‘—but, Overseer, you are his lieutenant.’
‘And?’
‘If anyone can convince the captain to draft me for the Marka, it’syou.’
I slow, catching on to the word.Marka.
‘Earn it first, underling.’ Yabghu pats his shoulder before spotting me. ‘That took you long enough, rukh.’ The bang of a large daf – a drum – thunders through the monastery, the bone-stone domes amplifying the sound until the entire structure shudders. No-Name crawls to the corner of the roof, huddled against a cupola.
‘Meditative rotations, for the monks,’ Yabghu explains.
‘We train here?’ I ask.
Yabghu nods. ‘On Mondays, we have classes inside with Grandmaster Umairah, an old warrior. Outside of that, trifectas are permitted to train anywhere. I prefer this roof or Little Paradise gardens.’
‘To scare us.’ Katayoun scowls at him.
He shrugs. ‘If you fall off the roof, may the Divine be pleased with you in the next life. The most fundamental relationship for an Eajiz to gain strength is simple and linear – the more pain you suffer, the stronger your bonds to the Heavens.’
‘Correct,’ a hard voice peals out. A man detaches himself from a wooden entryway connected to one of the tiled domes. He glances over me, grunting, ‘This is the piss of a girl?’
‘Yes.’ Yabghu lifts his curled hand before glancing at me. ‘Greet your captain, Fayez of Squadron One.’
‘May death be a peace upon you.’ I bow and take in Fayez, a formidable man with a rock-blade shaven head, smooth light skin blue-threaded with ababil and raven motifs, and a pale shawl tied under his bulging armpits. He has the meandering look of an eroded riverbank, scarred skin and a lumpy nose carved out. His blade displays five proud lines – a Fifth-Slash.
At my bow, the smile touching Captain Fayez’s features doesn’t falter. ‘I do not need your greeting of peace, but you will need mine, Azadnian.’ His dark sandalled feet step up on to a slanted dome until he is above me. He plays with the clasp of a diminutive bone-pendant around his throat, nimble fingers knotting and unknotting with both hands, dextrous like mine. Like every high-rank here, I note.
‘Remember this, rukh – if you have any hope to climb the rankings of this city, it’s through my approval, worth its weight in gold.’
‘Does this include the Marka?’ I risk an ask and Cemil’s narrow gaze darts to me.
Captain Fayez raises a brow. ‘She knows about the Marka?’
Cemil steps between me and the captain. ‘He would never draft an Azadnian for the Marka.’
‘You speak as if I pose a threat to you.’ I calmly meet Cemil’s cold gaze. ‘I do not even know what it is.’
A beat of silence settles, as loud as the knell of the monastic drums. Captain Fayez stares between us, a muscle twitching along his jaw before his expressions flattens. ‘Very well.’ He points far into the distance, at the blue craters within the salt desert, swarming with herons.
‘Low-ranks are recruited into squadrons for the Marka of Za’skar, a sacred tournament dating back to the Jinn Era, when jinn tribes competed for territory like a game of polo. These days, we have remade this tradition. Anyone of Za’skar can choose their own squadron. In each squadron, only a total of thirty rukhs can compete with a captain and their overseers. The Marka is a strategy simulation. On the winter solstice, the recruited squadrons battle for territory. The best low-ranks within each squadron are guaranteed a rank shift, moving up one slash.’ Captain Fayez points to the five ivory lines on the hilt of his khanjar. As if sensing my hunger, his lips curve up. ‘That’s how I received my first rank.’
I latch on to this revelation. If Captain Fayez drafts me instead of either Cemil or Katayoun for his squadron, I would jump to the next ranking, First-Slash, in less than a year.
‘– but you are a new rukh. Undisciplined. Selfish. Greedy, disrupting the command chain. Uniformity is achieved in three ways.’ Fayez points with his bone-stone pendant. ‘Obedience. Command codes. And restraint. Qualities that you’ve yet to gain.’ He waves his hand down. ‘Summon your affinity.’
I flick Heavenly nur on to my palm, using the method of the Azadnian monks: breathe meditatively into one of my bonds, send a prayer to the Divine and permit the affinity to channel forth from Heaven.
‘Rukh, not only are your bonds thin, you summon using the wrong value system. Look at this ignorance. It’s as if you are a child, using only prayers. The best Eajiz meditate every morning and night on a relationship with death, until prayers are hardly required for your bonds to have Heavenly Energy.’
I snuff the nur. ‘What?’
‘But... you have potential.’ Then Fayez is glaring daggers at Cemil. ‘And you, swallow your arrogance. You might finally have competition.I only calculate one’s power and strength. I could very well pick her for the Marka over you.’
My interest piques at this, wondering about Cemil’s affinity. He clenches his fingers. ‘Yes, Captain.’
‘I’ve seen enough.’ The captain bows to our overseer, throws a look of disgust at the trifecta and departs. Katayoun shares his scowl, watching Cemil and me.
Yabghu orders Katayoun and Cemil to warm their blood through stance training while he runs to the corner of the roof. He roves right through the huddled form of No-Name, making me flinch. She does not react to this, staring at our trifecta in silence.
