I nodded slowly, turning over the words and remembering reading them. I looked around as the North Sea and the storm rushing toward us vanished into the fog once more. No new scene appeared, and my father didn’t beckon me to follow this time. It was different. I could feel that it was different.
He extended the sword to me, hilt first. As soon as my fingers wrapped around the hilt, he nodded. “Good. You still have the will to fight. Remember your shield, my son. Keep it close. You’re going to need it.” He paused and then added quietly, “I love you, my son. Never forget that.”
Then, he vanished into the fog. And, I was alone again.
“Why are you so melodramatic?”
I closed my eyes as I hung my head. Then, I scowled at the boy who scowled back. “Why won’t you leave?”
“Told you I can’t. I’m stuck with you until you face your own personal demon.” He observed the way I hefted the sword and clicked his tongue. “And no, running me through or attempting to chop my head off is not going to help you.”
“Worth a try,” I muttered.
He vanished as I lunged.
Then, I heard a clear laugh. The boy reappeared beside me, his cold fingers wrapping around my wrist. “Why did you let her in?”
“Her?” I murmured. The laughter sounded different this time, warmer. It sounded like . . . “Lauren?”
“Mathias?” came the faint answering call.
A smile spread across my face at the sound of her voice. “Oh thank God, you’re alive. Lauren! Where are you?”
“Here. I’m over here! Come find me!”
“Lauren!” I lunged in the direction of her voice, ripping free of the boy’s grip.
He gave an irate shout. “No! Don’t do it, you lack witted fool of a bumbling mud pup!”
I had to find Lauren. If she was here, then maybe I would wake. “Lauren!”
“Don’t listen!”
I ignored him. Lauren was all that mattered. She was my shield.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Lauren
The reddish sandstone looked as though it had been dipped in blood beneath the sun’s setting rays. I tried not to focus on the illusion as I urged my horse forward. The Arabian mare snorted and swished her tail, but fortunately obeyed.
The wind grew stronger as I rode closer to the eastern entrance into Petra, swirling the sand and threatening to turn into whirlwinds. I refused to turn back even with the pressure of a glamour. The second day of Mathias’ timeline was nearly gone. It had taken me longer than expected to drive from Amman, where the dragon prince’s plane had landed, down to Wadi Musa, the village that guarded the pathways into Petra. Then, persuading the Bedouins to permit me to borrow a horse for the purpose of travelling to Petra on a pilgrimage had taken even more time. The self-proclaimed guardians of Petra had been mostly norms; although, I had sensed the presence of paranormals and caught glimpses of several high numbers. The only small mercy lay in the fact that they had stayed far away from me. Whether they were Jinn, I had no idea.
The wind continued to whip around me, tugging at my head shawl despite the fact that I had tucked the ends inside my jacket. I shivered as the wind’s bite made the cooler temperatures feel even colder. The mare danced beneath me, tossing her head and snorting in agitation. I patted her arched neck, murmuring soothing words in Arabic, and breathed a silent thanks when she settled down. I did not want to be thrown.
A huge gorge towered in front of us as we approached the Siq, the eastern entrance into the city of Petra. There had been stories shared by the Bedouin that Petra was haunted at night, and it was dangerous to go there. I had told them I was going to camp at the mouth of the Siq and then venture inside during daylight. Somehow, they actually believed me.
The mare shifted uneasily once more as the wind picked up in ferocity, but I didn’t dare release her. If she returned to the village on her own, they might feel obliged to send searchers after me and that would be an inconvenience. Still I didn’t want to risk being thrown. Instead, I slid out of the saddle and gathered the mare’s reins in my right hand. I rubbed her nose and murmured to her in Arabic until she settled down enough that I was able to start walking. The Siq wasn’t that long despite its twisting appearance, not even a full mile in length. I could walk it.
