Jinn Nation

by Caroline Barnard-Smith

  "I need you to lie down in the circle," he said. He picked up a large, embroidered cushion lying on the floor beside the cave mouth, and offered it to Christa. "To make you more comfortable."

  Christa took the cushion and stepped into the circle, her heart beginning to race and her stomach turning. With a rush of surprise, she realised there was another sensation emanating from her stomach. Her baby was moving and stretching, making its presence felt for the first time. Christa rubbed her belly in large, slow circles, willing him to be still as she lowered herself to the cold ground and pulled the cushion behind her head.

  "Will she be alright?" Darrell asked Makaio. "You won't hurt her?"

  "I won't hurt her intentionally," Makaio said.

  Christa shivered as the holy man knelt before her, his face uncharacteristically serious.

  "I need a small sample of your blood," he said, pointing at her hand.

  She held her arm out and looked away, grimacing when the bite of a sharp blade drew across her palm. She looked back to see Makaio rubbing her sticky blood between his hands and daubing it onto his forehead and chin, finally smearing the remnants into the sandy stone before him, creating a gritty scarlet paste.

  “This grounds you,” he explained. “It retains a connection between you and the solid earth.” He closed his eyes as he began to hum and moan, rocking on his knees with his arms lifted over his head. The lights in the cave flickered and flared, concentrating on the chalk circle like a harsh spotlight.

  “What’s happening?” Darrell said. He was hovering outside the circle, his arms wrapped around himself, unable to stand still.

  “I am drawing power into myself,” Makaio said. “I draw from the moon, from the stars and the mighty sea. Now, be quiet. I need to concentrate.”

  A shifting, shadowy cloud seemed to settle over the holy man as he continued to rock and moan, infusing the flood of light emanating from the cave with tendrils of dark smoke. Makaio suddenly screamed, his mouth directed at the sky and his back arched, making Darrell jump backwards in fear. When the holy man finally opened his eyes and gazed down at Christa, they were hard and glazed, outlined with a bloody red that caught the light, giving him an unblinking, hellish stare. Christa gasped before him, horrified by the demonic change in his countenance. She briefly imagined escaping the circle and running for her life along the length of the beach, but it was too late; Makaio had already laid his large hands on her body, above her heavy stomach and below her breastbone, pushing her back onto the stone with the primal force of a snarling tiger. Christa felt something beneath his fingers twist and pull, something integral and deeply buried. The thing shook within her and the space around it began to burn with pain, lacing her rib cage with a racing flame that made her cry out and attempt to rise from the ground.

  “Stop it,” Darrell shouted, “what the hell are you doing?” He tried to step into the circle, hands raised, ready to fight Makaio for Christa’s release, but he was halted by an invisible barrier. It sprung up around the perimeter of the circle, cold and impenetrable no matter how hard he pounded upon it with his fists.

  Christa barely noticed Darrell, yelling and slamming himself against some unknown force far away in the dark. All she was aware of was the circle, the raging pain and the red-rimmed eyes of Makaio hanging over her like two bleeding lanterns.

  The holy man began to mutter low, harsh words beneath his breath, the language thick and unknown. With a thin shriek, he applied more pressure to the hands on Christa’s chest, pushing until it seemed his fingers were inside of her, traversing skin and muscle to wrap around the wriggling, pulsing thing screaming at her core. Christa shuddered and bucked, riding the wave of agony cresting within her. As Makaio’s fingers tugged at and manipulated the force inside her, Christa could feel a loosening of something, a rending that made her eyes stream with tears. Finally, Makaio ripped his hands free from her body with a cry of triumph drowned out by Christa’s guttural scream. She felt as though she had been blasted with a gun and now her delicate inner workings were laid bare to the elements, her body shredded and bloody. She clawed at the ground beside her as the pain passed, drawing in deep, quaking breaths. When she was able to look down and assess her injuries, she was surprised to find there wasn’t a wound to be seen. Even her T-shirt was unmarred. Makaio swayed above her, his face glistening, stretched wide with his usual grin. He was cradling something in his hands, something that hissed and bristled, pulsing with its own violet light.

