The complex widens into shelves that descend into eight layers below, filled with thousands of scrolls, ringing in spirals, eventually tunnelling into underground crypts.
I still against the archway. ‘What is this?’
On the first level are hundreds of low-ranks sprawled across kilim rugs. From training, I recognise Aina and Gulnaz, Yima, Dara, Sharra, Adam and Aizere, the last looking especially disgruntled.
‘Khamilla?’ Katayoun spots us at the entrance, her russet braid aglow beneath the lanterns. She taps her chin. ‘Cemil, are you feeling generous?’
I wait for a protest at my presence. None comes.
‘Not generous,’ Cemil corrects Katayoun as he enters, releasing my cord. ‘We’re here to find the Keeper.’ He glances at me warily. ‘This is where trifectas gather to study. We can return here after finding the annals.’
Small wonder the other students are succeeding. A little wide-eyed, I watch the rukhs parse out assigned manuscripts; trifectas debating, as united units, against others. I’m unwilling to admit how easy it would be to fall into their communal routine, as if deceiving myself into believing I can be one of them – that I can enjoy this curious studying as an Eajiz, where we fuel each other’s answers.
‘The Keeper?’ Katayoun scowls. ‘That old ass.’
‘Who is the Keeper?’ I remember to ask.
‘He is the Sepahbad-vizier for the jinn. The jinn-folk have their own tribes, wars and rivalries. The Keeper is a parî who handles their affairs in Za’skar City, for peace.’
But the Keeper does not live up to his grand status.
Deeper inside, at the centre of the alcoves, upon golden cushions, reclines an unimpressive parî. He chews areca nuts, his other claw smoking – I discreetly sniff – charas. The parî are mischievous creatures granted permission to leave the Unseen and guard ancient texts in the mortal realm. By doing so, they atone for their past sins so they can return to Paradise.
‘I thought smoking was banned in the army,’ I cough through curling smoke.
‘Well, so is hashish. But the Keeper is not a mortal, so he’s absolved from the rules,’ Cemil answers, pointing at the parî.
‘Surelythatcannot be the Sepahbad of the jinn-folk.’
‘Am I a soldier?’ The Keeper does not glance up as he starts tying knots with a black thread.
‘Scholar Mufasa sent us,’ Cemil says to him.
A scowl.
‘The scholar will have my head if I do not memorise the annals,’ I add.
The Keeper pouts. ‘Can one piss without causing a smell?’
Cemil chokes on his breath. ‘I-is this a jinn’s riddle?’
I answer anyway. ‘No, urine tends to have an awful odour.’ The Keeper finally looks up and stares. After squirming, I add, ‘Unless you drink plenty of water. Then the urine is clear.’
He sighs. ‘I see. The fool always thinks he’s not reeking up the place, sending pupils to bother me. Tell that to Scholar Mufasa.’ He holds out his hand. ‘As for my payment.’ Cemil bows and digs into his pouch, pulling out a leaf of...
‘Hashish?’ My eyes bulge.
The Keeper accepts it and leads us through the archives, hopping over the kilim’s embroidery, ensuring his heel does not graze any lines. I struggle to hide my annoyance.
He stops at a spiral of shelves. ‘Jazatah scrolls,’ he says. I reach to graze the bleached-bone papyrus with unworthy hands: knowledge shared by benevolent jinn, channelled and scribed through Qabl sages. The Qabl Order: spiritual intellects of Za’skar who commune with the jinn-folk – by crossing their souls temporarily through the Veil that separates jinn and mankind – to gain knowledge.
‘I would not touch those just yet,’ the Keeper warns.
‘Use this.’ Cemil places a cold, wet bone into my hand, forcing my wrist toward the shelf. Before I can flinch away, the smokeless firelight flickers around us, dimming the library. Something sharp gnashes against my palm and the bone disappears. A manuscript tumbles out.
I jump back.
‘Old guardians from the Unseen world. They help students find a text if you bribe them with food, meaning bones.’ Cemil watches me in amusement.
