Dark Djinn

by Tia Reed

  Levi needed no further instruction. He gestured to his man, who lowered his sword. The weeping meatball seller bowed his head to the ground, praising Vae’oeldin over and over. He rather had the wrong god, Kordahla thought. Vae’oeldin of the Sky, patron of soldiers and war, was prone to fits of rage. His triplet, Vae’oenka of the Earth, was the nurturing one.

  “Get up,” Mariano ordered. With anyone other than his siblings he was less than patient.

  The meatball seller scrambled to his feet, snivelling the praises of the god. One of the mahktashaan pushed the man to his rickety cart, where he dusted off a bowl with his elbow. Satisfied by its gleam, he piled his choicest patties inside while another man, his grown son if their narrow noses and close-set eyes were anything to judge by, whispered in his ear. The vendor gave a vigorous shake of his head, shrugged the lad’s hand off his shoulders, and turned. Bowl held out, he kept his head down as he shuffled toward her. The tall mahktashaan with the teal crystal blocked his way.

  “Let him approach,” Kordahla said. She would give this man back what dignity she could.

  “Surely you don’t intend to eat this slop?” Mariano asked.

  “You bet!” said Vinsant, bringing a smile to both their faces. At thirteen he was still small despite a voracious appetite, while she, eight years older, had begun to watch every bite she took lest her full curves balloon beyond shapely.

  Their hawk-eyed escort opened a narrow path to her. The man crept forward. His eyes darted over the mahktashaan as his trembling hand held out the bowl. She took a meatball. It was still warm, crusted golden with a tantalising, spiced aroma and the first bite melted in her mouth.

  Vinsant had one in each hand and was inhaling as if they were a trained chef’s masterpiece. “I’ll have any that are left. And can you bring sauce for these?” he said as the vendor backed away, bowing repeatedly over his bowl. The withered man wriggled outside the circle of mahktashaan before offering the soldier-magicians his fare. The restraint required to wait for the condiment was bound to prove too much for Vinsant. Temptation was written all over her brother’s face. She took another bite looking right at him, a tease to pay him back.

  The world spun beneath her, giddiness overcame her, and her mind went floating over the surging crowd. Its roar became a muted murmur, the heat of the day a chill caress over every pore in her skin. She slumped in the saddle. Felt Mariano catch her against his strong chest, and knock the meatball from her hand. Heard Mariano bark at Vinsant to drop his food. Saw the vendor and his son flee the souk, her veil fluttering in his hand. Saw from way up above several mahktashaan in hard pursuit, each with a coloured crystal around his neck.

  She flinched as Levi push his palm against her brow. His eerie words sparked his crystal, and its black light worked its way inside her, flowing through her body, imbuing her with strength.

  “I cannot undo the effects entirely.” Levi’s mouth was close to her ear, but his voice drifted from far away. She tried to sit up straight, but Mariano kept his protective arm around her.

  “Kordahla?” Vinsant squeaked.

  “Will she recover?” Mariano asked.

  “She will, my Prince. There will be no lasting damage with a dose this small.”

  Kordahla blinked. Forcing her way out of Mariano’s arms, she wobbled on her horse’s back. “I feel a little light-headed,” she said, and her words sounded slurred to her ears.

  “The meatballs contain porrin, Princess,” Levi said, his gravelly voice bombarding her from all directions.

  She giggled and wondered how the citizens would react if the Majoria’s version of a veil was removed. As she reached for his hood, his hand clamped on her wrist. “I will forgive this intrusion because you are drugged. But do not ever take liberties with me again, Princess.”

  “Enough, Levi. She is not herself,” Mariano said.

  Kordahla shook her head when Levi released her. A tiny rational corner of her mind told her the porrin was altering her mood, but she really didn’t care. She began to hum The Curse of the Djinn.

  “Minoria Arun will take three men and escort her back to the palace,” Levi said.

  “I want to greet the boat,” Kordahla said. Her face lengthened as she was struck by a thought. “Oh, Father.” She giggled. It was odd to think of the punishment she would face as funny.

  Mariano pursed his lips. “I think it better she remains with us. She is foolhardy enough when she is sober and in this state, she’ll be a handful for even the entire escort.”

