The Blind Wish

by Amber Lough

  The wish pulled the men out of our way and across the battered fields. I watched, openmouthed, until they were nothing more than a dot in the distance, and although these men had meant to kill me, I cringed at the thought of what might happen when the wish dissolved. They would have far to fall.

  Atish nudged me in the shoulder. “And you said you weren’t sure you were a magus.”

  The soldiers who had not been within reach of my wish scattered away from us, making a wide berth on their way to the fight along the river’s bluff. Atish and I ran to the three jinn.

  The jinni commander lay slumped over Taja, and we pulled him off. Blood had pooled between them, making him slippery, and soon we were wet with it. Taja lay on her side atop broken stalks of barley. The leaves must have been green before they were drenched in brilliant red. The jinni had ripped Taja’s chest in two, and the cut ran from her mark, over her left breast, and down to her waist. She was gone, but her eyes were still open.

  She was looking at Saam, whose glazed eyes reflected back at her. He had fallen beside her, and there they lay, hand in hand. Saam had taken half a dozen arrows in the back before he fell. Atish gingerly pulled the arrows out and laid them on the ground between the Dyad.

  I curled over Taja and sobbed, but my cries were dry and hollow. “Atish,” I croaked, not looking up from Taja. I wiped at her hairline, brushing away the stray locks that had fallen over her eyes. I did not want her to not be able to see Saam.

  Atish picked up the handful of arrows and broke them over his knees. He tossed them onto the foreign jinni’s body. Then he knelt beside me and held my hand. “When we were running, Saam told me he wouldn’t let her go alone. I didn’t know what he meant then, but now I know. He didn’t want to be left behind like Rashid.” He rubbed his thumb at the thin white scar on my wrists left behind at the Bonding. “Rashid told us it feels like you’re living behind a veil, unable to see the colors as they are. Everything is muted, half as bright. I don’t think Taja and Saam ever wanted that. They wanted this.”

  “They didn’t want this!” I yelled back. “They didn’t want to die.”

  “No, but they wanted to make that last step as one.” His voice got quieter. “And, Zayele, so do I. When our time comes.”

  The tears finally came. I wept, not caring that I was smearing the blood of my friend across my brow. Not caring that we were sitting in the middle of the fallen jinn and trampled grain.

  Tears trickled down Atish’s cheeks too, but he did not wipe at them. He looked up and surveyed the battle behind us. Then he sighed in relief. “They’re retreating.”

  I swallowed the souring lump in my mouth and followed his gaze. It was true. They were leaving, some on horses but many by foot, limping or running or dragging one another. They skirted around us, as though we bore a plague. Or perhaps the anger and blood, so plainly exposed on our faces, frightened them.

  In the distance, I saw Yashar standing tall beside Melchior, pointing at the front line. Melchior was turning the air into a series of ghostly shapes and monsters, and the Mongol soldiers were fleeing, eyes wide with terror.

  Yashar was safe. After all he had seen and not seen, after a morning full of blood, screams, and thunder, Yashar was alive. Then, as if he knew I was watching, the corners of his mouth lifted and he turned to face me. His lips formed my name, and it came to me over the cries of frightened men, the jubilation of the unified jinni and human army, in a whisper.

  “Zayele…Zayele…Zayele.”

  WHEN THE OTHER army started running away, Kamal turned his horse and came to my side. “Climb on,” he said before reaching down. “We have to go after them. We need to find out who they are, and why they attacked.”

  He pulled me up and I slipped in behind him on the saddle. All at once I was awash in the cinnamon smell of him, and I leaned in, not caring now if Ibrahim saw me so close to the vizier. I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on. He kicked the horse’s flanks, and we leaped forward, running over the fallen, over the balls of iron, and paused by Zayele and Atish.

  They were covered in blood, red and wet. “Are you hurt?” I asked, ready to climb down. Kamal held me on the horse.

  “We’re fine,” Atish said. He glanced at Kamal for a second. “Are you going after them?”

