That eventide, night struck like thunder, quick and loud – a storm cloud sweeping aside the light. I called out to my cousins from the centre of the yurts. Many of the older tribesmen trickled forward, keen on a tale to sweeten a bitter black winter’s night, for Babshah was to tell a story.
The clouds hung low, a thin rime to the air that stung my eyes. The youngest clumped together before the blaze, fur shawls wrapped around their leathers. I grabbed my beryl chador, a gift from Babshah’s girlhood, laying the veil atop my yak-wool cap, which clinked with beaded coins above my ceremonial mask.
Babshah too veiled herself before the tribes-people, as many chief folktellers did. A blue scarf was knotted at the top, resting down her back; red beads and hawk feathers fringed down her forehead and asilver stone necklace nestled against her throat. She sat herself at the front. Her heavy fur robes, worn and frayed, brought a comfort that eased the shoulders of the people. The black sormeh around her eyes, the only feature outside the veil, made for a chilling stare. It demanded the presence of even the wind, which sat and sighed for the tale.
My stomach dropped at seeing our tribe’s dwindled numbers. Once, humans lived as long as the people of Nuh, to over five hundred years. But in these days, people only lived to two hundred. With the famine and harsh alpine pastures, our tribe would be fortunate to make it past forty.
I stood beside Babshah on the frozen dirt. She extended her arms. ‘In a time when the world was a babe and the Heavens spoke to mortals, there lived a great messenger named Prophet Nuh. With a heart as vast as the ocean and a voice that echoed through the ages, for ten centuries but fifty years less, he warned his nation of impending doom. Alas, they turned deaf ears. Do you know what came next?’
‘A Heavenly punishment!’ I sang.
‘Indeed,’ Babshah agreed, in a deceptively light voice. ‘The Divine opened the floodgates of Heaven and the sky sobbed upon the world. Even the clay vomited forth floodwaters, a mighty torrent that swept away humanity. Only Prophet Nuh and his faithful boarded the ark, sailing through waves that cleansed the world of its corruption. But few remember who else was on that ark. Show us, young daughter.’
I swung my arms. My gold-threading flashed before the firelight. My buzzard answered the call, shrilling as it flew around my head, its feathers drifting to the yellow grass. I hid my satisfaction.
The crowd leant in.
‘On Nuh’s ark were three birds sent by the Divine: a Heavenly Three-Headed Raven and a Heavenly Crane,’ I spoke. ‘Yet the third bird, the mighty Simorgh, wise beyond measure, soared above the ark, following its own path like us nomads, only to descend at the end of.. of an era—’ Something in my chest lurched, and my practised words stumbled. I grabbed my throat, hoping the crowd didn’t notice.
Babshah continued, saving my mistake. ‘For centuries the ark drifted, until the floodwaters receded, and the clay emerged from the depths. The Heavenly Birds sighted land, and humanity on the ark settled upon the world again. For generations, the Heavenly Raven and the Heavenly Crane accompanied a clan from amongst Nuh’s virtuous descendants. Using their Heavens-bestowed abilities, the birds defended the growingkingdoms, healing wounded, battling jinn-folk and black magick invaders. But as prophets came and went, darkness crept once again into the hearts of men.’
I fell and swooped and twirled with the hawk, our shadows against the firelight re-enacting the ancient battles. When the buzzard flapped over my head, I plucked loose a feather.
‘One day,’ Babshah said, ‘there was a monk who always fasted and paid alms-tax. His name was Eajiz. He was not privy to the matters of worldly men. But as humanity learnt black magick, and worshipped jinn-folk, naming them as deities, darkness spread. The Jinn Wars began. When his tribe was threatened, Eajiz, the monk, felt a calling to safeguard them. He prayed and recited the Divine’s seventy-seven names. In answer, the Heavenly Crane and the Heavenly Raven each gifted a feather to that righteous monk. But it was more than a humble gift, for the feather bestowed seventy-seven gold bonds that connected the monk’s body to the Heavens. These bonds fed him an extraordinary power tied to a Heavenly virtue. Strong enough to rival even the jinn.
‘Soon other clans learned of this. Greed swept across the people. For every battle fought in the Jinn Wars, warriors plucked a feather from one of the two Heavenly Birds, granting them the same seventy-seven bonds to Heaven, the same Heavenly Energy. But each stolen feather in turn stole the strength of the birds. Such warriors, gifted with power from the birds of Heaven, were each named Eajiz after the monk, but they shared none of his righteousness.’
I drew back my hand and the buzzard descended to the grassy plain.
‘After these Eajiz warriors had plucked and stolen seventy-seven feathers from each bird, alas, the two Heavenly creatures could no longer fly. They were left alive but drained by human greed. For centuries, the warriors’ descendants spread across the continent, forming their own tribes and loyalties and kingdoms. That was long ago. Now the Divine chooses an Eajiz from each generation of the warriors’ descendants to bear one of the seventy-seven affinities. The lines of succession are lost in the mists of time; the revelation of each new Eajiz is a gift that is unpredictable but Heavenly sent,’ Babshah said.
For my next trick, I lifted my finger, directing the buzzard to fly upwards, but the bird didn’t follow the action. Disgruntled, I tried again. Suddenly, it flapped away. It was not alone.
The fir trees gasped out a flurry of hawks. No one else seemed to notice the creatures fleeing, attention fixed upon Babshah.
Babshah quelled her kin with an eye. ‘It has been over two centuries since our tribe has had an Eajiz in our midst. As kingdoms around us swell with Eajiz warriors, we in the grasslands are alone, attacked and starved. On this eve, glance about you. There are no prophets nor revelations in our era. Heaven has stopped speaking to us mortals caught between war. The birds and righteous Eajiz have passed away into legend. Only we, the descendants, remain, bearing their legacy. A reminder of our shared ancestry and a test of our will when given power.’
She flung out an arm. ‘We must be like the third Heavenly Bird, the mighty Simorgh, who chose to fly above Nuh’s ark, from one era to the next, refusing to align nor side with any war. We belong to this firebird, swaying from one settlement to the next in the cuts of the mountains. We may not be Eajiz; nor are we jinn. We are humans. We are better—’
Her voice hitched. The fire’s shadows playing against the ground grew odd.
Now it was my turn to save Babshah. ‘We are like the firebird. And the best of Nuh’s descendants,’ I concluded. The tribesmen stood and hooted in awe.
But Babshah did not move. It hit me – Babshah had never made a mistake in telling a story.
‘Babshah Khatun?’ I gently enquired, sniffing the wet from my nose.
Her mouth parted. A strange breeze rustled the valley, a whining sound. The people’s laughter snuffed like frost against flame.
‘Babshah!’
If not for the redness spreading across Babshah’s stomach, I would marvel at her perfect stillness, as if winter’s affair had simply frozen her in place.
Then her body tipped forward, face smashing on the hard-packed dirt. Crimson pooled around her twitching body. Behind her, the night stretched open like a dark, gaping mouth. I thought I saw flying stars across the sky.
No. Whistling fire arrows.
I had no time to run. The next two arrows clunked into my left shin and thigh. Pain ripped through me. The world blurred. I smelled smoke. I heard yells.
