by K A Doore
And into chaos.
That was the first word that sprang to mind as Illi took in the disorder and mess. Daylight spilled into the large room from skylights set in the high ceiling. The light picked across floating motes and the dust that was layered thick on various strange and familiar instruments.
Illi recognized the flasks and the beakers, the racks of vials, the burners, the clamps, the stands, the tongs, the scales. She didn’t recognize the twisted metal contraption, which suspended five glass spheres in the air. Nor did she recognize the large wooden barrel in the center of the room, from whence several metal pipes poked out of the bottom and the top. Stains marred the floor, some of clear origin—oil, blood, fire—some not. Even the ceiling had a strange smear of charcoal red.
Merrabel headed for a wide wooden desk on the other side of the room. She leaned over the desk, her fingers drifting across several stacks of papers. Illi waited a heartbeat, but when Merrabel only continued to peruse her papers, she wandered around the room. Slowly, she picked apart the chaos and began to guess at each area’s use. But she could only guess—Heru had ill-equipped her for anything beyond guul containment. He’d been obsessed with finding better ways to bind the guul. Whereas it appeared Merrabel was interested in more.
Illi tightened her fists and swallowed her guilt; she had made the right choice.
Merrabel finished writing something at her desk and straightened, the pen clenched between her fingers like a weapon. Her too-pale eyes cut across the room, pinning Illi to the spot.
“Now … what shall we do with you?”
16
“Not with.” Illi met Merrabel’s gaze. “Together. And we need to find a way to destroy the sajaami.”
“Right to the heart of it, I see,” said Merrabel. “No wonder Heru took to you.”
“What’s your plan?” pressed Illi.
Merrabel set the pen down and walked around her desk, her gaze running the length of Illi. “First, I have to know what we’re working with, which means understanding exactly what Sametket did to you. Hold out your arms.”
Illi lifted her arms, wincing as her sleeves first caught on, then revealed both of her bracelets: one a shining silver, the other a burnt gray. It felt deeply intimate, as if she were revealing more than just charmed jewelry. She took a breath and met Merrabel’s gaze.
But Merrabel wasn’t looking at her. The general had removed her gloves as she crossed the room and now ran her fingers across the silver bracelet, turning it as she traced the engraved script with her thumb. She pushed the bracelet up Illi’s wrist, revealing the rough skin beneath, the blisters burst but long from fully healed. She made a noise in the back of her throat, then dropped Illi’s arm and went to her other side, where she performed the same perfunctory examination.
But this time when Merrabel dropped her arm, she stepped behind Illi. A moment later, cold fingers touched her neck. Illi started to move, to turn around, but those fingers held her in place with an unexpected strength. A draft brushed across her back as her wrap was pulled away. Merrabel let out a soft gasp, halfway between awe and delight.
Then those cold fingers were tracing the marks Heru had carved into her flesh. Illi chewed her lower lip, breathing deep through her nose in an effort to remain as still as stone despite a desperate urge to pull away and cover herself. No one had seen those wounds since Heru had made them, not even Illi herself. She hadn’t dared take a mirror to the mess he’d made of her back. But Merrabel had to understand. And to understand, she had to see.
Finally, Merrabel let go of Illi’s wrap and stepped back into view, her lips pursed tight with thought. “I must admit, that’s some clever work. I wouldn’t have expected it from Sametket. He’s made some impressive leaps.”
“Now you’re calling him Sametket again—why did you call him he Fet back on the mountain?” asked Illi.
Merrabel shrugged. “I was trying to rile him up and get him to reveal more about the sajaami. It worked.”
“But it didn’t. He attacked you. Your captain died.”
“An unfortunate sacrifice,” said Merrabel with a tight sigh.
“You could’ve avoided it. If you know him as well as you claim, you’d know he responds much better to praise.”
