The Wild Ones

by Nafiza Azad

  “What if it isn’t?” I ask.

  “Then you can come and rescue me.” He smiles, and my heart twinges so painfully, I almost die right then.

  After he finishes eating, we go look for the middle worlder Eulalie told us about. I am extra careful, but I don’t see any of Baarish’s creatures around.

  According to Eulalie’s sources, the middle worlder, Wa’ad, is usually found near well-stocked street libraries at around two in the afternoon. We check a couple before we come across a tall, brown, wooden bookcase with glass windows set beside a red bench. She’s standing in front of the open doors of the tall bookcase, her head buried in a book. What we see of her looks mostly human-shaped, but as we get closer to her, I notice the moving words under her light brown skin. The words, written in ink, come from many different scripts. I can only identify Hindi, Urdu, English, Arabic, and Korean. Unlike tattoos, which are sedentary on the surface of the skin, her words swim like fishes in a woman-shaped aquarium.

  She looks up as Taraana and I approach. The blacks of her eyes are also made of words, and yes, they, too, are moving. Is it too much to ask for middle worlders to have eyes that, you know, don’t make me want to scream?

  This middle worlder, Wa’ad, looks at me for a long while before she transfers her gaze to Taraana, who is not wearing magic spectacles for once. I watch as her eyes flood with so many words that the whites darken and she turns into a demon. Okay, not really, but I am ready to run.

  “Are you the Keeper of the Between?” Wa’ad takes the initiative and moves a step closer. She seems stunned by Taraana. I slip my hand into Taraana’s and grip it tightly.

  “Yes,” he says. “Could I ask you some questions?”

  “Of course,” she replies with a smile. Yes, her teeth are pointy. Why do librarians need pointy teeth? I have to ask Qasim. “It would be my honor.”

  The streets aren’t crowded in this area, but there’s enough foot traffic that I am confident Baarish’s servants won’t attack us here. Still, I remain vigilant. When you’ve invited the vampire into your home, you have to be ready to sacrifice your blood.

  Wa’ad leads Taraana to an empty bench while I stand behind him like a bodyguard, much like Assi used to. All of a sudden, I have a lot of empathy for her. I hope she’s doing okay. I hope we get to see her again soon.

  “Have you known any other Keepers of the Between?” Taraana is asking Wa’ad when I start listening to them again.

  Wa’ad closes her eyes to think, and the words under her skin start moving faster. It’s rude to stare, but goodness, she’s better than any TV program I’ve sat through. Five minutes later, she shakes her head. “I haven’t known any Keepers of the Between personally, but there was an entire section dedicated to them in the library.” It is obvious that the library she mentions is the only library that counts to her. “Is there something specific you would like to know?”

  Taraana’s face lights up at her words. “Do you know how a keeper bonds to the Between?”

  “Hmm,” Wa’ad says, her narrow lips pursing at the question. And once again, the words go in a frenzy around her body. She’s wearing a gray caftan that leaves her thin arms bare. The words converge in her palms as she opens her eyes again. A flicker of frustration sweeps across her face. “The Keepers of the Between were a recalcitrant lot, given to secrecy and suspicion. Their power afforded them that right. Though the library had many texts with many hypotheses about the process of bonding, we didn’t dare pin down a keeper to get a clear answer. All I know is that during the process, a keeper is remade. It is a physical transformation that makes it possible for the keeper to then use magic.” She bows her head. “I apologize for not being able to answer your question.” Even though she says that, there is very little emotion present in her tone.

  Taraana seems to take her words pretty well. “I have one more question. May I ask it?” Wa’ad motions for him to continue. “How do I find a burning door in the Between?”

  Wa’ad blinks and we’re subjected to another show of words racing around her body. The spectacle is both fascinating and creepy. “A door in the Between burns when the city it leads to is dying.” Oh. I guess that makes sense.

