War of the Sultans

by Fuad Baloch

  Jiza grabbed the visibly fuming Kafayos by the shoulder. “Do not exceed your mandate. If you’ve brought Bana, let him do his work.”

  Muttering to himself, Kafayos turned around and stomped out the room, leaving an awkward silence behind. Shoki exhaled, forcing his body to unclench. Where had all that anger come from anyway? One instant he had been scared stiff of them all, and the next he was talking down to them like a master would to his slaves.

  “Shoki,” said Bana finally, exchanging a glance with Jiza, “we still follow our pact and will not harm you or other races. But believe me, I might be able to help you recover your well. Ajeeb magi never really die. Now, tell me, when was the last time you could wield your magic?”

  Instead of answering his question, Shoki closed his eye, letting his mind drift outward. Jadu was out there, its icky presence almost tangible. The djinn hadn't been wrong then about the world bursting with it. He strained, groaning with the effort to grab it.

  It was there.

  Within reach.

  But not for him.

  Try as he did, he came out empty, his hands not even able to brush against its surface.

  With a sigh, he opened his eye. “At the Shahi Qilla. As I fought the queen. Another Ajeeb magus.”

  “Ah,” said Bana. “And what did you do there?”

  Shoki chewed his lower lip, casting his mind back to the battle. “I… We were in the world between the worlds... one full of potentialities and the essences of matter…” Bana nodded, made a shooing motion for him to continue. “And… I saw the stone that keeps the Divide at bay beginning to crack. So, I… swapped my well and potentiality as a magus, with the essence of the stone itself. That’s… what I think I did anyway.”

  Bana hissed, stepping back. “You swapped the stone with yourself?”

  “I… think so. Why? What did I—”

  “Shush,” said the djinn, all signs of reserved deference melting away now. “The Divide stone replenished, the Divide between the worlds bolstered, the pari folk have been pushed back.” He raised a finger. “Yes, that explains why the wells have strengthened for all magi.” He scratched his head. “Why is Nainwa still suffering though? Why do we still not see the rot begin to reverse? Could it be… No! No one would do that. Blood magic is forbidden to all races. What then?”

  Shoki exchanged a glance with Jiza. She had moved over to the window, watching both of them in turn. “What’s he on about?” he mouthed the words.

  Jiza didn't bother responding to him, her large eyes settling back on the older djinn.

  The room shook violently as if in the grip of a hurricane.

  “What’s happening?” Shoki shouted, his arms flailing about to find purchase.

  “Get down!” shouted Jiza.

  “Why—”

  Something dense and heavy smashed into the left side of their room. Shoki flew toward the opposite wall, screaming, an arm stretched forward to cushion his impact.

  Distantly, he heard the door burst open.

  “Hurry, follow me,” came Kafayos’s voice.

  Shoki smashed into the wall with an almighty thud and crashed, accompanied by a hail of curses. He rose shakily on his feet, patting his sides for signs of damage. He should have broken a dozen bones, but miraculously all appeared in order.

  Jiza was shouting. Shouting at him.

  Once more, the room jerked sideways. Shoki dove forward, his hand reaching for the heavy table set against the wall. Grabbing its leg with all his might, he hugged it, refusing to let anything part them.

  “Get up!” came another shout. Kafayos. The djinn who had so conveniently turned up just as this mess had begun. “Or you’re going to die lying down like a dog.”

  “Mind your words!” shouted Shoki, still not letting go of the table.

  “Fine, remain here and die.”

  The ground rumbled, followed by more thumping sounds.

  “Shoki, we’re not yet finished with you,” came another voice. Feminine. Firm. “Get moving!”

  “But—”

  “Staying here,” she shouted over the clamor, “you’re helping whoever is out to kill you. Is that what you really want? Is that how you want to help our worlds?”

  “K-kill me?”

