her father had said before he’d died. The king said Yesfir would sacrifice herself if it prevented others from being captured.’
Roshan felt sick. She squeezed Behrouz’s hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t hesitated—’
Behrouz shook his head.
‘Don’t be. I’ve spent the last seven years as a daeva while Yesfir remained a djinni. During that time, I never resented her for having the auric energy I lacked. I was strong enough to resist my urges. Otherwise, I could never have remained with her.’ He shook his head again. ‘But the seal is something else. I couldn’t resist the control it had over me. If you hadn’t have brought me back to Iram, the high magus would have two djinn to control. I have to bide my time, and you have to keep channelling your auric energy. For now, we have a city to defend.’
Roshan exchanged a glance with her brother. Behrouz believed what he’d said, but the truth of it ate away at him, leaving him anxious.
‘Mother must be so tired.’
Roshan hadn’t seen Zana skirt the table to sit beside her.
‘She must have raised so many portals
for so many soldiers to be here,’ he continued. His tears glimmered in the firestones’ light.
Roshan hugged him. She ignored how one of his quills snagged her tunic.
‘Isn’t there anything you can do to help her?’ Zana said. He began to cry.
She bit her cheek to stop her own tears.
‘The djinn need my help to prepare the city,’ she said. ‘But when the time is right, I will take off my bracelet and I will go into the encampment, and I will use all the magic I know to bring back Yesfir. I promise you, Zana. Until then, we mustn’t give up on her. We have to be patient and wait for the right moment.’
She hugged Zana. Like Behrouz, she’d spoken the truth. And like Behrouz, it didn’t calm her anxiousness.
9
Armaiti hovered above the rooftop of Behrouz’s home. Below, the djinni reached across and examined the blue-grey skin of Roshan’s hand and the whirling strands of orange light beneath. His concern for her was plain from his posture. He no longer slumped but sat up, his shoulders straight and his eyes focussed on Roshan.
Armaiti had taken a risk steering Roshan towards channelling her auric energy to the djinn and daevas. If Roshan became more sabaoth than human or djinni, it didn’t matter so long as she continued to channel her energy. The Unmade Creator’s lack of intervention, however, mattered. It mattered a lot, because fooling Roshan, transforming her aura, and doing it with impunity, suggested this was what the Unmade Creator wanted Armaiti to do. Had free will guided Armaiti’s actions, or had It predetermined her reaction to her punishment?
‘Does it hurt?’ Behrouz said, examining Roshan’s hand.
‘Apart from a little itching, not really,’ Roshan said. ‘The colour fades whenever groups of djinn change shifts and no one’s weaving magic. It also flared when the djinn congregated in the square earlier this afternoon.’ She gazed at Behrouz. ‘Even if it doesn’t fade, it’ll be worth it.’ Roshan’s head drooped forward. She shook her head. ‘According to the sabaoth, Manah, it’s the only way I can help the djinn without harming them.’
If she’d adopted a corporeal form, Armaiti’s delight would have sent shivers through her body.
‘Are you listening to this, Manah?’ she said, addressing a domain beyond her own. ‘The stupid girl thinks I’m you.’
If the Unmade Creator didn’t approve of what she was doing, Manah would appear within seconds. Then she’d have the proof she needed that what she was up to was wrong.
She waited and listened to Roshan describe her time in the basin with the sabaoth she took for Armaiti’s enemy. Disguised as Manah, Armaiti had spoken the truth about Domain power and avoiding thoughts that could be open to interpretation. However, she had failed to explain—omitted—that a mind unencumbered by a human or djinn brain required less time to master sabaoth magic. Her omission left Roshan overthinking things and doubting herself.
Time passed, and neither the Unmade Creator nor Manah intervened. Manah’s absence and Its continued punishment of Armaiti for saving the infant Roshan pointed at her being played. Everything she’d done and had gotten away with was part of Its complex, unknowable plan.
The realisation left Armaiti sorely tempted to stop interfering and leave Roshan, Sassan and everyone else to do whatever they pleased.
Then you’re spiting yourself. Roshan will continue to live a very long time, and you’ll remain stuck on this suffocating world until it’s dust.
Armaiti began to rise. She’d heard enough. The more Roshan channelled her energy, the weaker she’d become. When she was weak enough, Armaiti would strike. And then, not even the sabaoth energy couched within Roshan’s aura would save her. Drained of auric energy, Domain energy would overwhelm her djinn and human body as it tried to save her. Roshan would disappear in a puff of smoke, permanently.
10
Zana listened as Roshan described what made her skin change colour. Four days earlier, he’d asked Roshan for help with shape-shifting. He understood now why she’d told him to first talk to Mother and Father. Roshan couldn’t control the magic she wove.
With Father and Roshan unable to help Mother, he had to do something. If he stood any chance of rescuing Mother, he needed to shape-shift, and the only person he knew who could help him with that was Ramina.
Unsure if Father would allow such a thing, Zana decided it was best not to ask and just go.