  Wa’ad captures Taraana’s hand and I bare my teeth. Is she going to try to eat him or something? Instead of fulfilling any of my gory expectations, she says softly, “The Keepers of the Between are the ones who facilitate the conversion of the unrefined magic into forms middle worlders can use. Keepers of the Between usually control the flow of not just magic but also of middle worlders through the Between. The library documented their power well, and the middle world knew to treat them with respect. Things have changed a lot. My efforts to educate the current Magic Council on the importance of the Keepers of the Between have always been ignored.”

  Taraana nods jerkily. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “You are welcome. Be safe,” she says, and drifts away from us to browse the books in the street library.

  It is almost three when we take our leave of the middle worlder and make our way to the Khan el-Khalili souk. This souk is very much like the souks in Marrakech and the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. It boasts the same intoxicating sights and smells that we have become so used to in the past few weeks. Everything is the same, but different.

  Tabassum Naaz agreed to sing like a canary; she agreed to betray us to her grandfather. If we succeed here, she will be indirectly responsible for her grandfather’s death. Even if we don’t succeed here, she will find her circumstances changed. She will find a place, if not by her grandfather’s side, then near him as the one who delivered the keeper to him. Such a position will afford her the chance to kill him. If we fail, that is, and I don’t intend to.

  Taraana walks with his hand gripping mine and his face arrested in an expression of wonder at the sights before him. I can tell how much this insouciance costs him, though. His shoulders are tense and his grip on my hand is tight.

  We walk through the crowds, being jostled at every turn. The middle worlders attracted, perhaps, by the stars in Taraana’s eyes give him long, considering looks that all feel malicious to me. We have to enter the deserted alley at the end of the path. That’s where Baarish’s servants are waiting to ambush us.

  My steps become slower as we get closer to the entrance of the alley. However, I cannot delay it any further.

  “Taraana, we don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

  “I have to do this, Paheli,” he says. His eyes are bright, the expression in them making my heart crack like china. At this moment, I love him so much, I feel like I will kill anyone who even thinks about doing him harm.

  “Why? I will keep you safe, I promise.” I all but beg him.

  “Because I deserve to walk down a street without worrying about being kidnapped. Because I should be able to sleep without having nightmares. Because I am not an object to be owned but a person with rights and feelings. This might go wrong and I might fail, but, Paheli, I will have tried. I will have fought. That matters to me.”

  Without caring about the people around us, Taraana leans forward and presses a kiss on my lips. In the next second, he pushes me away and runs into the alley where Baarish’s servants are waiting.

  I run after him immediately. I’m only a few seconds away, but a few seconds is all it takes. When I enter, the alley is empty. No one is around, not even an oblivious human. I lose all reason and scream his name. I demand that he come back to me. Then I notice it. The pendant he was wearing, our only weapon against Baarish, lying on the ground. I am standing frozen, staring at it, when my sisters arrive.

  Paheli: The Maze and the Minotaur

  In times of crisis, every second appears an eternity. Some streets over, a car honks aggressively. The sound forms the background score for a moment that will forever be etched in my mind.

  “Paheli?” Valentina says, a rare note of hesitation in her voice.

  I will fall apart later. I can’t afford to right now. I reach down an
d pick up the pendant on the road. The clasp of the chain it was hanging from is broken. Probably in the struggle when Taraana was taken. Why didn’t I ensure the chain was stronger?

  “Is that the pendant—” Etsuko breaks off, horror draining her face of color.

  I ignore her and turn to the newest member of the Wild Ones. I didn’t expect Tabassum Naaz to hang around after she did her part, but here she is. Valentina grabs my arm and swings me around. I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t.

  “Did you tell Baarish not to use the Between?” I ask Tabassum Naaz.

  She nods, looking from me to Valentina and back again. “I told him he might not be successful if he took the Between.”

  “Okay,” I say. I am standing here on this noisy, dusty street, but inside, I am falling apart. “All right.” I nod to show people I am okay. “And you are sure he is going to take Taraana to”—I pause—“Lucknow?”

  “Yeah, he has a longtime lair there. That’s where he originally kept Taraana,” Tabassum Naaz replies.

