‘She saw the Heavenly bonds from the points on my hands,’ I say firmly. ‘Only another Eajiz can see them. Sheisan Eajiz.’
‘Was,’he says quietly.
I recall Eliyas’s first lesson, that an affinity’s bonds represent a contract with Heaven. It occurs to me... can an Eajiz break their Heavenly Contract?
‘Eajiz are still mortal,’ he speaks shortly. ‘Any mortal, as the story of Adam shows, can fall to temptation. When an Eajiz becomes unfaithful to the Divine – if they summon their affinity from the Hells instead of the Heavens, by turning to the worst jinn – they no longer practise as an Eajizi. They become no better than a magician.’ Eliyas warns me with a long look. ‘Magicians are people who seek refuge in jinn-folk to practise black magick. Not long after the Great Flood, magicians rose from a Sajam city-state and subjugated this continent, beginning theJinn Wars. If it was not for the Divine gifting us the Heavenly Birds, and through them, the gift of Eajizi, we would have been annihilated. You must never break your bonds with Heaven.’
A shiver courses down my back. ‘Magicians sound like the clans of Sajamistan – obsessed with jinn-folk and death. If this woman is anEajiz...and she is possessed by jinn, does that mean jinn can hurt me too?’
He pauses at the steps of the monastery. ‘I will not let them. Fear not, you have the monks to guide you.’
‘If what you say is true, she broke her Heavenly Contract,’ I point out, heart still hammering from her attack. ‘If she’s corrupted, she’s like the Sajamistanis. You should kill her.’
He jumps at this, nearly dropping the woman. ‘Killing should not be your first instinct.’
I pull away from him. ‘I’ve killed before. Uma says I killed many Sajamistani invaders in Tezmi’a. Though in truth, I do not remember much of it.’
‘That was different.’ He seems troubled at my casual tone. ‘Preserve life when you can, promise?’
I place my hand on my heart. In his presence, I feel abashed. My chest loosens, the heat inside me dispersing. ‘Of course, Older Brother.’
I follow Eliyas up the stone steps, but ahead of me, he suddenly gasps. I smell it before I see it. A metallic tang carried in the wind. From the archway, a gathering of monks shouts for the emperor.
‘What is it?’ I draw up the steps before my brother can order me away.
Two bodies with necks bent at odd angles are strewn across the entryway. Their heads hang limp by a string of sinews on the cusp of snapping, connected to a stump, spine bone peeking through. Blue robes are bunched around the corpses, belonging to young monks.
I fall to my knees. The corpses’ chests are open as if long nails ripped the tawny skin down the middle. In the gaping cavities, black locusts chitter inside, thin legs crawling over each other in an eager lump to chew at quivering organs.
My eyes snag on a purplish organ, tossed on the steps, that was once a heart but now is a mesh of muscle and blood. I wince. I should look away, but a quiet curiosity compels me instead. The heart appears as if some creature chewed and spat it out.
In a daze, I glance at the unconscious woman in Eliyas’s arms, her lips coated red. He seems to come to the same conclusion, quickly dropping her into a monk’s arms to take to the exorcism ward.
Then Eliyas rakes his fingers through the stubbly strands of his hair. ‘I must find the emperor—’ He pales, looking behind me, and for the first time, I hear him curse. ‘What in the Eight Gates of Hells?’
I turn. Three figures approach the monastery across the dirt paths.
‘Peace, Chief Dream-Interpreter,’ a voice calls out at the bottom of the steps, and I rush down for a better look.
‘Warlord Akashun?’ I recognise him. Again, a small dove perches on his shoulder, neck coiled against his head. Two warriors linger behind him. A tall, graceful woman, in a tawny qaftan, with a headdress decorated in white jasmine flowers, and a boy who looks to be around sixteen years old.
My gaze snags on the seal stitched over their outer garments. Eight crane wings. These are allied warlords in the Council of the Eight Cranes, from other prefectures.
Suddenly, Eliyas is in front of me, half obscuring them from view. He bows, his stare somewhere between contempt and worry. ‘Warlord of Khajak. Warlord of Izur. And Warlordess of Yaqus.’ His fingers wrap around my wrist, and I stiffen.
The young warlord of Izur catches my gaze; a boy admired in court whispers. The emperor spoke of him as a boy who, at fifteen years, ruthlessly conquered the northern mountains. Izur is a natural fortress against the raids of steppe-tribes in the Camel Road. This boy betrayed his own kin by allying with the emperor before executing his father, and calling himself warlordandkhagan, to rule both steppe-peoples in the region and the sedentary townships.
The boyish warlord’s light eyes study me, but with a cruel smile that does not match his youth.
Warlord Akashun returns Eliyas’s greeting. ‘We were summoned for the war council. We’ll be taking our leave soon.’ He looks up at the towering monastery. ‘I trust the possessed woman is well?’
‘She’s been subdued.’ Eliyas’s grip digs into my wrist. ‘And I trust you to leave the affairs of the Unseen to the monastery. Including the woman.’
‘Of course, but you remember why this woman is known to me,’Warlord Akashun responds ominously. His eyes turn to me, running from my face to my feet. ‘A blessing to see you, namelesslittle bird. That is what your clansmen call you.’ Eliyas tightens his fingers into my arm in warning. I stifle a wince. Akashun strokes the neck of his dove but watches Eliyas. ‘I bid my peace. And I await your letters.’
What letters?I notice Akashun’s calculated look. Has he mentioned them in front of me intentionally?
Eliyas releases my wrist and wipes his damp hand against his robes, tilting his head slightly.
