by Fuad Baloch
The man who had spurned the daughter of the sultan he had sworn to obey.
Biting her lips, Nuraya shook her head. She was tired, and her mind was playing tricks. Unlike the last time when she’d rushed through the breadth of the realm toward Algaria, the uncertainty of the path ahead was disorienting.
What was she to do? Once she arrived north, would she really just garrison there until she had enough numbers to return to Algaria? What would all that waiting achieve? No matter what else had happened, she couldn't sit still for long. She was the raging fire that might flicker and sway when the tempest blew over but never froze.
Where had she gone wrong?
Gritting her teeth, Nuraya turned her gaze toward the village behind the sniveling nizam. She was changing, bit by bit, undeniably so, the strength of her resolve beginning to falter. Her eyes fell on the distant village women dressed in flowing dresses with small mirrors sewn into their folds. The men were placing flower garlands across the mud-baked streets, as they all prepared for the prophet’s birthday. Priests—both Husalmin and Atishi—worked alongside the villagers, all united by their shared, rich heritage as Istani.
She felt her heart stir, warming with an outpouring of love for these people.
She loved these people.
She loved Istan.
That was what had motivated her before—the real impulse hidden behind the veneer of the more basic desire to seat herself on the Peacock Throne. That, still moved her actions.
A strange time to realize something as profound as this.
A shame it had taken all the recent losses to come to that realization.
How long could she keep trying to save these people? Was there another way—one Abba would have found—to surprise Istan’s enemies?
“—Sultana?”
She looked up. The nizam was finally looking at her, his voice trembling slightly. A man unused to addressing others far beyond his station. “What?”
The nizam bowed. “A… stranger entered the village yesterday, ahead of your army. Knowing you had arrived, he approached me, suggesting he knows you. Should you like, we can present him to you.”
Nuraya furrowed her brows just as both Ranal and Jinan turned west. The buzz of voices grew to an excited chatter. Squinting, Nuraya followed the source of the noise. Underneath the blazing ball of sun setting in the horizon, she saw a lone rider heading toward them, a triangular banner fluttering in one hand.
A banner containing bands of black and red with a crimson disc in the center.
Flag of the Reratish Kingdom.
“We’re being attacked,” someone shouted.
“Mount up!” roared Jinan. “It’s time to fight!” From the corner of her eye, Nuraya spied Ranal slinking away to the side.
“Belay that,” Camsh shouted. “He’s just a messenger. Just one man.”
Jinan rounded at the thinner man. “Who in the seven hells are you to belay my orders?”
“Stand down, Jinan,” said Nuraya, keeping her voice low despite her thudding heartbeat. She turned back to the nizam, affecting an air of nonchalance. “Nizam, bring me this man you speak of.” She raised a hand toward Jinan. “And after that, I shall speak with the Reratish emissary.”
The men nodded and moved away. Organized chaos broke around her as the men began putting on their armor. Despite her instructions, it seemed they feared an ambush. She didn't stop them from readying for such an eventuality. Expect the unexpected—another lesson she had learned. One couldn't even trust her own mother.
The emissary continued to draw closer to her forces, seemingly unperturbed by the jeering Sultana’s Hands.
Nuraya turned her gaze away from the emissary and forced her mind to think of more mundane matters, willing time to speed by. How did they celebrate the prophet’s birthday in these parts of the realm anyway? In Algaria, the actual day was preceded by weeks of ritualistic preparation, each hour of the day celebrated by a priest from the twelve largest Husalmin temples. A day before the actual birthday, the priests from the largest Atishi temple joined in as well. They didn't believe in Rabb, the Unseen God, of course, but the Atishi priests walked alongside the followers of Husalmin just the same, thrusting their hands skyward to seek divine blessings, regardless of differences of religion.
After all, the prophet’s birthday was less a religious event than a public holiday, a festival that fused Istan together. From what she could see here, that spirit was well and alive even if the gaudier aspects of the ceremony in the capital had melted away.