  Cursing his luck, the vagaries of kismet, the djinn, Shoki raised his head up cautiously. Kafayos stood at the door, his eyes closed, arms outstretched. He, too, was a magus, of course. His lips moving, Kafayos turned around as if facing down some unseen enemy. “I can’t—” Another crash drowned out his words.

  Shoki blinked at Kafayos wielding his jadu.

  Again, Shoki tried to reach out for his well. He had to help them all.

  The ground jolted, followed by shouting coming from outside the windows.

  “Shoki!” shouted Jiza.

  Shaking his head, Shoki ran for the door, Jiza slipping in beside him.

  Chapter 7

  Nuraya

  Gusts set Nuraya’s long hair streaming behind her. An annoyance when riding, but still less than what she would have experienced had she been wearing the cursed veil.

  Her thousand rode behind her. A din of voices and clacking hooves and snorting horses. Not too long ago, she would’ve regularly turned back to admire the sight of all the men who’d decided to follow her.

  Not anymore.

  Now, she rode north in silence, the burden of her responsibilities growing heavier by the day. Even as the distance between her and Algaria continued to increase, her heart continued to yearn for all she was leaving behind, pining for all she had lost.

  “The emissary is still following us,” reported Jinan, pulling up his horse beside hers. “Want me to get rid of him?”

  Nuraya didn't reply immediately. She had turned the blighted man away, letting him know in no unclear terms what she thought of his insulting offer.

  Why did he continue to follow her?

  Why hadn’t she executed him after what his people had done to the western realm?

  She cocked her head toward her siphsalar. Jinan’s lips were pursed, his handsome features contorted and pinched, but at least he seemed in control of his emotions, for the moment anyway.

  “No,” she said, turning back to the road ahead. She had to ensure she didn't burn all her bridges this time. “How much longer before we can set camp for the afternoon?”

  “Another ten miles or so until we arrive at Ijmair—or what’s left of it,” he replied grimly. “Per the scouts, a Reratish army had been there just a month ago.”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “The infidels have torched the town. We should skirt around the burned ruins. The scouts might have missed any Reratish forces who could ambush us.” He paused. “Even if there aren’t any Reratish there, we’d find no recruits or provisions there. Just the dying and the dead.”

  Nuraya considered his words for a breath, then shook her head. “I no longer have the luxury to ignore the ramifications of my actions. This time, I need to see with my own eyes what the Reratish have done to my realm.”

  “What happened is not just your burden to bear,” he said, his voice hot. “Your brothers did far more to hurt the realm!”

  Not just your burden! Nuraya didn’t miss what her siphsalar didn’t say out loud. Still, he was wrong. “My brothers weren’t responsible for my mother’s death, were they? Or Mona’s?”

  Jinan didn't respond.

  “If you blame me for what’s happened to you, have the courage to say that out loud.”

  “You could have stopped the queen,” he said, his eyes hardening.

  “Aye,” she admitted, her words hoarse. “I could have.”

  He rode in silence for long moments, his knuckles holding the reins growing paler. “I’ll send the command to set up camp.”

  She nodded. Men were never good at getting all that ailed them out of their system, but at least she had tried. Then again, she didn't have the time to keep waiting for a perfect hand. She had to make do with all the resources she
had, no matter what she thought of them. “Get Maharis to ride up to me.”

  Jinan muttered something under his breath. She braced herself. Maybe, it wasn't wise on her part to ask him to summon Maharis considering all that had transpired between him and her siphsalar. But Jinan had to learn that no matter what he felt, when she commanded, her wishes were to be obeyed.

  The siphsalar turned his horse around and cantered away, leaving her alone to her dark thoughts.

  Each passing day, even as regrets continued to pile up, the rage that had fueled her once seemed to fade bit by bit. Even the seething fury at avenging the manner in which Shoki had deceived her was losing its venom. Her mind also seemed to be constantly readjusting perspectives. Though she could still see the burned corpse Mother had turned to in her mind, the shock had started giving way to more self-recrimination, replacing the anger she should’ve felt toward her with pity.