  “As you wish, my Prince,” Levi said in a tone that made clear his disapproval.

  “Mariano?” Vinsant said, his voice small.

  “She’ll be all right, Vinsant. Come, ride close to her.”

  “You’re not going to tell Father, are you?” he whispered to Mariano.

  “No. But I rather think he’s going to find out anyway. Don’t you?”

  She really couldn’t help the giggles. “If we convince him to nibble a meatball, he may forget about the rest.”

  “Look after her,” Mariano said, moving towards the edge of the group so he could survey the dispersing crowd. Bareheaded women were hastily replacing their veils as they scurried after their nervous husbands.

  “What’s it like?” Vinsant asked her.

  “Hmm. Like the day isn’t a total disaster any more. Like I felt when we left the palace, only freer. Like I can fly. Did you have some?”

  “Uh uh,” he said with a wary look.

  “You should. Do you think I can do magic, like a Myklaani mage?”

  He shrugged. “You can try. How about turning Levi into a scumhopper?”

  She flicked her fingers toward the Majoria, willing him to change form. “It didn’t work,” she said, affecting a pout. They both laughed.

  Mariano looked up at the sound. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Minoria Arun, please.”

  Levi’s second in command walked his horse to her other side. His elegant, lean stature identified the cloaked mahktashaan as much as the cerulean-blue crystal that hung about his neck. “Do not encourage her, Prince Vinsant. She will regret this enough on the morrow as it is.”

  Her little brother became sombre again. “I was just wondering if she can perform magic under the influence of porrin. You know, the way the Myklaani mages do.”

  The mahktashaan gave a slow nod. “It is a fair question for one of your age and so I will provide a considered answer. Porrin provides a conduit to the magical realm, but it takes talent and training both to perform the art under its spell. Many waste away, or even die, before they attain the skills. But this you already know.”

  “I know.”

  “And you will not be tempted to sample the poison?”

  “No, Minoria.”

  Kordahla leaned inappropriately close to Arun. Her current state excused her. Vae’oenka, was his cedar scent nice. “Teach me. I’ve already tasted it.”

  Arun bowed his head in acquiescence. “If you still wish it on the morrow, Princess.”

  Vinsant looked aghast.

  “As I have said, young Prince, the sane later regret porrin’s bliss. Stay close now, for I do not think the Princess will bear well what is to come.”

  Arun backed up his horse, allowing Kordahla and Vinsant a view of the closest houses. Four mahktashaan were trotting their way, the meatball seller and his son lassoed between them. The prisoners’ legs ran wild in a desperate attempt to keep pace with the horses. The father stumbled and, unable to regain his footing, he sprawled into the dirt, his body dragging, twisting, scraping until the mahktashaan halted their midnight horses before Mariano. From their exalted position, they gathered in the rope, tugging the man to his feet. It was ludicrous he yet clutched her veil, sullied by tears and snot.

  “By Vae’oeldin, mercy,” the seller cried, touching his fists to his forehead and extending them out to Mariano in obeisance.

  Mariano’s horse flicked its tail. The Crown prince regarded the meatball seller with contempt. “Mercy of
the kind you showed the Princess of Terlaan?” he said. “Mercy of the kind you expected when you fled instead of facing the consequences of your actions like a son of the god?”

  White-faced and shaking, the lad followed his father’s example, repeating the gesture of obeisance over and over. His shalvar was wet in the most indecent of places. That humiliation was enough to induce another fit of giggles. Her humour sent him into a fit of incoherent blubbering. The sharpness in it cut right through her crazed delight. As did the force with which the guards shoved the prisoners to their knees. Swords grated out of scabbards, and a splinter of reason pierced her thoughts. In the blink of an eye, she was off her horse and at Mariano’s side, gagging on the stink of urine.

  “You can’t,” she said, unable to articulate the rest of her fuddled thoughts.

  “I can,” Mariano replied, as the mahktashaan sought his confirmation.

  She had the presence of mind not to argue, but steadied herself by putting a hand on his leg. Mariano looked down at her, a fleeting compassion in his brown eyes.

  “Come, Princess,” Levi said, grasping her elbow. “You must mount. This punishment is exacted on your account, and our citizens expect to see you preside.”