Nuraya pinched her lips, surprised by the simplicity of the women’s dresses, the effortless way they seemed to giggle without caring for status or other markers of position. This was the real Istan, one that she’d never gotten to see whilst living in the gilded cage that hid this beautiful land and its people from her, and her from them.
Well, now, that make-believe world that had been erected for her benefit existed no more.
Half a dozen Sultana’s Men standing in front of her stepped away. The nizam reappeared. He bowed, motioning with his hand for the shuffling figure behind him to step into view.
The man advanced. One she recognized all too well.
Rage coursing through her veins, Nuraya rose, a tempest ready to raze all in its path. “Maharis!”
The magus offered a short bow, leaning heavily on a cane, his thin, wispy hair spilling out from under his brown turban. He looked just like he had when they’d fled Algaria. Weak. Pathetic. Gaunt. Storing energy for a time where that might be useful.
“You camel dung!” shouted Jinan, advancing menacingly toward the magus. “You cursed abomination!”
Before Maharis had a chance to defend himself, Jinan grabbed him by the collar. Raising his fist, obscenities and curses flying from his lips, the siphsalar punched Maharis right in the jaw. “Oww!”
“Stop!” Nuraya shouted.
“You turned me into a monster. An abomination just like yourself.” Jinan punched him again. “You… you’re responsible for all that went wrong.” Maharis crumpled to the ground but that didn't stop Jinan from bending and punching him in the ribs. “You… and your fellow abominations killed my Mona!”
“Jinan, step away!” Nuraya ordered. When Jinan continued to belt the magus, she motioned the gaping soldiers around them, and they rushed forward to separate the siphsalar from the whimpering magus.
“I—” moaned Maharis, raising a hand toward her, his lips bloody, one eye turning black.
“Shut up!” she said, barely able to constrain herself. “You deceived me!”
“I—” Maharis turned his face away, then spat bloody phlegm. A few steps away, Jinan, struggling against a dozen men, cursed in his native northern tongue. “I h-had good reason.”
“There is no justification for betrayal.”
“I never did,” he wailed, raising a hand. “I just followed your mother.”
Nuraya scowled, fuming at the magus for insulting her so publicly. Despite all she had done, Mother wasn't here to defend herself, and Nuraya couldn't shake away the conflicted feelings she continued to harbor toward her. “If you’ve come to see justice administered for all the crimes you’ve committed, you shall certainly receive it!”
Maharis rose unsteadily to his feet, wiping his lips with a sleeve. Two of her soldiers exchanged a nervous glance, acknowledging the magus and fearing his wrath. “The… world is not the same anymore. I helped you before. And no matter what you might think, I’ve always served the Istani family well. Not something these men around you can say with real honesty.”
“Maharis—”
He cut her off. “Keep me with you and I will serve you once more.”
Nuraya laughed. “After all you did, all you kept from me, you still expect me to keep you around?”
“I… I’m merely a servant of your family!”
Nuraya waved her arm. “Bring me the Reratish emissary. Looks like I’ve gained nothing here but a traitor.”
“No! You mu
st listen to me!” he shouted.
“Magus,” said Camsh, stepping forward, just as she was turning away. “Is it true that your kind are breaking free from the inquisitors?” Nuraya paused, surprised by the unexpected question.
Maharis bared his lips. A grisly, bloody sight. “Your sultana freed us. Or have you forgotten, boy?”
Nuraya sucked at her teeth. “Whatever I allowed, I can rescind as well.” Maharis opened his mouth but she waved her hand in annoyance, settling back into the old chair. “Take him away and bring me the emissary. Let’s see what he has to say.” She hesitated, then pointed at Jinan. “And take away my siphsalar as well. I do not wish my enemy to see my commanders in this state.”
Exhaling deeply, her fingers digging into the armrest, Nuraya waited as both men were taken away. The nizam remained at her side, nodding to himself every so often.