“Praise.” Merrabel rolled her eyes. “He’s had more than enough of that. I won’t be the one to further contribute to his ego.” She brushed off her hands. “That man thinks he’s suffered, like he’s the only one who’s ever been orphaned, when his Empress made orphans of us all. He doesn’t have the faintest idea what it’s like to really struggle. He’s had nothing but opportunities handed to him, from being accepted into the Empress’s school to his tutelage under Samet. He stood at the right hand of the most powerful woman in this land and learned secrets most of us would die for, demanding more as if it were his due. And then he runs off and hides in the desert when those who helped him needed his help the most.” She spat on the floor. “Spineless traitor.”
“The Empress turned against him,” pointed out Illi.
Merrabel waved a hand. “Yes, but his city didn’t.”
“How do you know so much about him? You said you studied together, but that must’ve been years—decades—ago.”
“As one of the Empress’s own marab, he was known by every marabi throughout the Empire.” Merrabel went to a bench and poured water into a bowl. “But you can learn a lot from a person during even a year or two of their youth. It’s amazing how little people truly change.”
“He’s changed. He’s not like that anymore.”
“Is he not, now?” Merrabel pressed her lips together. “From what I’ve seen, he’s still just as thoughtless, just as petulant, just as insufferably proud—and just as useless. What has he ever actually accomplished?”
Illi was ready with her answer. “The guul. He’s kept Ghadid safe from the guul. He didn’t have to stay after he cleared our water, but he did.”
Merrabel considered, then gave a curt nod. “I’ll give him that. Perhaps he has some loyalty in him yet. Or perhaps he decided your town is a conveniently quiet place to continue his experiments, a place where no one would understand what he was doing and be able to challenge him on it.”
“What about this school you went to?” asked Illi, hoping to redirect. She didn’t like the way Merrabel’s words twisted in her like screws, skewing her own view of Heru. She knew Merrabel was wrong about him, but her anger still bubbled, sour as old wine, and she couldn’t remember the good parts. “Was there really an entire school for en-marab?”
“Technically, it was never for en-marab,” said Merrabel. “The Empress wanted the very best of the best in her school. She took applicants from all over her Empire, including Hathage. At the time we thought it was odd that she’d open the gates to marab studies as wide as she did, but now, of course, we understand. She didn’t just want marab, she’d wanted en-marab. Which meant she had to circumvent the traditional schools and create her own. She must have hoped that by encouraging the study of every aspect of jaan, and not just their quieting, she could scrape off the knowledge she needed and no one would realize what her true intentions were. Her plan worked beautifully.”
“If you can call dying in the Wastes beautiful.”
Merrabel laughed. “You’re absolutely correct. The Empress was not as brilliant with the execution of that part of her plan.”
She scrubbed her hands clean in the bowl, then wiped them dry on a towel before pulling her gloves back on. “If I’m reading them correctly, those marks Heru made form an intricate binding, one that weaves the sajaami between your jaani and body, making it a part of you while also keeping it separate. The bracelets, then, are dampeners. Without them, you could wield the full force of the sajaami’s strength, perhaps even be stronger than the sajaami unbound. I would be tempted to test that theory—”
“Hypothesis,” corrected Illi.
Merrabel finished pulling her gloves on and considered Illi. “You really are his assistant.�
�
Illi felt a strange prickle of pride. Until Merrabel added, “And if you ever correct me like that again, I will have you turned out.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t have to work with you, Illi Basbowen,” said Merrabel. “Eventually even such well-constructed ornaments as those bracelets will fail. The sajaami will be free again, and it might take some doing, but I could contain it. While I’d prefer to work together, as it would be faster and far less disastrous, I won’t be disrespected in my own lab.”
Illi crossed her arms. “And I don’t have to work with you.” As she said it, she realized she meant it. She was only here because she wanted what Merrabel had—both her knowledge and equipment. But she could get those without giving Merrabel anything in return.
Merrabel raised her eyebrows, then laughed. “Those marks on your palms—I’d assumed they were Heru’s, but you’ve been practicing on your own, haven’t you? You’ve been trying to learn how to bind … let me guess, wild jaan? You’re playing with lightning, Illi. It’s only a matter of time before you burn yourself. I won’t have to wait long to collect the sajaami from the ashes.”
