As he fades, he says, ‘Open your eyes, daughter of the Simorgh.’
But my eyes are open. I have seen the world at the height of greed – this entire war is forged and sustained on damnable greed. But any conflict can reach check, then checkmate – only then will war end. Adel explained it himself: the Gates of Heaven grant the user access to the bond of a Heavenly Bird – it’s my only hope to counter Mitra.
I unlock the door and No-Name is sat cross-legged, a little girl now. She beams, crawls forward and sits in the opposite direction from me, with her back against mine, resting her head against my shoulder. ‘You need me,’ she whispers reassuringly. For an instant, her body wavers, and I see a flash of tangled black lines. I shake away the image.
37
Khor, The Camel Road, Sajamistan Empire
For days, we travel along the blue mountainous trails, wary of Azadnian scouts. If we intercept tribes, Alif Adel orders them gently raided only for supplies to replenish ourselves with warm furs and rations. After a week, we cross into the Tezmi’a delta, uneasiness drifting amongst the troops.
The air blisters with foreboding, each inhale stinking of blood. In our last stop at some obscure township on the western Camel Road, Sajamistani scouts confirm the siege of eastern and western Khor has finally collapsed. The Black Mountain clans conceded passageway through Khor’s villages. With no word from our second round of scouts, our tagmata enters the battle with dated intelligence, igniting my nerves.
In the march to the west, we stock up on grain and salted fish. At each village, soldiers man the citadels, and the local governors’ expressions are bereft of hope – the soldiers brought war to their doorsteps, and though Sajamistan defends them, she has turned liberated cities into a stockpile of resources to supply her armies.
As we draw closer to Khor’s pastures, ahead of me, Yabghu clenches Cemil’s shoulder, murmuring fast. My eyes flit down to Cemil’s hands, which are shaking.
Khor. This is his homeland, I remember. Once ruled by semi-nomadic Khorinites before those same tribes settled permanently and turned sedentary centuries ago, while still trading or warring with other steppe-tribes like my uma’s.
Yabghu catches my eye and gestures Katayoun and me forward. The other warriors split around us as our overseer simply bows his head, honourable as ever. ‘I found no joy –none at all– being your master,’he scowls, ‘but I’d be more saddened at your deaths.’ Then, he makes a simple request. ‘Live to die in another battle.’
He returns ahead to his lieutenant while my fellow trifecta and I exchange long glances. As I open my mouth to speak to Katayoun, Cemil beats me to it: ‘Stay close to my side before you get yourself killed,’ he grunts to her.
‘Obviously,’ she grunts back.
Then to me... I expect anger. For me being Azadnian in a war against them gives him every reason to distrust me, but his stare is uncertain and unreadable.
Steeling myself, I lean in. ‘I’ve no mercy in my soul to forget your attack but...’ Quickly, I yank up his sleeve and feel his slight tremble of sorrow not dissimilar to my own, the gold-threading light on his tanned skin. ‘I know these markings.Thisis what you have left of them,’ I say firmly. ‘It will push you onward.’
I move away, but his next quiet words give me pause. ‘If I die, let me unburden myself. I regret much. But never have I doubted your will. It reminded me of my own. And Katayoun knows. though I did not want you to win, I gambled on your victory in the Duxzam.’ His tone is empty, and I see he is long past this.
‘How much?’ I test him.
‘Thirty idriq.’
‘A-an impressive amount,’ I say, choking, and there is bittersweet amusement in his eyes as he brushes past me.
From our high elevation, I gaze at the villages, sun reflecting off the glossy grey of the mountainsides bracketing it, cliff plunging into the flatlands below. I think about how the humans are like ants, burrowing and scavenging mechanically in their holes. The world seems so expansive, and we so finite in our miserable hills.
What do the jinn-folk think when they glance down at us? Do they chuckle at our intellect? Or do they shake their heads at our absurdity, wishing to reach their hands into mankind and toy us around like mortal playthings?
We find an abandoned cluster of cattle and stone hovels – not worthy of being called a village – which becomes our final stop. Adel sends scouts ahead to scope the vicinity of Khor’s central settlement. But soon, there are shouts, and I hurry over.
The smell of decaying cattle hits my noses, and wet, dark dung buzzing with flies fills the ditches.
‘Quickly,’ he shouts and I see them.
Yabghu is knee-deep, pulling out humans from the dung. Two villagers are curled up, shivering and filthy in the pool of manure.
Adel barks orders to distribute water and cloaks. By the time they’re settled, there are six total and their stories are pieced together.
‘It was the creatures,’ they say, shivering.Mitra.Some fleeing villagers had retreated into the Black Mountains, and others into muck too filthy to be scented by jinn-folk. They were trapped, forced to hear the invasion. A look into the wells shows bodies afloat, for those who jumped to their deaths to flee the creatures.
‘A sign of the end times,’ a man moans. ‘We thought they were humans fleeing, but t-they attacked, like shai’tain.And the serpents—’
‘Rest now, elder,’ Adel says quietly. ‘My scout will take you back to our encampment.’
But the woman beside him reaches out her arms and I meet her flat gaze. ‘My arms, they are empty,’ she says listlessly.