Once more the men parted, and a tall, fair-skinned man dressed in gaudy purple silk emerged. Taking off his black hat decorated with a bright red feather, he offered a curt bow.
“Greetings to you,” he said in halting Nirdu, “in the name of King Harendor the Third.”
A thousand different rebukes bubbled up. Words more terrible than she had used last time with one of his kin. She swallowed them all. This was not the time to make matters worse. Not unless it was really warranted. She had to try a different tack.
She couldn't fake patience though. “Emissary, are you here to tell me your king has decided to sue for peace?”
The emissary raised his head, fixing his beady eyes on her. “Why, yes! That is indeed the purpose of my visit.”
Nuraya blinked. To her right, both Camsh and Ranal exchanged a glance. Other men, standing a dozen paces away, stood very still.
It wasn't news they were expecting. Then again, she had come to realize that nothing in life came without conditions. “What does your lord seek in return?”
The emissary donned his hat back on. “A train of gifts from the king is following me. Perhaps, we should discuss the specifics when I can convey the wishes of my king accompanied by these tokens of good will.”
Nuraya leaned forward. “In plain, simple terms, tell me now what your king seeks in return, or your train isn't going to find you in a very respectable state.”
The Reratish emissary nodded, straightened. “It is the wish of King Harendor the Third to unite our peoples into a glorious union against the misguided fanatics of the Zakhanan empire. He extends to you the hand of his firstborn son and heir, Prince Sabrish, and—”
Trembling with rage, Nuraya rose, the chair clattering behind her. The emissary fell silent, took a reflexive step backward as if aware of the raw nerve he had touched.
“How dare you!” she said through clenched teeth.
Camsh stepped forward, raised a plaintive hand. “Perhaps we should see what the emissary—”
She shook her head. “Emissary, begone! Did you not hear the message I sent the last time? A lioness hunts and preys on the hyenas. In no possible world would she lay with one!”
“But—” tried the emissary.
“Men, take him away!” she shouted, no longer able to restrain the rage within her. Then, she wheeled about and stomped toward her tent.
Chapter 6
Shoki
“It’s not fair,” Shoki complained, pacing up and down the breadth of the circular room the djinn had imprisoned him in. “If they know I can’t offer any help, why keep me here?”
“You’re lucky to see Nainwa,” said Jiza, her voice devoid of emotion. “Many would kill for the privilege.”
“Well, I’d gladly change places with them.”
The djinn girl didn't reply, choosing to turn her attention to the red sky outside the window.
“Does night ever fall here?” Shoki demanded. “Two days here and the blasted sunlight never goes away. It’s messing with my sleeping.”
A shadow crossed over her face. “It used to grow dark. A long, long time ago. Thank the Rabb it doesn't happen anymore.”
Shoki came to a stop, turned around to face her. Two days had passed since they’d shut him down in this room with nothing to do but pace round and round, going madder by the second. They had done something to his body as well, as he hadn’t felt the need to eat or drink or relieve himself. However, his patience was fast approaching its breaking point, the list of questions he wanted answering growing. “How come you, member of this so-called noble race, call out to Rabb just like the humans?”
“He’s the Creator.”
Shoki blinked. “Have the djinn also received Rabb’s messengers like the prophet Binyom?”
She shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was bitter. “For a reason only Rabb knows best, only your kind has had the honor of receiving His word directly through His messengers—all we ever received were pacts we were meant to adhere to by the prophet Rolomon who preceded Binyom.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Shoki with petty delight. “And still you call yourselves the noble race.”
Jiza rose. Dressed in a red peshwaz trimmed with a white frill that clung to her shapely figure, her face scrunched up in anger, she looked an Atishi goddess come to life. She marched toward him. Shoki staggered back, holding up a hand. Jiza didn't stop until she was inches from his face. Close enough that Shoki could see the unnatural whites of her eyes, the perfectly even complexion of her pale skin, the slight halo of smoke that quivered when she cocked her head to the side.