  She shook her head as the Majoria pried her away from Mariano. His shadowed nose, sharp and long, was just visible beneath his hood. However responsible for her honour he might be, he had no right to mumble his magic words as he placed thick hands on her waist. It was a violation as severe as the meatball vendor’s that she lost the will to resist. A violation that when he lifted her, she floated onto the horse. But he was Majoria of the mahktashaan, charged with protecting her person and preserving her honour. He was not a man to whom she dared voice her thought. She sought instead to turn her steed. Levi held the reins fast.

  Arun walked his horse close to hers. “Hold brave,” he said, eyes on Mariano.

  The cruel masses were dribbling back, enticed by the promise of a bloody spectacle. Muted chatter passed back and forth as all heads turned to the prisoners. Eyes closed and shoulders slumped, the two men yet pleaded for mercy.

  “For the crime of dishonouring Vae’oeldin with the filth you peddle, I would deal you an immediate death blow,” Mariano said in the regal voice of the Crown Prince. “For dishonouring Her Highness Princess Kordahla you are spared my sword to face the judgement of the Shah himself.” He grew quiet, thoughtful. “While I hold blood honour for the princess, it may be the Shah wishes to exact a lingering punishment on account of your double offence.”

  Her horse nickered and tossed its head. For certain, the Majoria had tightened his grip on her reins. Her anger at that cleared the last of the fuzziness from her thoughts even as her shoulders lowered with relief. She would plant a thousand kisses on Mariano’s cheek for sparing her the bloody horror of an execution, however more wretched it would fall at Father’s hand. The irony of the stay was not lost on the vendor. The veil slipped from his hand. He tottered, then fainted, slicing his chest against his captor’s sword before slumping to the ground atop her veil and an indigo rag that reeked of rotten fish. In the hubbub to revive him, his son scrambled to escape. Quick as a djinn, the mahktashaan with the magenta crystal stepped upon the lasso still twined around his torso. He skidded as the rope snapped taut, and struggled to remove the loop from his chest as the mahktashaan reeled him in, an aging ram for the slaughter. The mahktashaan slapped a palm against his forehead, magenta light sparked in the crystal, and he became as docile as if he had ingested his own patties. Kordahla shuddered despite the beating heat, sure the prisoners’ incapacitation would last beyond her own. Until the Majoria wished otherwise, no doubt. She looked around for her veil, and frowned when she noticed it gone. Vanished. Presumably tucked beneath a mahktashaan’s robe, to be duly presented as evidence of her wrongdoing to Father. She shuddered again.

  “Do you feel a still wind, sister?” Mariano asked, turning his horse to resume their journey.

  “An ill one,” she replied knowing better than to voice her distaste of the mahktashaan in front of him.

  “It does seem the djinn have gifted you the diversion you so craved,” he replied.

  Chapter Two

  By the time they reached the wharves, Kordahla could sit her horse without swaying, praise the Vae. The fact she had Levi to thank did nothing to improve her apprehension. When she sighted the docked galley, the five-lobed porrin leaf on the brash Verdaani pennant flapping at the masthead, she shuddered again. It seemed the cursed plant was to dominate the day.

  The mahktashaan were busy clearing the area, an effortless task given their enigmatic reputation. At the mere sight of them, the riff-raff loitering around the docks melted into the curious onlookers. The crowd surged back and forth as the mahktashaan passed, eagerness for a glimpse of the foreign ambassador warring with their distrust of the magic-wielding guard.

  “What did Father tell you of the visit?” Kordahla asked Vinsant. She had been so wrapped up in joyous freedom that she had forgotten their excursion served some political purpose. She watched a contingent of mahktashaan disappear down shadowed alleys and barge into warehouses, and wondered if they were always so meticulous when Mariano and Vinsant toured the streets.

  Her little brother shrugged. “Not much. Lord Ahkdul of Verdaan is visiting next month, and his herald has arrived in advance with news of some import.”

  “No more?”

  “Only what he told you, I expect. Ahkdul is coming to oversee the finishing touches to the royal barge his father commissioned. But Mariano knows something more,” Vinsant replied, narrowed eyes scrutinising their older brother. “I just can’t pry it out of him.”

