by J F Mehentee
Navid held up his hands. Claws curved out of his fingers’ nailbeds.
‘If you’re right, then I’m glad,’ he said. ‘After you changed me back, I didn’t think I’d be of use to anyone. You’d already made up your mind to help the djinn and daevas. I also wanted to help, but while you were away in Derbicca, I couldn’t think of how I’d do that. Before Yesfir changed me into a rat, I was a gardener, remember.’ He brandished his claws. ‘But now I can run fast, I can climb and I don’t get tired. I ran the entire length of Iram without getting out of breath or sweating.’
Roshan recalled her dream and the guardsmen circling her. She’d wished them gone and unwittingly incinerated them. What kind of wish had she made when she’d changed Navid back? If Armaiti’s auric energy influenced her magic, she hadn’t yet learned how to channel it, control it so the outcomes of her weavings weren’t random or—
Destroyer.
Roshan shivered.
‘Are you all right?’ Navid said.
Her brother was in a good mood; she didn’t want to ruin the moment.
‘I’m fine.’ She nodded. ‘I’m just hungry.’
‘Ask her,’ Zana said.
Navid shot the manticore a reproachful look.
‘Can’t you see she’s hungry? We can ask her after breakfast.’
Zana’s lips puckered, and he glowered at Navid. After Navid had gotten to share his news, it wasn’t fair to make Zana wait. She sat on the edge of her bed and faced the manticore.
‘What is it you want Navid to ask?’
Zana looked away with a bashful expression, then glanced up at Navid.
‘Roshan wants to know,’ Navid said. ‘Go ahead and ask her.’
Roshan listened to Zana.
Too impatient to wait until they reached Baka and search for the other manticores, Zana wanted to shape-shift now so he could better protect his pride: Yesfir, Behrouz, Navid and her. Instead of waiting to be taught how to shape-shift by Baka’s manticores, she could weave some magic. If Zana could switch between being a manticore and a human, he’d be able to help more.
Roshan recognised Zana’s frustration. Until now, and because of his age and because his appearance drew attention to him, Behrouz and Yesfir had prevented Zana from taking part in missions. If the newly emerged sabaoth energy was interfering with the djinn magic she wove, Roshan didn’t know what would happen if she helped Zana to shape-shift. But she couldn’t say that. If Yesfir or Behrouz learned she was having trouble controlling her magic, they’d prevent her from helping.
The manticore’s lips puckered again. Her decision must have been clear on her face.
‘I’m sorry, Zana. You should talk to Behrouz and Yesfir about this first. I can’t help you without their permission.’
It was the right thing to say, but she’d said it for the wrong reason. She needed time to figure out how to control her magic, but it was wrong to keep the problem a secret from the others. She had to figure out whom to tell and then not waste any time telling them.
21
Emad’s cell reeked of mould and urine. A block behind Derbicca’s municipal office, the prison lacked windows. Emad’s mood matched the darkness and the cold wall he was manacled to.
Again, he went over the events of less than an hour before. He’d tried to summon Core power when he saw the high magus carrying a bow. In doing so, he’d lost grip on the magic fuelling the fireball and the magic he’d counted on to keep Aeshma calm. The fireball had gone out and Aeshma must have seen, understood, what was about to happen. Why else would his cousin have taken the arrow meant for him?
Aeshma had fallen backwards and onto him, his weight suffocating Emad until the soldiers had pulled his cousin’s corpse off of him.
How often had Aeshma understood his surroundings? How many times had Emad missed the chance to reconnect with his cousin instead of treating him like a child? The golden arrow should have struck his chest and not Aeshma’s. He’d gotten them into this mess, and if he had accepted his brother’s invitation, Aeshma wouldn’t be dead.
You deserve to die, Emad told himself.
A glow danced against the wall beyond the bars of his cell. The light intensified, until Emad saw a hand holding a lamp. A bolt clunked back, and hinges wailed.
Sassan stepped into the cell. The high magus stood motionless, his head bent and his features shrouded by shadow. While he carried a lamp in one hand, the other clutched the golden arrow.