  What if she had appealed to her uncle in Buzdar in a more diplomatic manner?

  What if she hadn't sent Jinan to attack Buzdar?

  What if she hadn’t turned around to rescue her mother instead of facing the ameer of Nikhtun herself?

  Could those actions have spared the fate Buzdar succumbed to, first at the hands of her men, then through becoming the gateway for the Reratish to roll through the western provinces?

  What if she had punished her mother when she’d first confessed in Kark?

  Had that kiss with Shoki set him on the path to destroying her? She shivered, refusing to dwell over the intense hatred and shock that filled her heart, even as another part of her worried over his safety.

  What if she had never listened to the magi, had never set them free?

  So many things she could have done differently. Hadn’t.

  Swallowing, she considered the ramifications of her last action once more. Abolishing the ancient institution tasked with keeping magi in check had cost far more than she would have anticipated. Far from using the magi as a blunt weapon in her hand, she had somehow stumbled into a war with stakes and goals that hardly aligned with hers.

  That had been a monumentally foolish mistake—something she knew she could never admit to anyone. No doubt, over history, many rebellious ameers and disgruntled scions of Istan would have thought of binding the magi to their cause, yet, none had dared challenge the Kalb’s authority. All of them, even the foolish sons of Sultan Paranab who had almost run the treasury dry with their extravagant ways, had refused to involve the magi in their affairs.

  She had been expected to learn from their mistakes.

  The others, even the foolish ones, had stepped away from the precipice. An abyss she had jumped right into.

  “My sultana, you called for me,” came Maharis’s voice behind her, barely audible over the clacking of hooves. He sounded weak, frail, no matter conserving his jadu once more.

  “Come forward,” she said, pulling on her reins.

  Maharis did. He rode a chestnut, a veritable warhorse she doubted the soldiers would have given him had it not been for the black turban he had taken to wearing again.

  For long breaths, she didn't say anything, her eyes scanning the empty road ahead. Dense trees lined the Imperial Highway here. Uighar was a good three hundred miles behind them now, its verdant spaces another fading memory as they continued into even denser forests surrounded by distant mountain peaks.

  How splendid was Istan! A land that spread for thousands of miles in all four directions. Housed millions of souls. Home to a hundred different languages. Experienced all four seasons to the full. Contained terrain of all types. Harbored a dozen religions and beliefs and hundreds of sects and schools of thought. The center of learning and culture.

  A beacon for the world.

  Her love.

  A land that was suffering massively.

  Her heart twisted. Did it really matter who was to be blamed for causing one’s beloved to fall ill when it was better to devote that attention toward finding a cure?

  “You called for me, my sultana?” Maharis said again.

  Nuraya exhaled, her fingers clenching the reins tight. “You’ve hurt me, Maharis. Deceived me. Yet… I feel it would be hypocritical of me if I were to punish you for crimes you carried out at the behest of someone who I didn't stop when I had the chance.”

  “My sultana, what the queen did isn’t your fault.”

  “I am not to be blamed for her actions.” Nuraya inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the rich forest air. “But I had numerous occasions to stop her. I failed at Kark. I didn't suspect her motives when she accompanied us to the Battle of Algaria.” She paused, once more recalling the face of the usurper she had kissed once. “And when Shoki warned me about her, I still refused to listen to him.”

  Maharis kept quiet.

  “Tell me, what happened to her? The manner in which she spoke at the very end… that was hardly her!”

  Maharis cleared his throat, kicking his horse to get closer to her. “Rabb as my witness,” he said, darting a glance back, “your mother was a most powerful magus. Neither a Jaman nor a Zyadi. Something that I admit took me by surprise as well. She was an Ajeeb magus. One in the same mold as the one-eyed usurper himself.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Ajeeb magi are not bound to a singular well like the rest of us are. They are different. And rare enough to… be as famous as the Istani Sultans. Nowshehro, Afrasiab, Burustam, Rakhsasha.” He shivered. “Truth be told, even I do not fully understand what had come over your mother.” He coughed. “She never shared her plans with me fully.”