  His confounded expression made her chuckle. She was glad Vinsant had not yet outgrown his penchant for squirrelling out secrets. It meant he was still a child. As for her older brother, he sat astride his horse, facing the carpeted gangplank. She had little enough time to savour the sweaty flavour of the area before she must take her place at his side.

  A flash of sun on metal drew her eyes to a stack of crates in front of an imposing warehouse. Some threat had induced one of the mahktashaan to raise his sword. His back to them, he swung it down. A sickening crunch churned her stomach. He must have had her under some spell to prevent her looking away, turning away. He was a brute to raise the bloody sword and step back. Her horse shied from the drip of blood, closer to whichever unfortunate their guard had deemed a threat, Vae help her. The gentle grey ignored the pull of her shaky hands on the reins, veering right at those crates, threatening to crush her legs. She kicked too hard, unnerving her poor mare further. Dropping the reins, she thrust a hand out to lessen the impact, to find Arun guiding his horse beside hers, nudging it away, settling it.

  “It is not a sight you would wish to see, Princess.” The lip of his hood had slipped back, revealing eyes glittering a cerulean so intense she was transfixed by their depth.

  Kordahla tried to speak but all thought had fled. It was a relief Arun regretted his candour enough to bow his head. As his hood slid over his features, the hair on the back of her neck crawled. She forced herself to look over her shoulder. Levi was staring at her. Or his cloaked figure was. Had her baby brother not been striding towards the executioner, she might have fallen off her horse. Instead, she dropped to the ground and ran toward him. If she caught his hand, she could protect him from the grisly sight.

  “Princess!” Arun’s call was soft but sharp, and it stopped her.

  Vinsant threw her a look blacker than the Majoria’s crystal and kept walking. That hurt so deep she nearly cried out. By the djinn, he was too young to witness this. Hitching up her skirts, she took a step forward, prepared to scold him into obedience. She was prevented from going further when a hand clamped on her shoulder. Even through her kameez, the Majoria’s grip chilled her to the bone.

  “Vinsant,” she said, his name rumbling with the low caution of the mother she considered herself to be.

  He had a cheek to ignore her. A
brutal execution was not an adventure. Bargaining with weathered fishermen for the overpriced crabs they were tipping out of nets and into buckets was an adventure. So was watching grubby children dodge sniffing dogs so they could kick a lopsided ball. Now, the fishy, sweaty smells were mixing with the metallic tang of blood to turn her stomach queasy. The Vae knew it should have done the same to him.

  “He is not a baby, Kordahla,” Mariano said, coming to stand beside her.

  “Well he’s still a child,” she replied, watching Vinsant as intently as a scumhopper eyed a dragonfly. “And you should be protecting him.”

  “As I recall he has a father. One who feels he should take a deeper interest in the royal arts.” Mariano frowned. “He’s reaching the age he’ll not miss having a woman to smother him.”

  Smother him indeed! She opened her mouth to point out that was exactly what Mariano was doing to her when Vinsant flinched. She tore free of Levi’s improper grip. Nothing and no one stood between her and her little brother when he might have the slightest need.

  It seemed he didn’t have any need at all. Of all the heartless acts he could commit – laugh hysterically, even jab the sword through the dead man’s heart – none could have shaken her more than his calm questioning of the mahktashaan executioner. Were it not for the grubby foot visible between the pair of them, she would have convinced herself she had imagined the whole ordeal. Five blistered toes beneath a tatty but brightly embroidered trouser cuff were incontrovertible proof, however, and she sidestepped the heartless little monster she loved beyond all words.

  She was not prepared for an unimpeded view of the corpse. Her eyes travelled over bony ankles and wrists to the gaunt body and a bloody stump of a neck. The tribesman’s head had rolled from his neck, a sickly-sweet puddle of blood the only connection between the two. Kordahla felt her stomach heave. She turned away, afraid she was going to disgrace herself and her brothers in public. It was fortuitous someone provided a steadying arm. The physical contact brought immediate calm. Strange that. Or perhaps not. The arm was cloaked in black. She twisted to identify her aide, expecting to see Levi’s sharp nose and black crystal. She thanked the moons it was Arun. She knew even before she saw his crystal, though only the djinn knew how. The mahktashaan formed a starless sky, indistinguishable from each other save by the colour of the stone around their necks, their physique and voice, and then only with luck.