Shadows crept across the gorge’s sandstone walls, a further testament to the fact that I was running ever shorter on time. I needed to reach the city proper before the sun set completely. Walking into the dim mouth of the gorge, I couldn’t keep from feeling watched. I tightened my grip on the mare’s reins as I led her in deeper. When we rounded the first corner, however, and the entrance seemingly vanished from sight, I felt an increasing pressure in the air.
It made me want to turn back and go home. My brow furrowed in a frown. I didn’t have a home to go back to and the only way I would ever have one again was if I found the Jinn. I stepped forward, feeling as though I was being pushed back. It was slightly different from the usual protective glamour as far as the feel of it. It didn’t feel static to me, it was more . . . malleable than that and, perhaps, someone was manipulating it. It felt . . . fluid like walking chest deep up a river . . . or walking into a strong wind.
A roar echoed through the gorge, and the mare squealed in alarm. She jerked her head up, nearly pulling me off my feet before I tried to grab her bridle. I murmured in Arabic, struggling to keep my own growing fear out of my voice as I spoke. But, she wasn’t listening to me this time. Another roar echoed through the gorge and I stumbled as the mare pulled away, yanking the reins out of my hands. I lunged at her, aiming for the dangling reins or the bridle or even the saddle. I missed and barely kept myself from sprawling in the sand as the mare wheeled back toward the entrance. She galloped off, tail held high and flaring out like a streamer behind her, then vanished around the bend.
How wonderful. I started to raise my hand only to drop it back to my side. The mare wasn’t coming back, not with the Jinn’s defenses so active. The echoing roar that had caused my ride to abandon me continued, but never grew closer. Perhaps it meant that this truly wasn’t some guardian creature blocking the path. Or at least, I really hoped so since I had no means of defending myself.
The pressure to turn back struck me once more, and I caught myself retreating several steps before I realized what I was doing. No. No, I wasn’t going to turn back. The whisper that I should go home meant absolutely nothing to me. My home was Mathias, and he was lost to me. I could never go back to him unless I spoke to the Jinn, which wouldn’t happen if I retreated. Ignoring the pressure, I turned back to face the Siq, plucking at the strap of my satchel to adjust it to a more comfortable position. Thank God, I had decided to wear it instead of putting it in the saddlebags. At least, I had left my go bag at the safe house in Amman so I didn’t need to fret about losing anything in it. And, the Sapphire of Shinar was in the inner pocket of my jacket. Everything precious was secured in some way. There was no reason to turn back because I hadn’t forgotten anything and what I needed most was in front of me.
I adjusted the strap of my satchel once more, using the small act to further anchor myself against the compulsion to turn around and leave, and then trudged forward. The wind whistled and howled around me, kicking up sand and even bits of stone. Reaching up, I pulled my head shawl more securely across my face so I wasn’t breathing in so much sand. Still, the wind pelted at me as I continued deeper into the gorge, bits of sand and stone biting at my exposed hands and bouncing off the protection of my leather jacket and head shawl. I caught a glimpse of something, a shadow of a shadow for lack of a better explanation, out of the corner of my eye. Nothing was there when I turned to look, however.
Now, I really wished Mathias was with me. He at least would know if the shadows were anything more than they seemed. More sand and bits of stone continued to pelt me. Ducking my head, I noticed niches carved into the walls of the gorge. There didn’t seem to be anything or anyone inside them . . . except
when I occasionally caught a glimpse of more shadows of shadows. Yes, I most definitely missed having a Ten by my side.
By some small mercy of Providence, nothing leapt out of the shadows or the niches carved in the walls. Other than the wind and the compulsion, the gorge was strangely empty of any true obstacles. The cynical little voice in the back of my mind whispered that this was far too easy, especially for crossing into the territory of powerful paranormals such as the Jinn. Baba had been a 9. If they all shared his number . . . Okay, yeah, I was obviously walking into a trap.
No sooner had the thought occurred than the wind picked up to the degree that I could see a whirlwind forming. No . . . No, there was more than one whirlwind. It was a series of them. The sand, pebbles, and bits of stone pelted at me with more force, leaving stinging bites wherever they managed to touch unprotected skin.