  “Yes,” Kamal said. “Do you know who they were? You came the closest to their general.”

  “I never saw their general,” Atish said. Then he stepped over a body and picked up the top half of an arrow and wiped it against his thigh. “This is not your design. It’s almost like Damascus steel, but it flares there.” He handed it to Kamal.

  “These were not made in the caliphate. I think they’re from Persia. Thank you. I’m sorry for your friends,” Kamal said.

  I took a closer look. It was Saam and Taja, hands locked together in death. That was why Zayele had not said a word. She stared at me, hollow-eyed.

  “She’s dead,” she said. “They’re both dead.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zayele.” I was unable to say any more. The battle was won, but too many lives had been taken. Greater than the feeling of relief were sadness and loss.

  “When you return, tell me who these attackers were,” Atish said. “And I will avenge them.”

  “You will not do it alone,” Kamal said. “I believe my brother has a new enemy. And this time, his enemy means him real harm.”

  We said our farewells and urged the horse on again. The horse picked up speed, nearly flying over the landscape, passing stragglers and the mortally wounded. Kamal turned in his saddle to speak to me. His brows were level and serious, his cheeks streaked with dirt, but his eyes were the same as always, and my breath caught in my throat.

  “When we’re close enough, I need you to make us invisible.”

  I pulled back. “I’m not sure I can. I mean, even when I’m not tired, it’s difficult to take others with me in the wish.”

  “You were able to transport me to the Cavern once, and this was after you used up nearly all your energy saving your sister’s life. You can do this, because it needs to be done.”

  “The horse too?”

  He grinned. “If you can. I’m sure Jasmine wants to be included.”

  “Your horse’s name is Jasmine? After the flower?”

  “Yes. If only she smelled as nice. Now, do you think you can do it?”

  Was I strong enough? I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to feel for the source of power. It was in the center of my abdomen, deep within, and it pulsed. Yes. I was not empty.

  “I can only make us invisible for a short time.”

  “How long?”

  “A few minutes. Enough for us to ride in, gather the information we need, and ride back out.”

  “If they see us, they’ll surround us.”

  “I know.”

  We rode another few minutes before we saw the tail end of the army. These weren’t stragglers. They were on horseback, and they carried the black and gold banners before them, as if they had won the battle and weren’t in retreat.

  “Now,” Kamal said.

  I stilled my mind. “Shahtabi.”

  The wish rippled outward and swallowed us whole, including Jasmine. I could do nothing about the sounds we made, or the hoofprints in the dirt, but Kamal took one hand off the reins and squeezed my hand.

  We slowed to match the army’s pace and found our way between the ranks to the thicket of banners and burly, helmeted captains. I pinched my mark, recording image after image, and whispered, “We need to get closer.”

  He brought Jasmine up ahead of the officers, and I turned around on the saddle. The general was the man I’d seen in the tent, speaking with Toqto’a before the attack. He growled something at one of the officers, and the man replied, “Yes, Khan.”

  Khan. I had heard the name before, but I did not recognize it. Kamal, however, froze in the saddle before yanking the reins and urging Jasmine out of the ranks. When we were clear of the army, we galloped until the wish disso
lved.

  “Who is Khan?” I asked.

  “He’s the leader of the Mongols. I’ve only heard one reference to him before. We need to get back and let everyone know.”

  “With a caliphate as large as this, there are bound to be enemies on all sides,” I said.

  Kamal smiled. “That is why we need a friendship with the jinn. It’s why we need you.” Then he lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. “When we return to Baghdad, I’m going to have my father release the news about Hashim. Everyone deserves to know the truth, especially when word reaches them about how we fought with the jinn today.”

  I leaned forward and kissed the thin strip of skin between his jacket and his turban. He was warm, and tasted like all the spices in Baghdad.

