‘The Sepahbad-vizier of their army is no fool. Every action of his is a test. A paranoid bastard,’ Hyat reminds me. Then he speaks more about our training; about my false cover as a servant. He reminds me of the information to search for if I successfully enlist: their battalions, their spies and finally, their knowledge of the Unseen world and jinn-folk.
At last, we slow.
We do not say farewell. Hyat simply lifts his Zahr khanjar and draws a line across his temple until blood weeps down his face. At my waistband, I pat my curved blade. Hyat melted the ivory crane-stamped hilt in the hearth, and struck a great iron crook against it, chipping away the Zahr welding until the pale sheen is no more than a stub encased above a silver blade.
‘Remember your oath to the Heavens, little bird.’ Hyat points up at the sky. The wind rattles through the eve like the cough of a sick child; the sky is a deep feverish blue lit by the firebird constellation scarring the sky.
Uneasiness fists my stomach. Once, my uma had claimed the Simorgh is a blessing, but each time I’d sighted it, there had been only cruelty in its wake. I know one truth, which is that I’d been weak in that past: someone incapable of saving my tribe, my clan or my uma.
A profound conclusion tangles within me. This constellation and Iare one and the same, aren’t we? That of an omen disguised as a blessing of light, perfectly content with its deception.
‘I always will,’ I answer quietly, digging my nails into my thigh.
After my uncle disappears through the conifer trees, I march on to the citadel. It’s a defensive barricade above the river gorge, with looming turrets atop more turrets, of bone-stone engraved in gold cuneiforms of three-headed ravens.
Upon reaching the copper gates, I expect more fear, nerves, even anger, but strangely I am empty when I meet the gaze of the first guard.
‘State your business,’ she says flatly.
I hold my palm parallel to my chin, knuckles forward in their customary greeting. ‘I am here to enlist at your citadel.’ I speak slowly but her eyes narrow. Even two years of practising the uniform dialect of Sajamistan is futile. A native speaker will always weed out an imposter.
‘Enlistment? Into what?’
‘Into an army of Sajamistan.’
She blinks, taking in my peasant garb, my gaunt looks. ‘Take her scrolls. Search her before she goes in,’ she orders her comrade.
I cede the scroll which is a contract to a clan-master’s house in the Ghaznian village, prepared by my uncle. Except for my pathetic dagger, I have no other belongings, but the guards are forced to pat along my limbs and back anyway. They roll up my sleeves, so it does not take them long to notice the crane symbols marring my forearms.
‘Is this black humour? You’re from Azadniabad?’ the guard demands, her grip tight on my wrist.
‘I am, as my papers indicate. The merchants here will recognise me as a local servant for years. I was captured in a raid from Tezmi’a and taken as a servant to be a shepherd for my master. But he died of an illness only last eve. With my master gone, and no land or wealth to my name, his will ended my contract, and I want to enlist in the Eajiz battalion.’ I say this part quickly, but it only infuriates the guard further.
She twists her foot, and in a blink, my arm is wrenched low against my back. I gasp out from the tearing of my shoulder.
‘Your kind dares,’ she breathes against my ear, ‘enter one of our armies?’
My teeth grit as she pulls harder, but I force out the words, ‘Bring me to an administrator. I am an Eajiz, and I can very well prove—’
She throws me on to the cold dirt, but my arms cushion the fall. I lift on to one knee and breathe out a prayer before my right handflicks forward, the Heavenly bonds along my knuckles splintering open. Heavenly Energy surges through the bonds, summoning my affinity. With a white splash, cold light manifests into a seductive amber, goading the worst of people to leap into its wrath.
As the nur whooshes upwards between the guard and me – her eyes are owl-wide, making me conclude she must be a regular mortal, not an Eajiz – the air grows heavy and wet. Stunned, I touch my jaw at the sudden dampness.
The cold air pulls into a strange suction. It must be another affinity just arriving. My ears pop before water erupts from the density, dousing my nur.
‘What—’ I stammer, but icy coldness streams into my mouth, eyes, ears, filling my lungs until the crack of my ribs makes me curl into myself. I cry out, fighting for air.
I expected to be attacked, beaten, but not killed instantly without a chance to finagle my way in.
Blindly, my hand clenches the frost-ridden ground, and I push on to my feet. Then a voice whispers from behind my ear, ‘Not fast enough.’ A blurred figure ducks under my arm and faces me.
My gaze locks on to illuminated eyes, and something inhuman stills me. I try to move but for that split second, my vision is overtaken by the gold of a thick Heavenly bond. It shoots out of the pupils of those eyes, wrapping around my neck, keeping me rooted in place.
This Eajiz is using eye bonds.
‘Wait—’ But the world blurs.
The Eajiz’s hand curls into a claw, each finger jabbing into different points on my sternum, throat, torso, and when my wrist juts up to parry, they are somehow behind me, a finger pressed in the coiled spot between my shoulder blades.