The wind increased to the point that I was sliding backwards on the sand despite the fact that I was leaning forward. My head shawl flapped and tugged in the wind, covering my face, but not thick enough to fully shield me from the stinging assault of sand and stones. I had found the Jinn . . . Or at least one of their protections. And, they were going to succeed in pushing me out.
The image of Mathias, pale beneath the blood and bruises, seared across my mind’s eye. If I let them win, he would die. My baby would be in danger. Everything I loved rested on my ability to speak to the Jinn. How could I make them listen when they weren’t willing to admit me into their city?
A scrap of a memory rose in my mind. Of my father. We were in the desert somewhere, on the dunes, and there had been an out of control whirlwind. I saw my father raise his hand and speak a word. The feel of power struck me as the whirlwind vanished, leaving only the sand to collapse back onto the dune.
My left hand rose. The gritty particles of sand and bits of stone stung against my exposed skin, but I ignored it. I needed the whirlwinds to stop. They had to stop because I needed inside the city. The word left my lips before I fully registered it. “Birakmak!” Turkish for release . . .
I felt something almost like a surge and my heart tripped, then everything stopped. The sand stopped, the wind vanished, and they appeared. Flung out of the swirling sand, three men and a woman landed on their backs before they leapt to their feet as the whirlwinds died. Keffiyehs and a head shawl covered most of their faces. But, their body language screamed their suspicions for the world to see. One of the men spoke in Arabic, his tone sharp and commanding. “Who are you, stranger? That you know how to stop our winds?”
I forced myself to stand straighter even though the effort of stopping their tricks was almost enough to send me to my knees. My voice came out a bit breathless, however, as I replied in Arabic, “I am Lauren, daughter of Elam Serkan of the Jinn and his wife, Natalia of the Sibylline Seers. I have come to seek the aid of my father’s kin.”
The Jinn exchanged looks. Then one of the men murmured, “She is lying. The Serkan family said nothing of kin outside our protection.”
The third man quickly whispered, “She was able to throw all four of us out of our whirlwinds. No pretender could manage such a feat.”
“She commanded it in Turkish,” the second man protested. “That makes no sense.”
“Intent is more important than the language spoken,” the woman interjected. She moved to stand beside the first man and nodded to him. “Hasim, we should take her before the elders. Allow them to decide what is to be done with her.”
“No!” the second man exploded. His entire body nearly vibrated with anger as he stomped closer to the pair. “No, Hasim, we are the gatekeepers and as such it is our duty to prevent infiltration of our city. We should leave her body to be found in the morning by other fools, and they will no longer entertain ideas of trespassing where they should not.”
“Do not presume more than is your place, Nizar,” Hasim said sternly. He glanced at me, then turned to the woman and nodded. “Layla, escort her to the Treasury. Nizar, Jalil, ensure that the village watchers know to prevent any concern about the horse’s return.”
Despite his obvious anger, Nizar didn’t argue further. Even more fortunately, he didn’t attempt to strike at me as he and Jalil strode past me. I still felt the wind at my back as they summoned and then disappeared into whirlwinds that vanished back the way I had come.
It was only then that Layla waved for me to follow her. Hasim had already vanished although I wasn’t certain where he had gone. I swallowed hard, still somewhat in disbelief that this had actually worked. At least, so far. I still needed to face the elders, and Nizar’s willingness to speak of my death, well, it made me more than a little nervous that the elders would share his outlook on trespassers.
I couldn’t turn back now, though. I had already come too far. Fortunately for my nerves, Layla didn’t seem to be the prying sort since she didn’t make any attempts at conversation. Or perhaps the trip was too short to allow for such things since it seemed we had not been walking for long at all before I caught a glimpse of ornately carved columns and edifices. Layla broke her silence, just a touch smug as we emerged from the Siq, and I couldn’t help gawking at the colossal carvings in the sandstone walls. “Welcome to Al Khazneh, the Treasury of Petra. This way, if you please.”