  I nod again. It makes sense to move my head up and down, pretending I know what I’m doing. And I do. I planned for everything. I am terrified because he is in their hands, without a single weapon to defend himself. But he said he believed in me. He did.

  “He borrowed his friend’s private jet.” Tabassum Naaz continues talking. “The flight from Cairo to Lucknow will take seven hours and twelve minutes.”

  I nod. Again. It’s easy to do. “If we leave now and use the Between, it will take us three and a half hours to arrive in Lucknow. We will be there before him. We can find a way to return the pendant to Taraana.”

  The girls take my word as fact and don’t seem as concerned. All of them, apart from Valentina. I can never have any secrets from her.

  It takes a while, but we find an uninterrupted wall. Tabassum Naaz presses a palm on the wall, calls for a Between door, and grimaces as the Between extracts a magic toll from her in return. We enter the Between behind her.

  I am conscious of other people having conversations behind me. Perhaps some of them even talk to me, but I can’t hear anything or anyone else at this point. What have I done?

  Valentina appears beside me. She doesn’t say anything. She knows better than to ply me with empty platitudes. We both know better than to rely on false comfort.

  Tabassum Naaz walks on my other side. The golden light in the Between is dim today, as if the Between has somehow sensed what has happened to its keeper. An hour passes in silence.

  “I finally talked to my parents,” Tabassum Naaz says. “Threatened them with outright anarchy if they didn’t answer my questions.”

  I glance at her bright face. “What questions?”

  “See, my mom keeps a little red dress, the kind usually worn by babies, in her closet. For the longest time, I thought it was mine.”

  “But?” Valentina says. I really don’t want to know.

  “Turns out it belonged to my sister.” Tabassum Naaz turns away, not wanting us to see her face. “Did you never wonder why my family has only one granddaughter?”

  “We usually don’t poke at beehives,” I tell her.

  “Yeah. I didn’t get that memo. He killed my older sister and three other female cousins the day after each of them were born. Threw them in the Yamuna and let the water reclaim the magic in them. He tried to do the same with me, but as I said, the water refused to take me.” She laughs, a shrill, tearing sound. “I thought I would grapple with some kind of guilt over leading him to his destruction, but I don’t.” She breathes in. “He is a monster and he needs to die. If he survives your attempt, he won’t survive mine.”

  Two and a half hours more of walking takes us to the door leading out to Lucknow. I returned to this city only once before, and that time too, I spilled blood. I look at the door for a long time. I know I need to open it, but my arms feel like they’re weighted and won’t rise.

  Valentina wraps an arm around me and Daraja opens the door. They let me stay in the Between longest.

  The city is no longer as it was; time, the most ruthless of them all, has scrubbed all surfaces so the city wears a new face and a new name. But no matter the cosmetic changes, the city’s song remains unchanged. I hate it.

  Tabassum Naaz leads the way, and half an hour later, we find ourselves in front of the Bara Imambara. I have never seen this place, though I remember the nawabs who frequented the kotha talking about it. Of course, in their conversations, the place was under construction. It is a grand building originally built to house people who gather to worship.

  “Come this way,” Tabassum Naaz says. “Everyone here is a middle worlder, and I can’t magic you invisible since magic won’t work on you. What I will do instead is magic the air around you so it is opaque. As long as you stay together within the circle of magicked air, no one will see you.”

  It is ten in the morning in Lucknow, and the place is not yet busy. We move swiftly and without interruptions and take the stairs to the labyrinth housed on the second floor of this building. The labyrinth is known as the Bhool Bhulaiyaa and was commissioned to create jobs for people during a drought when work was scarce. It has seemingly no purpose except to get people lost.

  Tabassum Naaz seems to know her way through it quite well. “This used to be my playing grounds. As much as the old man hated me, he kept me close for a period of time. I used to tag along with my cousins, who walked as if this place belonged to them. There was one area in which we were forbidden entrance, so of course I was determined to get into it. It was where I discovered the keeper.”