  THERE WERE TOO many bodies stretched across the burial ground, lying stiff and wilted on their stone tables. Twenty-three jinn died that day, and all but one were Shaitan. A few had drowned in the river, and someone had had to collect the bodies strewn along the riverbank where they’d gotten stuck in the reeds and outcroppings. Then they had to be taken to the Cavern and carried down the narrow steps of the golden dome into the shallow crypt of basalt gravel and multicolored crystal obelisks.

  I had been the first to find Taja’s body, but I had known her for the shortest amount of time. Since I had no claim to her, I stood behind the other magi when they laid her on the table. An older woman, possibly her mother, stood on the other side, eyes flicking between Taja and Melchior, widening in sadness and narrowing in hate. She was fortunate to have any feelings at all. The battle and all the death had left me singed. I was unable to feel anything but lost.

  “Lost” wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hatred, or sadness, or relief. Everything around me had gone too far too quickly. I was a girl; I was a bride; I was a jinni; I was a magus. But what did any of these things mean? Who was I to take these names and stitch them into my skin?

  I had these thoughts while they pulled Taja’s memories into a pomegranate-colored crystal. Were we truly nothing more than a series of moments strung together and frozen in stone? Or were we the names we were given?

  I left after they were finished with Taja, but I was not finished with her. I carried her with me up the stairs and into the wishlight. I let the impression of her thread itself into my mind, latching onto memories I would never forget. I had not wanted to give them up to the crystal. I would not share.

  Atish found me later, sitting beside the very fountain I’d sat at when I first arrived in the Cavern. He was muted, like a lantern with dirty glass. He slumped onto the stone bench and rested his elbows on his knees. He rested his face in his hands, and shook his head. “The men and women I trained with. They’re gone.”

  My body moved on its own, leaning into him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. I could not imagine if I’d lost thirty Tajas. No. There could only ever be one.

  “Zayele,” someone said. The voice came from the other side of the fountain, and I turned to see Yashar. He stood alone, in the absence of Melchior’s shadow.

  I got up, leaving Atish to his grief, and went to retrieve Yashar. With each step I took, he seemed to age a year. He was no longer a child. He was a young man deposited in the scarred, thin frame of a boy. I picked up his hands in mine and brought them to my face.

  He pulled them away. “I don’t need to feel you to see you anymore. I know you by the fears you carry with you.”

  It was that sentence that crushed everything I had left. “Yashar,” I croaked. “I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m afraid to try fixing you again.”

  “I do not need fixing, cousin.”

  Suddenly, I realized he was right. I had never fully looked at him. All I’d ever seen were his scars, his damages. I had not seen his determination and strength. I’d thought his poetic self had been crushed by blindness, but that wasn’t something that could be taken from a person. Blindness took away a person’s eyes, but it didn’t take away what they were.

  “I think I’m just now seeing you,” I said. Tears welled in my eyes, and I let them fall. “You’ve done so much, Yashar. You’re almost a man now, and you’ve found your place.”

  “I’m not almost a man,” he said, and gave me a ghost of a smile. “I’m eleven and I’ve fought in a battle.”

  “Are you going to stay with the Shaitan now?” I asked.

  “I will stay with them for now, as long as they need me,” he said bravely. “And maybe, someday, I can turn the fears I see into words, and write them down.”

  “You could study at the House of Wisdom.” I was so relieved, I nearly clapped. “Would they let him leave the Cavern?” I asked Atish.

  “He doesn’t have to ask permission,” Atish said. “And I think he has a cousin who might be able to arrange something for him in Baghdad.”

  “I’m going to take care of myself, Zayele. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

  “No, I don’t.” I grinned at him and then pulled him into a hug. He resisted for a second before giving me a pat on the back.

  The more I considered the idea that I had been blind to what Yashar really needed, the more the scars flaked off me, and I started to feel. I was angry Taja had been killed. I was furious with Ibrahim, and Melchior, and whoever it was that had started that storm. I was sad beyond anything I’d felt before. But there was a crack in all these feelings, splintered by the lightness of hope. Yashar had saved himself. He could have a home amongst those who did not care what sort of sight he had.