Illi ground her teeth, but Merrabel wasn’t finished. “Sametket clearly didn’t bother training you, but I will. You’ll have every resource Hathage has to offer available to you. You can even bring that knowledge back to your town in the Wastes, if that’s your true desire. I ask only for your loyalty and your respect. Can we agree to that?”
Illi swallowed, then nodded. “I can. But I refuse to be treated as just an experiment, or just your assistant.”
“I have decades of experience on you.”
“I’m not saying you have to treat me as your equal,” said Illi. “At least, not in this. But at least treat me like a student.”
“I can agree to that.” Merrabel cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I’d be tempted to test that theory—” She paused to glance at Illi, who kept her lips firmly pressed together. “—but in all likelihood, those bracelets are the only thing keeping the sajaami from tearing you apart. You’ve seen with your own eyes how quickly a guuli burns through its living host. A sajaami is a thousandfold stronger. Imagine, for a moment, what would happen.”
Merrabel paused again, her gaze on Illi. After a few strained heartbeats, she loudly cleared her throat.
“I assume … I’d burn up as well,” said Illi.
“Yes,” said Merrabel, snapping her fingers as if Illi were a pet that had performed her trick well. “The sajaami’s power would incinerate your body as well as your jaani. There would be nothing left of you.”
Illi swallowed. She’d suspected as much and she’d wondered if that was part of Heru’s hesitation. It was one thing to die, but another entirely to have her jaani destroyed. At least in death there was still hope for something else—heaven, if not another life. But not if her jaani were gone. “Is that what happened to Captain Amilcem?”
Merrabel’s gaze slipped past Illi. “Unfortunately. But all of my soldiers are aware of the greater sacrifice they may have to make for the safety of our kingdom. That’s the danger of living in these times, with the Wastes unstable and a sajaami loose.”
“If I fall apart when I remove the bracelets, then how can we destroy the sajaami?”
“Now that’s the question, isn’t it?” said Merrabel. “But we’re still getting ahead of ourselves. First, we must understand the sajaami itself. Only then can we decide on the right method to eradicate the threat.”
We. Merrabel kept using that pronoun and every time it drew Illi in further, despite her better judgment. With Heru, it’d always been I. He’d never been interested in how Illi could help or what she could contribute, only how quickly she could bring him that knife or this bowl.
“I’ve been trying to understand it.” Illi turned over her wrists, feeling the metal of the bracelets slide across them. “But Heru refused to. I still don’t know why.”
“Sametket was afraid of it.”
Illi let her arms drop. “Heru? Afraid?” But hadn’t the sajaami said the same thing? He’s held back by fear.…
“Like any of us, he’s spent his entire life devoted to untangling the mysteries of jaan and guul in order to understand, even achieve, immortality, but I doubt he expected the actual means to that end to wind up in his hands.”
“Why not?” asked Illi. “If that’s what he’s always wanted?”
Merrabel tapped her fingers on the desk, her gloves muting the sound to a series of soft thumps. “You see, some people strive for things so far beyond their means because they can be content in the safety of never achieving those things. Their joy lies in the struggle of striving, not the goal itself. Achieving their goal would be the death of them. Sametket understands that he wouldn’t know what to do with the power he seeks, which is why he’s never done anything with the sajaami. Ask yourself, if you don’t believe me—he saw the Empress achieve all of his goals, even if her execution was fundamentally flawed. Yet in all the time you’ve known him, has he once made any attempt to replicate what she did?”
Illi swallowed. She didn’t need to think long to know that Merrabel was right, that Heru had never once tried to follow in his Empress’s footsteps. He’d played with wild jaan and rats, with containing the guul and understanding their threat, but those were miles behind where he’d once been, what he’d once wanted. He’d made these bracelets, had them ready to use as soon as the orb shattered, and yet it had been clear he hadn’t intended to use them himself, not then. Perhaps not ever.