  We slip between the pillars and stop when Tabassum Naaz holds up her hand. A few meters in front of us is a magically created chamber. It is a sizable place. Half of it lies in shadow. The other half is dimly lit by both the daylight and some lamps that glow a dirty yellow. There are five not-human men sitting on chairs and on the ground, presumably waiting for Taraana.

  Tabassum Naaz signals with her eyes and we move past the not-human men, using the darkness their eyes cannot pierce, until we have moved to the other side of the chamber. We can still see into it through the pillars that make up its wall. We gather close to each other, sit down, and wait.

  Every second that passes brings to mind a different scenario starring Taraana and pain. I hate myself a million times over for suggesting this stupid plan, for putting him at risk. I wish I could reassure you that everything is going to go as we have planned, but I cannot. Things have already gone wrong. Time, it goes by agonizingly slowly, but finally, we hear sounds of people coming up the stairs and into the maze. We hear the sound of something… someone being dragged, and I attempt to get to my feet before the other girls pull me down.

  The two not-human men who probably kidnapped Taraana appear, dragging him into the chamber, accompanied by another middle worlder. The other men move aside, and Taraana is placed on a chair in the middle, his legs shackled and his hands tied behind his back. One of them hits him on the head, and I force myself not to march over and kill him right at that moment.

  I can’t see him clearly; the light is too dim. Perhaps this is a blessing. His head hangs down and his shoulders are slumped. His entire body is an expression of defeat. I hate myself.

  “I will go distract them. Try to get the pendant around his neck when I’m gone,” Tabassum Naaz whispers, looking at me. I must make some gesture of acknowledgment because she straightens up and walks into the chamber, surprising all the men there.

  “What took you so long?” she says to them, not at all intimidated. Her confidence cows them. Perhaps they remember that she’s the Dar’s only granddaughter.

  The middle worlders make some noise about traffic.

  Tabassum Naaz waves her hands dismissively. “My grandfather?”

  “He went to receive his friends, my lady,” one of the men says. “They plan a celebration now that they’ve caught the keeper.”

  “I see,” Tabassum Naaz says. “I need all of you to come with me. I saw some of the girls t
he keeper travels with outside, and I can’t capture them all alone.”

  Will they believe her? They have no reason not to, but then again, there’s very little reason for them to obey her.

  We are surprised when most of the men immediately agree to go look for us. Of the eight middle worlders, only one is left behind. I don’t hesitate. As soon as Tabassum Naaz and the other men are out of sight, I break away. Talei takes care of the remaining middle worlder. A scream in his unsuspecting ear. My eyes are for Taraana alone.

  His face is covered with bruises. There is a gash on his forehead, and his lips are bleeding. His eyes are closed but I don’t think he’s unconscious.

  “Taraana,” I whisper, and he opens pain-filled eyes. I told him I’d be here, waiting for him. He exhales, tension flowing out of him.

  Without another word, I put the chain containing the pendant around his neck. “Do you remember the word to awaken the pendant?”

  He nods as if he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

  “I’m here. If you can’t do this, say so. I will take you away right now.” I don’t care about the logistics.

  He shakes his head. We hear the sound of voices. “Go,” he hisses. “Be safe.”

  It kills me that he, the one who’s shackled to the chair, is telling me to be safe. I run back into the shadows where the others are waiting.

  “Did you really see them, my lady?” a middle worlder is asking Tabassum Naaz.

  “Yes, they’re definitely in Lucknow,” she answers. Because she’s telling the truth, her voice rings with conviction.

  “Hey, where’s Jaffar?” Someone has noticed that the middle worlder left behind is no longer at his spot.

  The men look for their companion; one of them comes a bit too close to us. Thankfully, Tabassum Naaz calls him away. A few minutes later, making an excuse to search in this direction, she makes her way over.

  “What did you do with him?” she whispers to the dark that contains us.

  “He’s behind that pillar,” Ligaya replies, pointing. Tabassum Naaz doesn’t change her expression. A quick spell later, the body’s gone.