  “What is that?” Christa whispered, her voice broken and strained.

  “This is the essence of the Deiwo,” Makaio said. “Your power, manifested. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Christa was unable to muster a reply. She simply stared at the ethereal, purple-hued thing shining in Makaio’s hands, finding it hard to imagine that such a delicate, other-worldly object had ever lived inside her.

  Makaio stood slowly, his eyes fixed on the violet orb, and extended his arms towards the sea, uttering another indecipherable incantation. The object stirred and shivered, lifting from his hands, borne up by an invisible force. It floated out across the beach and over the sea, finally lowering itself into the gentle waves. Beneath the moonlight, the patch of water where the orb had disappeared shone like polished amethyst.

  “We took the ship from the sea,” Makaio said, “but we return something of even greater value to the water.”

  As the holy man turned back to face Christa, the air around him dropped and sighed. The intense light blazing from the cave dissipated and Darrell fell forward onto his hands and knees as the invisible barrier encompassing the chalk circle disappeared. He crawled towards Christa.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” she said. “I’m really tired.”

  “Let’s get you home.”

  Darrell grimaced as he pulled Christa to her feet. She was as limp and useless as a rag doll. With a great effort he managed to set her upright, wrapping her arm around his shoulders for support. He started to move away, but Christa made him pause.

  “Why didn’t you keep my powers?” she said, twisting to face Makaio.

  “If only I could,” he said, his expression wistful. “With powers such as yours, I would be a mighty force indeed.” He chuckled. “But alas, they would be useless bestowed on me. They were a gift unique to you, Christa. In the hands of anyone else, they would simply wink out like a spent candle. It was better to return them to the earth.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” Christa said.

  Makaio simply nodded as they turned to leave, watching Darrell help Christa down from the cave ledge to begin the slow trek up the beach towards the cliff path.

  When they reached the far end of the settlement they found a mule waiting for them, forlorn and lonely against the cliff. Christa was unable to mount the animal alone, only managing to slide onto its back when Darrell hoisted her from the saddle, using his entire strength and breaking out into a feverous sweat.

  “I’m glad you’re not a big-boned woman,” he said once she had settled herself in front of him. “I think you’d have been walking.”

  Christa couldn’t even muster the strength to laugh. Darrell pulled her to him and gripped her tightly as the mule began the long, curving trek up the cliff side, his face buried in her hair. They reached the summit without incident, but once Darrell had helped Christa slip from the animal, hauling her upright when she stumbled, a great blaze of orange light flared before them, momentarily blinding them.

  “What now?” Darrell said, one hand raised over his eyes. Christa held his arm tightly, her heart swelling with fear.

  A deep voice boomed from the centre of the light, echoing and all-encompassing: “You have disobeyed me, Christa. Now the fate of Earth is sealed, all because you’re an ignorant, selfish brat.”

  The blaze contracted and slimmed, forming the shape of a tall, long-limbed man. He was bare-chested and glowering, his entire being radiating with a light that rippled through him and into the ver
y tips of his hair, making it move and flicker like long tongues of flame. Christa and Darrell shrunk against the side of the mule when the man advanced towards them, burning a swathe through the stubby cliff top grass as his feet touched the earth.

  “I would have stopped you,” the man boomed as he walked, “but that insufferable holy man has set up wards around the beach to keep my kind at bay.”

  He stopped before them, his face illuminated with a light so intense, it was impossible to make out any distinguishing features. Only his eyes were clearly visible, twin cat’s eyes hewn from brilliant tangerine that bored into Christa with a heat like the sun.

  “What do you want?” she managed.

  “You know what I wanted,” he said, his breath hot on her face. “But all I got for my trouble was a tumble from your balcony.”

