I blink twice. I assumed the monks had enlightened me, had shattered the thousands of illusions in the world, righted the contradictions and uplifted the veils between myself and the soul. I am a fool. I had only scratched the surface in the cosmic possibilities of Eajizi.
Hunger burrows in my stomach. I am nothing. Absolutely powerless – compared to what Icouldbe – compared to the paragon of Eajizi displayed before me.
‘Gates of Heaven,’ I echo. ‘But affinities are already from the realm of the Heavens.’
His thumb and finger pinch together. ‘In this, for a window of time, you surpass corporeal restrictions, for the power is not just an extension from the Heavens, it’s the gates. The gates are flanked by angels, who guard the souls of the Heavenly Birds and the Divine knows what other creatures.’
‘How does one master the gates?’ I ask.
Adel’s lips twist into a sneer. ‘Master? You cannot simply master them. It’s unnatural. There are high-ranks paralysed in the monastery for toying with the Gates techniques. You are a low-rank playing with the cosmos where none should. You would be risking your soul, shifting the balance between Brother-Nature, the clay and humankind.’
A part of me cannot help but think the balance of power has already shifted. With Mitra’s existence, the order has been eroded. Humans have been seduced into a new era in the struggle between peace and violence, and for the first time in history, it seems humankind has chosen violence willingly. Lines have been crossed; why should we not cross them too?
Beside me, No-Name contemplates this almost eagerly. ‘Akashun wields Mitra. If he is pursuing unprecedented power, how can anyone defeat him without a power of symmetrical strength?’
I would be wise to heed Adel’s warning, for he is a Seventh-Slash. If it were easy to grasp the gates, then surely Adel would do it.
I ask, ‘Can you summon the Eight Gates?’
He seems startled. ‘You do not summon the Eight Gates of Heaven. The gateschooseyou. In battle, a steep risk. You could be lost in thepsychospiritual world for eons. There are legends of Eajiz who have never returned from their state of meditation. Their souls sucked into an unknown realm on a different plane of time, lost amongst the jinn-folk.’ Rather harshly, he adds, ‘And if you accomplish it, it’s the physical manifestation of greed, the Divine’s greatest test to Eajiz – for that’s all power can do –it consumes.’
34
The nearest Azadnian monasteries are raided to find any bodies left behind in the hasty retreat; we find monastic libraries stacked with copied manuscripts and tablets of the dark arts, waterlogged and ruined.
The Sepahbad finally appears in our small encampment, ordering the remaining captains: ‘If we wait to bury the bodies, we risk inviting the curses of jinn-folk across the local villages.’ His cheeks are flushed as if in fever. As he descends past me, he appears paler, his typical grace sluggish as if the Gates of Heaven had leeched his soul completely. But upon a second look, he appears like a warrior who has shaken hands one too many times with war and has come to detest it.
I do not join in sorting the mass graves of Mitra bodies; my squadron is assigned to find any Azadnian soldiers to capture alive.
I walk along the fortification lines through the alpine forest, with the sun waning at eventide. In the trails, at the fantastical hour of sunset, the shadows are thick, the sparrows’ tunes imbued with melancholy as if grieving the deaths of today. The sounds of my squadron fade as I trek deeper through bramble, fir carcasses scoring my vision.
Yun. I feel the echo of his presence behind my breastbone. Does my brother approve of Mitra? I suddenly ache for the purpose I possessed in Za’skar, when my anger was pure, and vengeance was a simple game.
My thoughts are cluttered as I sit on a spongy tree that stinks sharply of decay, not unlike the corpses scattering the valley. I think of the Mitra creatures – how can I subdue them? I turn to No-Name, who is silent as ever.
‘How can I ever kill Warlord Akashun when he has such power?’
‘You cannot,’ she says simply.
Unless I can use the Gates of Heaven against him. A raw power thatflooded this valley in a matter of minutes. My fingers twitch with flickers of nur.
A low-pitched cry fractures the melodies of the woodland. I glance at No-Name and she looks baffled too. It sounds like a child. We walk deeper into the conifer trails, my blade clenched between my fingers. As I peek around the trees...
It is a boy. Curled up, sobs wrack his spine, and I tuck my knife into my belt, rushing forward.
‘Child,’ I breathe. ‘You are here? Alone?’
His arm is bent out of shape as he clutches it to his bare chest, back against a stump. He looks up, eyes raking over my pale tunic.
I falter at that. ‘I will not hurt you. I can help.’
‘Child?’ He glances at himself. ‘I suppose I am.’ His lips curl down. And then he lunges at me, sending me sprawling. ‘You killed my brother, you shai’tan!’
Stunned, I freeze as his knife arcs toward my chest and I shut my eyes. It happens fast. My khanjar jerks into his heart, ripping out the other side. He chokes, his features – as young as my students – pinching into agony before he slumps, dead.
‘By the Divine,’ I recite softly. He is an Azadnian soldier.
I shove him away, refusing to dwell on this as I scan the foliage for more soldiers. He must have run from battle, then become too exhausted to move—