He excused himself with a nod to Father. To avoid raising suspicion, he walked casually, as if he were only going downstairs to find something to eat.
Below, in the living area, he gazed at the semicircle of divans. What would it have been like, the three of them living here? Zana shook the thought away and padded down the stairs.
The light spilling out from the buildings he passed and from the firestones overhead, made the streets feel cheery, until Zana remembered the giant golems and the army encampment visible from the battlements. Behind him, a light shone from the second and third tiers of the ziggurat. According to Father, djinn were up there maintaining a protective portal over the city.
Halfway to the west-facing doors, he passed djinn standing over one well. Inside, a djinni hammered and then complained his magic-hardened pick hadn’t scratched the bottom. Farther on, and closer to the doors, a group of djinn recited incantations for creating bows and arrows.
By the time he reached them, the copper-lined doors were closed. What had he expected?
The east sea-facing wall and its smaller door weren’t so well guarded. The door led to the beach below and also provided access to the northernmost mountain’s slope. Zana plotted a route that avoided passing Father’s and Mother’s house. Satisfied he knew a way, Zana turned.
Father stood in front of him, his hands on his hips.
‘Out for a walk?’ he said.
Zana’s face reddened, and he pursed his lips. Father was kind-hearted, not stupid. He knew Zana was up to something, and deserved the truth.
‘I’m going to see Ramina, the leader of the Cross Scar pride. She’s offered to teach me how to shape-shift.’
Father’s raised eyebrow reminded Zana of Mother.
‘So, you thought the night before an empire attack was a good time to end up lost on a mountain?’
Impatience fuelled Father’s words. He had to be careful not to turn his impatience into anger.
‘Ramina said she’d teach me. If I can shape-shift, then I can enter the encampment during a battle.’ He described his plan to disguise himself as an empire soldier and search for Mother.
The creases between Father’s eyebrows softened, and his hands slid from his hips. He gestured to his right and at a line of stalls for housing pack animals.
Once inside a stall and out of earshot, Father said, ‘That’s’—he paused to search for a word—‘very brave of you, Zana. Even if you were able to shape-shift, I couldn’t just let you wander around the enemy’s encampment. I’m worried enough as it is about your mother. I don’t want to worry about you, too.’
Tears welled before Zana spoke.
‘I know about the ships Uncle Emad built. If the soldiers break into the city, we’re all going to sail away on them. Is that true?’
Father nodded.
‘Then what about Mother? If someone doesn’t rescue her, she’ll be the high magus’s slave. She’ll die a slave, Father. We have to do something.’
Father folded his arms.
‘And you don’t think I already know that?’ He raised his forearm and the bracelet he wore. ‘If I didn’t have to wear this to bring back Mother, if I could rescue her without the need for djinn magic, I’d go right now. But I’d be fooling myself if I believed I could do it on my own.’ He sighed. ‘It will take more than one of us.’
Zana felt his chest flutter.
‘If I can shape-shift, we can rescue her together. I’d wear your bracelet until you needed it.’
For several heartbeats, Father’s eyes brightened. Then he sighed again.
‘No,’ he said. ‘If anything happene
d to you, I’d never forgive myself.’
Zana wanted to collapse onto his haunches. He was getting nowhere.
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Zana said. ‘I have to rescue Mother.’
Zana bolted past Father, out of the stall, and raced into a dark alleyway.
He had one chance. Although they’d rebuilt the ramparts, he hoped that the djinn hadn’t yet cleared away the sand banked up against the north-facing wall. Zana had seen Nahrian use it that first afternoon he’d followed her.
Zana ignored Father’s calls and kept to the shadows. If Father saw him, he would cut him off using a portal or some other magic. He spotted the stairs up to the ramparts on his right. Darkness hid the first five steps. Zana waited at their foot and listened for Father’s calls. He’d climb once Father had his back to him. Otherwise, Father only had to look up and he’d be done for.
Even if he catches me, I’ll try again tomorrow, he promised himself.
Father’s voice echoed off walls, making it hard to fix his location. The desperation and regret Zana detected in his voice tore at him. Mother’s capture had crushed him. What would his disappearing into the mountains do to Father? Zana squeezed his eyes shut and listened. Father had passed him.
Zana pelted up the steps, taking them two at a time. Halfway up, his hind foot slipped. If it weren’t for his claws, he would have tumbled backwards. His heart pounded inside his head and sounded like it had doubled its rate after his slip. Zana breathed through his open mouth and bounded up and up.
He reached the walkway, half-expecting Father to be waiting for him. Zana found the ramparts ahead of him empty.
‘Hey, Zana! What are you doing up here? Didn’t you hear Behrouz calling you?’
Zana glanced over his shoulder. A djinni approached, a quiver hanging from his belt and a bow slung over one shoulder.
Zana didn’t answer. He raced forward. All he had was the two-day-old memory of his first encounter with Nahrian. If he was wrong about the location, or if the djinn had been thorough and had cleared away the sand on the other side of the wall, he’d either injure himself or plunge to his death.