  “What does he mean, Christa?” Darrell whispered beside her.

  “I think he means he’s Ramon,” Christa said, speaking slowly and carefully as she grappled to understand the jinn’s awesome appearance. “But you don’t look like Ramon,” she said to the fierce creature before them, his obscured countenance crackling with rage. “You look fae.”

  “That’s because I am fae,” Ramon said, “which is yet another thing I probably should have told you from the beginning.”

  Before Christa had time to react, Ramon gripped her shoulders, pushing Darrell away as easily as swatting an annoying insect.

  “You must see what you have done,” he hissed, his face so close to hers, Christa had to close her eyes against the piercing light. “You must understand.”

  With a great rush of wind that beat so hard against her ears she was deafened, Christa suddenly found herself in the centre of a blank vortex that spun and buzzed around her. The cliff and the stretching sea beyond blinked out of existence as both Christa and Ramon disappeared into the velvet night, leaving a silent calm in their wake.

  Twenty Three

  Christa blinked against the bright light of a strong, blue-sky noon. Her strength was restored and she was able to support herself. Turning slowly as she tried to take in her surroundings, she realised with a jolt that she was high above the angular landscape of a city, in the centre of a large, flat roof. Ramon stood behind her, still infused with golden light, his hair a wild, glowing mane that rippled and curled about his shoulders.

  "Where have you taken me?" she said. She turned again, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the unmistakable curving glass of London's Gherkin building. "We're in London? That's on the other side of the world."

  "So it is." Ramon had lost none of his steely bitterness. "This is where Bredia will make her first strike, where you were supposed to realise your full potential."

  "I don't understand any of this," Christa cried, struggling to hold back her tears. She felt isolated and confused, but also truly terrified for the first time in years. The space in the deepest part of herself where her power had once nestled gaped like an open wound. It was a constant, icy reminder of what had been torn from her at her request.

  "I will endeavour to explain everything," Ramon said, "for what little good it will do us now. But I believe I owe you some answers, at least." He held out his hand, closing his eyes as he attempted to soften his expression. "Come with me," he said. "I will show you the truth of all things."

  Tentatively, Christa placed her hand in his, gasping as the world began to whirr and buzz once more. When they finally settled, the air around them sighing, they were in a dank, echoing tunnel. Christa blinked again, trying to adjust her eyes to the low light.

  "Bredia has set her people up all over this city," Ramon said. "But as the jinn swell in number, adequate housing becomes harder to acquire. Hence, she has taken to sending her followers to live in disused hotels and cinemas and even here, in some of London's abandoned subway tunnels."

  Christa followed the sound of sudden, peeling laughter to see a large group of jinn clustered on a platform beside them. They were batting a tall, wilting object between them, wrapped in a bed sheet and wound tightly with rope. As she continued to watch, Christa realised the object was a person, crudely mummified and shaking violently while the jinn shoved them to and fro, each cheering when they caught the wretched individual.

  "Can't you stop this?" Christa whispered.

  "You could have," Ramon whispered back. "That was the reason for your being, to prevent gruesome scenes such as this. But you decided you didn't care about humanity. You just wanted to be left alone, remember?"

  Before Christa could respond, Ramon gripped her arm and they were off again, swirling through a void like ethereal, curling smoke. They materialised outside a cafe on a busy street and Christa stumbled, her head swimming.

  "Travelling this way wouldn't have affected you so violently before you ejected your gifts," Ramon said, watching her as she straightened to draw in ragged breaths. He had reverted to his human form but he was still imposing, his pale skin and long, black hair glinting in the sunlight.

  "Will this hurt my baby?" she asked.

  "I doubt it." Then, relenting with a sigh, "Take a seat."

  Christa lowered herself into one of the cafe's chairs, clustered around plastic tables on the pavement. The pedestrians weaving their way along the street before them seemed oblivious to their sudden entrance.

