The Seal
Page 15
The general looked down and to his right.
‘The coast is a three-week march. That should give us sufficient time to send a message to the emperor, and sufficient time for reinforcements to arrive.’
Sassan was not a demonstrative man, but right then, he wanted to hug the general.
It’s the poppy juice, he told himself. Best to leave now before you say or do something to change his mind.
‘Very good, General,’ Sassan said. ‘I’ll leave you to work out the details. Let’s meet later, when I’m back from my visit to the temple. I want to talk to the magi in there and hear their side of things.’
The general stood.
‘Think, speak and act well, High Magus.’
‘Think, speak and act well, General,’ Sassan said, and exited the tent, more buoyant than when he’d entered it.
Armaiti rose above the camp and hovered. She, too, felt happier now than before Sassan’s visit to the general. He’d given her an idea. It was risky, very risky, but having to avoid touching Roshan also meant having to find an alternate means of neutralising her powers and killing her.
Armaiti took less than a second to compose a plan, identify the risks and develop contingencies.
With her mind made up, Armaiti faced west and set off for Iram.
28
Roshan stood in the slack between two dunes, twilight driving shadows farther up their gentle slopes. The empty silence and the sky, streaked with mauve, made her turn a full circle as she looked for signs of habitation, somewhere to reach before it grew dark.
She turned again and jumped when she saw Yesfir standing in front her. The yellow flames around the djinni’s irises guttered and went out. Yesfir remained motionless, either unaware or uncaring of her loss.
Roshan knew she was dreaming, because, for a reason unbeknown to her, she raised her hand and touched Yesfir’s bracelet. Yesfir’s eyes flared, temporarily blinding Roshan’s. Roshan blinked several times and waited for the afterimage to clear. She kept blinking until she realised the afterimages were, in fact, red flames.
Roshan looked away from Yesfir’s eyes. Behrouz stood next to his wife. She stepped back so she could see Yesfir touch Behrouz’s bracelet. His eyes also flared and red flames circled his irises.
Prince Emad appeared. Behrouz touched his bracelet.
With each arrival, Roshan moved farther back and up a dune’s slope. Once she reached its top, she found that the sky had darkened and beneath her lay a constellation of fiery red suns.
On the opposite dune, a lamassu gazed down upon the djinn.
Roshan woke confused.
‘She’s awake.’
Zana sat at the foot of her bed. He tilted his head, his eyes rimmed with red.
‘How are you feeling?’ The words weren’t Zana’s but belonged to her brother. He loomed over her, a bowl in his hands. ‘Drink some water before you answer.’
He knelt beside her bed, helped her to sit up, before offering her the bowl.
The water wet her parched tongue and throat.
‘More?’
She answered with a vigorous nod.
She gulped down the contents of the second bowl. From nowhere, a man on top of a roof burst into flames. Roshan choked.
Navid patted her back. After the coughing had subsided, he hugged her.
‘How did I get here?’ she said, her voice hoarse.
Navid released her from his hug and gave her a quizzical look.
‘You came through the same portal Zana and Behrouz came through. You collapsed it and fainted.’
She touched her right shoulder and the spot where the arrow had hit her. She felt nothing.
‘There was blood and burn marks on your tunic and leggings,’ Navid said. ‘But there was no sign of injury.’
‘How long have I been unconscious?’ she said, Derbicca’s chain of events returning to her. ‘How’s Behrouz?’
‘I have to see how Father is,’ Zana said. He dashed for the room’s open door.
Navid watched him leave. In a low voice he said, ‘Zana’s been running back and forth between rooms. He’s been worried about both of you.’ Navid took the bowl from her. ‘If you’re up to it, get dressed.’ He chewed his lower lip. ‘You’ve been back for four hours. Since then, Behrouz’s condition hasn’t improved.’
She quickly dressed and joined Navid, who waited outside for her.
Roshan found Behrouz lying on his front. King Fiqitush stood over him, recited an incantation and passed an open palm over a thin line of red between Behrouz’s shoulder blades. Yesfir and Zana sat together on the floor. Roshan swallowed. The flames had disappeared from Yesfir’s bloodshot eyes.
The king beckoned Roshan over with his free hand, then laid it on her shoulder. He stopped the incantation, then gave her a weary smile. Yesfir was on her feet and Zana, too. They huddled together, Navid at the foot of the bed and Zana resting his paws on its side. They all stared at the wound.