‘What do you want?’ Emad said. He gestured at the arrow with his chin. ‘Are you going to taunt me with that thing?’
Sassan raised the arrow and studied it as if he were seeing it for the first time. Then he lowered it and shook his head.
‘I came to apologise,’ Sassan said. ‘I never meant to hit him...kill him. The arrow was aimed at your leg. It wasn’t meant to happen that way.’
The manacles attached to Emad’s wrists meant he couldn’t stand, much less strangle the high magus.
‘It wasn’t meant to happen that way? What are you so sorry about? You killed my cousin, and because I was trapped under him, I couldn’t fight you. You beat me, high magus, and now I’ll keep my end of our agreement.’
Sassan raised his head.
‘You won’t have to if you agree to convert.’
There was no need to consider the offer.
‘And be held up as an example of the high magus’s mercy.’
Sassan held up the golden arrow.
‘You challenged me, and God sent a sabaoth to show me how to make this. I aimed the arrow at you, at your thigh. God took your friend’s life and spared you. If you’re an example of anything, it’s His mercy.’
Emad recognised the zeal in Sassan’s voice, the conviction behind his words. Unless the emperor equipped his archers with golden arrows to prove his affluence, Emad believed that some kind of divine intervention had taken place. Whatever its purpose, it wasn’t meant to favour him, a daeva.
‘God never meant for me to live,’ he said. ‘If Aeshma, my cousin, hadn’t shielded me from that ill-aimed arrow of yours, I’d be dead, not injured. God has favourites, and they’re not the djinn. If God really cared about the likes of us, Aeshma would never have had to endure the agony of daeva madness. I see no point in bowing to a God who has favourites, favourites with poor aim. I’d rather die than convert.’
Sassan set down the lamp. He tugged the ends of his tunic to straighten it and then held the arrow in both hands.
You smug bastard, Emad thought. You really believe God loves you and will always love you.
‘I think you should reflect on my offer, Emad. You’re upset and I’m responsible for your cousin’s death. It would be wrong to let either influence your decision. You have a second chance. Don’t squander it on account of me. Let the Divine Light enter your thoughts and guide you to the correct path.’ Sassan turned. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder and said, ‘When you stand before the executioner’s block at noon, I’ll give you one last chance to convert. If you do not change your mind, then you will be executed.’
The lamp’s flame glimmered with Sassan’s departure.
Emad closed his eyes and turned his head away from the light. He remembered seeing Aeshma’s broad back in front of him. Before he could protest, he heard the twang of the bow and, a breath later, the thud of the arrow as it struck Aeshma and sent his cousin crashing down on him.
I don’t want one last chance—I want to die.
‘I deserve to die,’ he said to the lamp.
Did he deserve that? After the mess he’d made of things, wasn’t death more a kindness than a punishment? If they executed him today, he’d no longer live under the threat of the daeva madness, and he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever his brother had in mind for him. Did he deserve that?
If God had intervened and sent a sabaoth to help Sassan, what chance did the daevas have against him? Would the high magus stop once he’d forced all the daevas to convert? Would they be left alone in peace
and allowed to live without being harassed by the likes of Administrator Arman?
He doubted it. Sassan would hold up the sabaoth’s arrow as an example of God’s handiwork. That arrow was his fault. If he hadn’t been so eager to avoid meeting his brother, Aeshma would be alive and Sassan wouldn’t have further proof of God’s abandonment of the djinn.
By not converting, he’d shirk responsibility for his actions, leave behind a mess that sank the daevas into deeper misery.
Aeshma died for you, he told himself. Make his sacrifice count.
How?
Emad gazed at the lamp’s flame and pondered the question.
By the time he heard the guards marching in step, saw them waiting for the jailer to unbolt the door, Emad had his answer.
The high magus was on a holy mission, a mission that shouldn’t continue. Just like Sassan had his sabaoth’s arrow, the daevas needed proof they no longer had to tolerate being subjugated by humans. He would be the example.