  “Do you want to stay here?” I asked Yashar. “With jinn?”

  “One of your fears—it’s fading away,” Yashar said absent-mindedly. “I don’t mind staying, but maybe I can spend some of my time in the House of Wisdom, learning from the men there. Learning peace.”

  I wept. All of my worry concerning him had been swirling around me, and he must have known I’d feared for him. Or thought I feared him and this new sight. Crying, I held him tighter against my chest.

  “Yashar, let me take you there. You don’t have to see Melchior anymore. You don’t have to be with jinn anymore.”

  “I don’t mind the jinn. Everyone is afraid of exactly the same things, so I don’t see much of a difference between us.”

  Atish stood then and joined us. “This boy is a poet. We might need him to show us the truth.”

  —

  Atish and I took Yashar between us, swirling in flame and smoke, right into the House of Wisdom. A scholar had been placing books on a shelf and he dropped them on his feet when we arrived. But he did not mind.

  They took Yashar into their special tribe of scholars and scribes, artisans and scientists. We did not tell the humans of Yashar’s sight, knowing that it would only cause more grief and trouble.

  The House of Wisdom gave him a scribe, and every few days a scrap of paper would arrive through the Lamp. Each one contained a poem, a thought, or a tale. They were all connected, and the ending never came.

  —

  One night, Atish and I had been leaning over the bridge, talking about what we planned to do next, when we heard someone clearing her throat. We turned to find Najwa standing awkwardly in the middle of the bridge, with her hands clasped together.

  “I thought you might want to deliver this one yourself,” she said, and she pulled out a letter from her belt. “It’s for Melchior, from Yashar.”

  Her fingertips were cold when they brushed against mine during the handover. Something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  She gave a lopsided smile. “I came to deliver this, but I also came to go…to see…”

  Atish went to her and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s all fine, Najwa. You can see Faisal whenever you want. You’re not one of the Haunted. We won’t let you get that way.”

  She wept into his arms for a moment before pulling away. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Thank you.”

  Before she turned away, I took her into my arms too. “Visit often,” I whispered.

  THE BATTLE HAD
left so many dead, the funerals lasted for days, and it was hard to find a private time in which I could visit Faisal and my mother. At last, the burial ground was left only to those who didn’t want to leave, or talk, or be seen by the living, and I was able to make my way to Mariam’s and Faisal’s crystals. My feet crunched over the black stones, but I was careful to keep quiet. I didn’t want to disturb the more frequent mourners.

  When I was nearly to the yellow and green crystals, I saw a figure kneeling before Mariam’s. He was draped in a rough black shawl, but it did not hide his identity well. It was Melchior, and the fringe on the shawl danced by his elbows. His shoulders shook with sobs.

  I stopped short, unsure whether I should head back upstairs or wait until he was done. If he was revisiting a memory, he could be there for a while. But he was crying, and no one cried when their minds weren’t in their own bodies.

  As silently as I could manage, I tiptoed until I was directly behind him. He was facing away from me, with his hands pressed onto the ground before Mariam’s crystal.

  “They are all I have left of you,” he said. He curled his hands around the gravel, picking up handfuls and squeezing them through his fingers. “I was able to ignore them at first, but I see too much of myself in one and too much of you in the other to deny them. If you could see them now, you would be proud.”

  Melchior leaned back on his heels, dried his eyes with the shawl, and stood up. When he turned around, I was still deciding whether I should run or stay, and I knew I had a look of panic on my face. He too looked alarmed.

  “Najwa?” I nodded. He had looked to my Eyes of Iblis Corps mark to see which twin I was. “I had not expected to see you.” He drew up to his full height, and all the years of disdain for the weak fingered out across his face like the roots of a weed.

  “I came to visit Faisal and Mariam before I return to Baghdad. I didn’t expect to see you either.”