  His words seemed to ring true. Mother had never been one to confess her deep thoughts. Then again, the gnawing feeling remained that she had been an unwitting pawn, fighting someone else’s battle for them. “What would she have done had I prevailed in the end?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I do know this. In her own way, she loved no one more than you. She really did want to see you on the Peacock Throne.”

  Nuraya exhaled, refusing to let the words sway her. “Because she thought she could manipulate me? Because she knew that despite her status as the Iron Sultan’s wife, people wouldn't accept her as the rightful sultana?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What was this stone she kept talking about? And what did Shoki mean about… my mother being in cahoots with the pari folk?”

  “I know nothing about that,” replied Maharis, a little too quickly. “As I said before, I am a mere Jaman magus. A pauper in front of the Ajeeb magi.”

  “One who has spent far too much time conversing with diplomats,” she observed. Maharis coughed, but she didn't belabor the point. Mother was dead, her secrets gone with her. And now no matter what others said, there was no easy way of getting to the truth.

  “You should turn north-west,” said Maharis.

  Nuraya cocked her head to the side, ignoring the cramps in her left leg. “Away from the safe castles up north?”

  “My sultana, the world has changed tremendously. Hardly anything that needs saying, but perhaps, it’s not too bad to remind ourselves of that fact. My… brethren have long struggled under the painful yoke of the inquisition. Nothing I’d said about that was untrue. They take us from our parents when we are young, raise us like dogs, whip and punish us for even the most minor of infractions, then take our blood with the threat of severing us from jadu at their whim. Join with us, and we can set it all right.”

  Nuraya chuckled, feeling the weariness creep into her bones. “Support your cause? I can actually see why the inquisitors would want to keep your lot in cages. I’ve seen your kind firsthand.”

  “My sultana, whip a boy from the moment he opens his eyes, and it’s a miracle if he doesn't end up growing into a resentful man. Treat someone with respect and honor, and they become productive members of society.”

  Nuraya laughed. “Are you saying my freeing your repressed brethren would have somehow turned all of them into anything different from a
bominations?”

  “Every revolution, no matter how noble, is founded on evil deeds done with the right intentions. The ramifications of your wise decision would really only be known down the generations.”

  She scoffed. “A future way too vague for me to fret over.”

  “Which is why you should turn west toward Ghulamia. My brethren are not all monsters, no matter what others might say. Despite all the past cruelties against them, they are holding a summit with the inquisitors of Kalb to chart a path forward. Something I fear we wouldn't be able to negotiate easily unless we had someone like you as a broker.”

  “Ghulamia,” croaked Nuraya. Wasn’t that the town Abba had told her to keep an eye out for? The place where strange magical happenings had broken out. Had Abba suspected something like this brewing all that time ago? The day at diwan-e-aam flashed in her memory. The supplicant from the town. The grand vizier’s hesitance at declaring the event as anything but magical. The standoff between him and the leader of Kalb.

  Even the grand vizier, despite all his wisdom, had not appreciated the threat that only Abba had been able to see.

  Her heart twisted. Had Abba not passed away, how easy life would have been.

  Worry grew in her gut. What would the magi do now?

  “My sultana, we should—”

  “Magus, I listened to you once before. And that was a terrible mistake. I am not going to do that again.”

  “My brethren can help you. This time—”

  Nuraya glowered at the magus and he fell silent. “Your kind is hardly worth trusting. No matter what edge you might be able to provide will not be worth the sacrifices it would require in turn.”

  She turned her head around. Her men were bantering amongst themselves as they rode. She caught sight of Camsh watching them, his brows furrowed. Ranal chattered on amiably to the side, in the middle of some amusing tale that had the three soldiers riding beside him grinning.

  Giving her head a sad shake, she faced the road. “We are almost at Ijmair.”

  “My sultana—”

  Nuraya raised her hand, and the blasted magus finally fell silent.