22
Roshan heard the murmur before she passed the audience chamber. A door had been left open. Iram’s adult djinn filled the room—all of them armed.
‘Something’s up,’ she said.
Navid looked over her shoulder and peered into the room.
‘What about breakfast?’
About to ask if Navid was serious, Zana pushed past her.
‘Look,’ Roshan said, her eye following the manticore. She pointed. ‘Behrouz and Yesfir are here.’ She grabbed her brother by the forearm and pulled him into the room.
Behrouz and Yesfir greeted them with nods, their demeanour grim and troubled.
‘What’s wrong?’ Navid said.
‘Aeshma’s dead, killed with a golden arrow, and Emad was arrested this morning,’ Behrouz said.
Yesfir added, ‘He’s being executed by High Magus Sassan at noon.’
Roshan had to lean on Navid’s shoulder. He placed an arm around her to steady her.
‘The king has a plan to get Emad back,’ Behrouz continued.
That explained the weapons.
Roshan took a deep breath and then let go of her brother. Regardless of her inability to control her magic, she had to help.
King Fiqitush entered the room, the young djinni, Shephatiah, following two steps behind. The king climbed the dais. He faced the assembled djinn with his hands behind his back and a calm but resolute visage.
‘By now, you will have heard Shephatiah’s news about Prince Emad. Three hours from now, at noon, the high magus will execute my brother.’ He shook his head. ‘I won’t let that happen. Prince Emad is vital to both the djinn’s and daevas’ future. I have consulted with several of you and we’ve drawn up a plan for his rescue.’
‘Why’s he so important?’ Navid whispered.
Roshan elbowed him and frowned.
Navid shrugged.
‘I’m just saying, a lot of djinn might die trying to rescue him.’
Roshan ignored her brother. She listened out for some detail of the king’s plan, something applicable to her, that made it impossible for anyone to refuse her participation.
A deflated Roshan folded her arms. The king had finished outlining his plan. He requested volunteers for both the rescue and for help with persuading those daevas who remained in Derbicca to leave for Baka. Hands went up. Roshan exchanged glances with her brother.
‘I want to help,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure how.’
She agreed, then noticed how neither Yesfir nor Behrouz had volunteered.
‘We’ll meet here in an hour and assign tasks,’ the king said.
The djinn disbanded and exited the chamber. Yesfir and Behrouz, however, remained behind. Up on the dais, the king did the same.
Roshan looked down at Zana, who sat between his foster parents. He pouted at Roshan. He still hadn’t forgiven her for refusing to help him shape-shift.
The king stepped off the dais and approached the five of them.
When he reached them, he said, ‘Have you considered my request, Behrouz?’
The daeva nodded.
The king patted Behrouz on the shoulder. ‘I don’t ask such a thing lightly,’ he said. ‘The high magus must be stopped. If I’d retrieved the seal, things would be different. The djinn, the daevas and Baka are running out of time. Sassan’s death will buy us some.’
‘You’re going to kill the high magus?’ Zana said.
The king’s face remained passive, and he spoke as if such a thing were commonplace.
‘A djinn will draw away the high magus’s guards, and then Behrouz will kill him.’
‘Wait,’ Roshan said, recognising an opportunity to help. ‘How will you get into and out of Derbicca?’
Behrouz looked confused by her question.
‘Some djinn will raise portals,’ he said. ‘I can enter and leave with one.’
Roshan experienced a lightness in her chest.
‘Entering Derbicca won’t be a problem,’ she said. ‘But what happens if the guardsmen outnumber the djinn, you get into trouble and need to make a quick getaway? Who will be around to raise a portal then?’
‘No, no, no. You’re not thinking of going,’ Navid said. ‘This isn’t some robbery they’re staging. Who will protect you while Behrouz is busy? You can’t just stand there and watch.’
She glared at her brother. He didn’t understand her need to make amends. She was responsible for Aeshma’s death and Emad’s arrest.
‘I’ll protect her.’