But afraid?
Heru was supposed to be the one person who wasn’t afraid.
Illi dug her fingernails into her palms. Merrabel was trying to distract her. In the end, this wasn’t about Heru. This was all about the sajaami. “We should focus on what we know about it, first,” she said. “We know where it came from and how it got there. We even know the method that was used to originally bind it, and the method used to release it.”
“You just said it yourself,” said Merrabel. “Bind. Release. While that’s helpful information, neither will bring us closer to destroying it. We must understand how the sajaami works on a fundamental level. We have a unique opportunity; no one alive has ever seen a sajaami and very few of the surviving texts go beyond the mythological. Everything we know about sajaam is rumor and conjecture. Until now. Tell me.” Merrabel picked up a pen and slid a piece of vellum to herself. “Those who’ve been possessed by jaan often have visions. Have you seen anything unusual since your possession?”
“I saw … a few things before Heru completed the binding. But they were jumbled nonsense.”
They’d been more than jumbled nonsense. Illi could still see the expanse of water below her, taste the salt, hear the crackle of flames. But she’d found nothing helpful in those images, only a past long since buried. And while they might be the sajaami’s memories, they felt like hers. She might be willing to trade a few things with Merrabel, but not those.
“A shame,” said Merrabel. “I’d thought … well, never mind what I thought.” She crossed the room to a large metal locker. “Let’s see what else the sajaami might be capable of.”
She drew a key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock, twisting it all the way around until it clicked. She opened the door, revealing a full-to-bursting cabinet. Every narrow shelf was stuffed with jars, utensils, vials, and fabrics with no discernible order or system. Merrabel plucked a small wooden box from the chaos, then shut the cabinet, pocketing the key.
Merrabel carried the box before her and carefully set it down on one of the less cluttered tables. She gestured Illi closer.
“What’s in here?” she asked.
“Two guul,” said Illi, and only after she’d answered did she feel them, twin spots of warmth that pulsed more strongly the closer she got.
Merrabel nodded and lifted the lid of the box, exposing two glowing spheres within. Their warm light illuminated Merrabel’s face, giving her some much-needed col
or and softening her pale eyes.
“Take them.”
Illi met Merrabel’s gaze, focused and intent. The sajaami was already responding to the order, its heat spreading across her chest, down her arms to her fingertips. Carefully, gently, with all the precision and control she could muster, she let the sajaami reach.
The light went out of the orbs. Illi could still feel the guul. She held up one hand, her fingers trailing red and orange smears of light. She turned her hand this way and that, watching the way the light moved, slow and fat like fog. Like the way the light clung to her when she was healing.
Unlike the previous times she’d reached for guul, she felt no need or thirst. Only curiosity. After all, it’d only been that morning when she’d snatched three guul from Heru. How long would those last her? How long would they last the sajaami?
And what would it mean when she ran out of guul?
“Fascinating,” murmured Merrabel. Her pale eyes reflected the glow as she examined Illi’s hand without touching it. “The relationship between the sajaam and the guul has long been in the realm of myth, but this validates some of those claims. There is indeed an affinity between the two. Now”—she stepped back, folding her arms—“repeat what you did in the Aer Caäs.”
Illi stopped turning her hand, but the red and orange continued to snake around her fingers. “What?”
“We must replicate what you did in the mountains in the relatively consistent environment of my lab. It’s imperative that I understand what you did.” Merrabel paused, then added, “It could be the key to finding the sajaami’s weakness, Illi.”
Illi swallowed, her throat dry. She felt the guul at her fingertips. She didn’t need it, didn’t need to do this. She was already thrumming with energy, despite having walked all night. Yet part of her craved more.
It’s just an experiment, she told herself. She reached, felt the heat of the guul at her fingertips, and covered them with her will. They felt different from the guul on the sands. Docile. There was no fight to them, no kick, even as she squeezed.