The place looked as though it had been carved by giants. At first, I saw only the carved edifices weathered by time and peppered with bullet holes in the sandstone. It was exactly like all the pictures described. Until Layla reached back to grasp my right wrist. Then the scene rippled, changing to reveal a restored edifice with the bullet holes repaired and the debris cleared away. And, I saw the people. Most of them wrapped in cloaks and headdresses against either the chill of winter or, perhaps, solely against the potential of being identified by a stranger. I felt their gazes on me, measuring and questioning in equal turns though no one spoke.
I almost faltered when I caught sight of the numbers above their heads. My heart seized with instinctive panic, and it took more effort than I care to admit to keep from backpedaling. My memories of Baba should have prepared me and, yet, I was still caught off guard to see so many 9s in one place. I had been too distracted by the conversation and my potential execution to pay close attention to the four guardians, but a quick peek confirmed that a 9 glowed bright and utterly undeniable above Layla’s head.
Right. The Jinn were powerful paranormals. Of course, most of the adults would carry 9s and a strong sense of danger. What truly astounded me, however, was the fact that only the few children I glimpsed who were school aged had lower numbers, 7s for the most part. I didn’t see any babies or toddlers, though. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen children with such high numbers . . . Probably only the dragons could match it and even then those were teenagers, not younger children. The feel of power, of danger, washed over me as my steps slowed.
Layla tugged me into the Treasury itself, the massive columns rising around us before the shadows gave way to an inner chamber carved into tiers of sandstone and lit by a number of ornate lanterns. More 9s glowed within the chamber and from the far corners, all of which served to make my skin crawl with the instinctive need to put a lot of distance between these dangerously high numbers and myself. But, avoidance wasn’t an option anymore.
Once we stood in the center of the chamber before a raised platform covered in mounds of pillows, Layla released my wrist although she didn’t move away. She lowered the protective layer of cloth to reveal a face eerily similar to my own save for her complexion being a shade darker, more like what I remembered of my father’s appearance. Which made sense, of course. It was still difficult not to stare at her or at any other Jinn to try and spy more familiar features.
Then, there was a change in the air and I sensed . . . power, far stronger than that of the gathered watchers. I looked up at the platform and nearly jumped out of my skin as seven people simply appeared. They were seated on the cushions and looked as though they had been sitting quite comfortably for some time. 9s glowed above
their heads, not that I expected anything else at this point. Of the seven, five were men and two were women. Grey and white dominated the beards of the men, and wrinkles creased the corners of all seven pairs of eyes. They were dressed like the Bedouin, all robes and headdresses. Their combined attention was focused solely on me. The man sitting in the center of the pillows raised a hand and gestured to Layla. “Speak, Guardian. Why have you brought a stranger into our midst?”
Layla didn’t so much as glance at me as she responded, “This woman entered the Siq and cast all four guardians from their whirlwinds with a single word of command. When Hasim confronted her, she declared herself the daughter of Elam Serkan of the Jinn.”
There was a faint rustle from the watching crowd, but no one spoke louder. Still, I could feel the skepticism filling the inner chamber. And, that was without five of the seven elders frowning at me. Only the elder who had spoken and the woman sitting to his left didn’t frown. Instead, they both studied me with an amount of contemplation that almost made me wish that they were frowning. The man nodded slowly and then he turned his full attention to me. “You claim to be kin to the Serkan Clan of the Jinn.”
I nodded and took care to use Arabic as they were when I responded, “I am the daughter of Elam Serkan of the Jinn and his wife, Natalia of the Sibylline Seers, it is true.” I paused and then took half a step forward as I continued, “Please, you must know that I have traveled far to find you. It is a matter of great urgency.”
“We do not hear the demands of strangers to us,” one of the other elders responded with a sharp scolding in his eyes.
The first elder raised a hand. “Patience, my friend. The woman claims to be kin to us, and she has somehow managed to find us. Let us hear her story, then we shall decide whether to hear her request of us.”
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