  "I have to take some of the blame for this," Ramon said, taking a seat beside Christa. He leant forward, long fingers clasped in his lap. "My approach was ineffective. I suppose I wanted to save you from the entire truth for as long as possible, to feed you information a little at a time without overwhelming you. We were placing a lot of terrible responsibility on your shoulders alone."

  "You mean the fae?"

  "Yes. All of this was our doing. The power you carried was ours, Christa. The culmination of a thousand faes' magicks, distilled and injected into a human child while she was still in her mother's womb. We chose you for your intelligence and resilience. You seemed a perfect candidate, at the time."

  "But not now?" Christa turned away from Ramon, gazing blankly at the people passing before their table. The knowledge that she had harboured the magicks of a thousand mythical beings seemed too large to digest.

  "We were short sighted. We certainly did not foresee the hardships life would throw at you. Your imprisonment at the Institute was a frightful surprise to us all. But you were only a child. How would we have explained ourselves if we'd swept in and spirited you away? We would have had to tell you everything, it would have been too much for one so young."

  Christa turned back to look at him, her lips pressed tightly together. She willed herself not to cry, to reign her sudden and intense anger back inside herself. "You could have lied," she said, her voice low and hard. "You could have taken me away and told me anything, I would have believed you. Do you know about the things they did to me in there? Sometimes I wished I was dead, just so the tests would stop." She lifted a shaking hand to her face and wiped her eyes.

  "We didn't know the full extent of the human scientists' endeavours," Ramon admitted, lowering his head. "We simply thought that you were safe there, protected by walls and guards. We decided it was as good a place as any in which to reach adulthood."

  "You didn't send me there, then?" Christa said, her tears drying as anger finally overtook her. "You didn't take me away from my parents?"

  "No, of course not." Ramon seemed aghast at the idea. "You were chosen to be the Deiwo as much for your potential upbringing and surroundings as for any aptitude you promised. We believed your parents were morally strong as well as open-minded. We knew you would display certain abnormalities as an untrained infant, but we hoped your parents would accept you and nurture you all the same. Unfortunately, we were mistaken."

  "So they really did send me to the Institute?" Christa said, her anger draining away. She felt exhausted, spent like an empty plastic lighter, all the gas inside released into the atmosphere. "I used to make up stories about them." She attempted to smile but the muscles
in her face refused to comply. "I used to pretend I'd been stolen by the scientists and that my parents were looking for me. I'd imagine them hanging up posters and talking to the police." She shook her head. "But they never looked for me, did they? They knew where I was all the time because they put me there."

  "I'm sure your parents didn't realise what tortures the Institute had planned for you," Ramon said, his eyes wide, full of sympathy. "They thought it was all for the best. They didn't know what else to do when their baby began levitating from her crib and opening all the windows in the house just by looking at them. When envoys from the Institute appeared on their doorstep, it must have seemed that fate was telling them to part with you."

  "They were idiots," Christa said. She sank lower in her seat, one hand resting on her tightly rounded stomach. "I would never give my baby away."

  "Even if you thought it was in their best interest? That you couldn't possibly provide the special support they needed?"

  Christa stared down at the plastic table, ingrained with the grime and grease of half a dozen British summers, unwilling to answer. "Why didn't you tell me who you really were in New York?" she said instead.

  Ramon ran his hands through his long hair, pulling it back from his face. "I was still attempting to feed you information from the background," he said, "in a misguided effort to prevent alarming you. I should have told you everything in that coffee shop, of course. Maybe then you wouldn't have stormed out." He smiled and laughed, but there was no joy in it. "I was a fool."

  "You didn't feed me information from the background," Christa said, puzzled by his strange choice of words. "You spoke to me directly, you just didn't tell me the whole truth."

  "Ah," Ramon said somewhat sheepishly, "I'm afraid I was in the background, albeit heavily disguised. Do you remember Thad Gorski?"

  "How could I forget him?" Christa said. Then, after a pause, "You're not Thad, are you?"