All eyes fell upon the seated manticore.
‘I’ll protect her,’ Zana repeated.
Yesfir cleared her throat.
‘No, you won’t,’ she said, shaking her head. She then wagged a finger at Roshan. ‘And what about you, young lady? Are you telling me that, after just one day, you’re back to normal, or that you’ve mastered the sabaoth magic you used for the first time yesterday?’
Cornered, Roshan saw how the king regarded her. He seemed the only one eager for her to help. Roshan returned her attention to Yesfir.
‘You’re right, it’s only been a day,’ she said. ‘But I’ll raise a portal with djinn magic. And I know that just thinking something triggers the sabaoth magic. I promise to curb my thoughts while waiting for Behrouz—I know I can.’
‘Behrouz needs her help, Yesfir,’ the king said. ‘Let her go.’
Yesfir humphed.
‘If you go, then I’ll go too,’ Navid said.
‘I don’t think so,’ Behrouz interjected. He lowered his head, his eyes fixed on Navid. ‘You’re untested in a fight. Don’t take this badly when I say you’d be more of a liability than a help.’
Navid’s face reddened.
‘Then who’ll protect my sister?’
Behrouz regarded the manticore and then his wife.
‘Zana is ready,’ he said to Yesfir. ‘This is the perfect mission, and it’s time he protected the pride.’
Navid threw up his arms and grumbled something under his breath.
Yesfir raised an eyebrow and squinted at Behrouz. The long pause made even the king look uncomfortable.
‘All right,’ she eventually said, her brow knitted. She turned her attention from her husband to Zana. The manticore’s lips curved into a smile. ‘You’re to protect Roshan at all times. No matter what happens, you stay at her side. Am I understood?’
Zana’s smile disappeared. Although he sat, his back straightened, and he raised his chin.
‘I won’t leave Roshan’s side,’ he said. ‘I promise, Mother.’
23
Sassan studied the wooden plaque and its twenty satrapies. After the morning’s encounter with the daevas and God’s solution to Emad’s challenge, eagerness tugged at him: Sassan wanted to leave Derbicca and search for Baka. Although he didn’t know what to expect when he arrived outside the city, he knew having all the daevas in one place, perhaps annexing Baka, would bring him closer to his objective. Once he could vouch for the daevas, prove to the emperor they no longer diverted h
is citizens from the One Religion, he could return to Persepae having unified the empire.
Without warning, the tent’s interior spun. Sassan grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself and closed his eyes against the escalating dizziness.
As suddenly as it started, the spinning stopped.
Heat radiated from above and below, making the back of his neck and armpits sticky. Silence replaced the sounds of carts being loaded, wheels trundling and orders shouted.
Sassan opened his eyes and found himself, the wooden plaque and the table it sat on at the edge of the paved square facing Derbicca’s temple. Sassan thought he heard the faint hiss of air being drawn into the temple’s chimney-like wind catcher.
On his right stood the platform he’d mount in the coming hour. Next to it stood a line of seven wooden blocks, their upper surfaces stained brown and notched.
Sassan turned a full circle. From the look of the square and the surrounding buildings, Derbicca was empty.
‘I’m having a vision,’ he said, and hoped his words might slow his accelerating heartbeat.
Wings fluttered. Their flapping stirred the air behind him. Hot air beat against him. He turned to face the sabaoth with the eagle’s head and wings. The sabaoth’s grey eyes ignored him and stared at the line of wooden blocks. Sassan looked over his shoulder.
Emad faced a block, his wrists and ankles manacled with iron. Like the sabaoth, the daeva didn’t appear to notice Sassan. He gazed at one of the streets that opened onto the square.
Sassan stepped over to the daeva.
A cloud of sand billowed and hurtled towards them. Sassan couldn’t be sure, but he saw what appeared to be the silhouettes of men and women carrying swords, axes and spears.
Sassan stifled a cry. Just before the wall of sand collided with them, Emad faced him. With a complacent smile, he said, ‘The djinn are coming to rescue me.’