“Human, do not forget your place. No matter what the clan leaders might think of you, I agree with Kafayos that you’re a gnat, a being unworthy of remaining in this great city or interacting with us. Do not provoke me.”
“N-never was my intention,” he managed, suddenly very aware of how very close she was standing to him, how close her perfect lips were from his.
She didn't move, staying unnaturally still for long breaths. No matter the form the djinn might have given him, Shoki felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. Was she even aware of the effect she was having on him?
The door burst open behind her.
Jiza turned—much to Shoki’s regret—to glare at the two djinn standing at the threshold. Kafayos and some old djinn wearing a loincloth, his back bent with age, the long beard white and almost brushing the floor as he shuffled forward.
“Jiza, you’ve made no progress with him I see,” declared Kafayos. “Doesn't matter. Drenpa feared it might happen and has, therefore, sent someone who can actually help.”
Jiza scoffed, placing hands on her hips. Again, Shoki tried his best not to let his eyes wander down her back. “What is this old scholar going to achieve when the man knows nothing, is worth nothing?”
“Hey, I’m right here!” protested Shoki.
“That’s not for you to decide, young one,” said Kafayos to Jiza, his loud voice drowning out Shoki’s meek objections. He motioned the old djinn to continue forward. “The ant is all yours, Bana.”
“The ant?” Shoki asked indignantly.
For a long moment, Jiza stood still, scowling at both djinn in turn. But then she stepped aside, allowing Bana a clear path toward Shoki.
For his part, Shoki decided to make the best of a terrible situation. He was no ant! Had Mara not imprisoned him, he would have been the Sultan of Istan, Keeper of the Divide. Sultan or not, he was definitely not a nobody, and instead of cowering like they might have expected, he would stand tall and face whatever they threw at him.
The old djinn came to a stop a couple of paces from him and raised his head. Like Mara, he had thick lips and wore silver bangles. Shoki’s eye traveled to the bangles. Were these this djinn’s relics, his way of tethering himself while traveling through the human world? How many more djinn did that?
“Shoki, why can’t you reach your well?” asked Bana, his voice quiet, heavy.
“I don’t know,” said Shoki, raising both hands. “Considering you’re this noble race and all, why not ask your Rabb?”
“When was the last time you
could wield jadu?”
Catching something in the djinn’s voice, Shoki stared at him. Mara had always spoken to him in condescending tones. The other clan leaders had largely adopted the same approach. Jiza and Kafayos were downright rude. But Bana spoke to him using tones that could be mistaken as… respectful. Why was that?
“When was the last time—”
Shoki raised his hand and the djinn fell silent immediately. “You’ve traveled through the human worlds before?”
Bana hesitated, then nodded.
Shoki watched the djinn for a long moment. No one would treat him with respect unless… unless they’d seen him at his worst. “You were at the Battle of Algaria, weren't you?”
Bana didn't answer immediately, instead, turning his head toward Kafayos.
“Human, answer the questions you’re being asked instead of raising unnecessary ones!” said Kafayos.
Shoki inhaled, filling his lungs with the sulfurous air, still staring at the wizened djinn. All he had was a hunch, but if that provided him with an advantage, no matter how small, he would seize on it. “You were there at the battle. You saw Algaria fall. And then you stayed long enough to know what happened afterwards. Long enough to know I was going to be crowned the Sultan, and Keeper of the Divide.”
All three djinn remained silent.
Shoki nodded to himself, remembering the inquisitor’s words regarding the olden days. He decided to plow through. “You’re old enough to have traveled through the human lands when the Sultan of Istan ruled your kind as well, aren’t you? You remember what it’s like to stand before the man who guards not just his world but yours as well from the demons that lurk on the other side!”
Bana flinched at his words, coughed, his eyes downcast.
Kafayos scoffed. “Nonsense. No way—”
“You,” growled Shoki, turning toward the tall djinn, one who hadn’t seen the past like Bana had, “and your kind would have cowered in front of the likes of me, not that long ago, young one!”
“How dare you talk like that to me?”