Yesfir took Roshan’s hand in hers and squeezed, her eyes never leaving the thin, short scab.
‘Just your presence makes a difference, Roshan,’ the king said. ‘I think the wound has finally sealed.’
Roshan held her breath, wishing what the king had said was true.
A bead of blood burst from the side of the scab. Yesfir made a choking sound. Another bead and another appeared until the cut tore open and blood spilled down Behrouz’s spine, pooling in the small of his back.
The king shook his head.
‘We’ve been doing this for hours. I don’t know why the wound won’t heal.’
Roshan remembered the high magus holding the golden arrow as if it were a dagger.
‘Sassan stabbed him with a golden arrow,’ she said. ‘Didn’t Behrouz say a golden arrow killed Aeshma?’
Yesfir leaned against her and let out a strangled cry.
Roshan gazed at Yesfir. She had sacrificed the rest of her auric energy to save her husband. Her last hope had been her father, but djinn magic wasn’t enough against a weapon that had already killed a daeva. Still gripping Yesfir’s hand, Roshan lifted it. The silver bracelet slid down Yesfir’s wrist and onto her forearm.
Armaiti had visited her dreams and turned her against herself. Her last dream was no coincidence. There was every chance it was a trap, a means of making her do something akin to what she’d done to the archer on the roof.
She sacrificed so much of her auric energy to save my life, she thought. I can’t just stand next to her and watch Behrouz die.
‘We’ll heal him together,’ she said to Yesfir, then touched the daeva’s bracelet. ‘Djinn magic and sabaoth magic.’
Yesfir raised an eyebrow.
‘There’s no time to explain,’ Roshan said, and let go of Yesfir’s hand. ‘Start the incantation.’
Yesfir’s eyes widened and her mouth opened before it closed. The djinni shook her head as if to clear it, opened both hands and chanted.
Roshan stood back and closed her eyes. She didn’t wish for anything or say a single word. In her mind’s eye, she saw a filament of blue-grey smoke leave her fingertip and touch Yesfir. Using Yesfir as a channel, the sabaoth’s auric energy entered the wound and knitted the tissue back together.
Roshan heard crying and opened her eyes. She covered her hand when she saw how her skin had turned the same colour as the smoke.
Roshan approached the bed. A white scar had replaced the scab. Yesfir knelt beside her husband and wept. Behrouz smiled. Red flames circled his and Yesfir’s eyes.
END OF BOOK 1
The Baka Djinn Chronicles continue with The Sabaoth’s Arrow.
On a mission to evacuate daevas from Arshak, Roshan causes a terrible accident, resulting in over thirty daevas being captured by High Magus Sassan. Meanwhile, Armaiti gives Sassan the one thing King Fiqitush most desires: Solomon’s seal.
While Roshan struggles to control the sabaoth magic, Navid leaves for Arshak to learn what Sassan is up to with the daevas. What he discovers horr
ifies him and prompts a rescue mission.
Aware they could be walking into a trap, Roshan, Navid and Behrouz sneak into Arshak. Can they free the prisoners, or will they become Sassan’s latest victims?
Get your copy of Book 2 in the Baka Chronicle Series, The Sabaoth’s Arrow, by clicking the Amazon link here.
A note from the author
Thank you for reading this book. This book is part of the first trilogy in the Baka Chronicles. Reader reviews will help me determine whether to keep the series going. Whether it’s brief or detailed, your feedback will make a huge difference.
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About the Author
J F Mehentee is a British-born Asian with Persian ancestry. A lifelong reader of fantasy and science fiction, he’s always looking for ways to combine his interest in Asian and Middle Eastern mythology with storytelling.
After spending three years in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, he now lives in Colombo, Sri Lanka, where he writes full-time—all the while dreaming of one day playing jazz flute like Ron Burgundy.
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Acknowledgments
Producing the Baka Chronicles has been a team effort. I couldn’t have created this series without help from the following professionals:
Structural editor: James Christy,
Copy editor: Richard Shealy,
Cover designer: Deranged Doctor Design.
Finally, huge THANK YOUs to Ginny for her love and encouragement and to my brother, V, who’s read just about everything I’ve ever written—first drafts included!
Copyright © 2019
J F Mehentee
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
Published by P in C Publishing
ePub ISBN: 978-1-912402-18-2