The day of the camel race, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Summer was nearing, and the sun was hotter than I had yet felt in Madinat Almulihi. I did not know what to expect for the race, but I knew that we would watch from the palace steps. Apparently, it started at the desert and ended at the sea via the same road I had taken into the city. It happened once a year, Altasa told me.
I admired my new fustan once more before pulling my abaya over my head. Draping my scarf on my hair, I heard Altasa loudly grumbling still.
“Skip the race. It is for fools.”
“I will not.” I debated whether or not to tie my veil. Few wore veils in Madinat Almulihi, and I knew it might attract unwanted attention. But then, few wore abayas and covered their hair. What did it matter what others thought?
The feeling of the fabric against my face, over my hair, the abaya heavy against my shoulders . . . it was like rain in the desert. I nearly melted from the comfort. Home. This was who I was.
When I stepped into the kitchen, Altasa dropped her hands onto the counter in a quiet clap.
“Oh, sweet,” she said when she saw me. She sounded so sad.
“What?”
“Why are you wearing that?”
“I will be standing under the sun at midday!”
“Today of all days you choose to wear this? Take it off. Wear the sirwal I got you, with the tunic that has the palm fronds. Or that new dress Mariam brought.”
Lifting my abaya, I showed her the dusk-blue dress. “I am wearing it.”
Her shoulders fell, and she shook her head.
There was a knock at the door. “Well,” I said to Altasa as I as left, “I will see you later then.”
She did not turn. She did not reply. Instead, she looked down at the countertop where her hands were clenched into fists.
Nika’s eyes swept over me when I opened the door, but she said nothing. Her lips pressed together. Then she commented, “So the king invited you to the race.”
“He did.”
When I told her that Altasa had no interest in an assistant today, Nika happily followed me out of the gardens.
“You have been meeting each other?”
“Only when I deliver his medicine,” I said.
Nika grunted, somehow making even that sound skeptical.
When we entered the atrium, Mariam was passing through. “Oh!” she said, though it almost sounded like a question.
“Taking her to the king,” Nika said.
Understanding washing over Mariam’s face, and she smiled warmly. “I thought you said you hadn’t been to the race before?”
“I haven’t.”
Mariam tutted and said, “The king is in the sitting room.”
When we entered the room, Saalim rose. Before he approached he held back for the briefest moment. There was a pause, a question, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
He nodded to Nika, excusing her. She dipped her head slowly and asked if there was anything else we needed before he confirmed there was not. I saw her hesitate. She wanted to stay, wanted to see what we had between us.
“We will have sheltered viewing of the race’s end,” Saalim said. “There are others who will join us. Well-known families and guests.”
“It will be lovely.” My pulse quickened. What would people think when a palace worker joined the king?
“Some of my guests wait for us now, if you are ready to go. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
Did he sound hopeful?
When I told him I had not, he gestured for me to follow. Something seemed untoward with Saalim. We met two of his guests in the palace, and he made quick introductions. The couple greeted us warmly—the woman was dressed like me! Apparently they were titled people from the east here for trade business but enjoying the city in their idle time. He introduced me as Emel, someone new to the city.
An odd introduction, I thought. Was it because he did not want to be seen with a palace worker? A poor woman? Or, I realized with a sudden flood of shame, did he not want to be seen with a salt chaser? Though clearly the people joining us were of the same blood.
We followed Saalim and several guards to a raised viewing box constructed just past the palace steps. It was painted prettily with golds and blues and was much larger than I had anticipated. There were already nearly a dozen people milling about inside. After more introductions—most of the guests were noteworthy families who owned ships or mills or workhouses—we sat down.
He was beside me, our arms just brushing against each other, our knees almost touching.
“Have you been down the canals yet?” Saalim asked, pointing to the waterway that circled behind the palace. A small boat glided by, ferrying two passengers.
The couple from the east had not, and neither had I. The man who stood at the prow of the boat used his long oar to move them along. Kas had been trying to convince me to join him on a boat ride. I could barely trust the wood and stone that made steps to carry me into the sky. Trust wood that floated on water and would drown me, should it have its chance? No. I told this to Saalim, and the couple in the carriage laughed. Saalim’s smile appeared more like a grimace.
“But here you are floating above the ground!” the man said.
“My bravery is all a ruse.”
“Convincing, indeed!” the woman said.
Saalim said, “That way can be found some of the most beautiful homes in the city.”
As I looked out in the direction he pointed, I noticed all the people who sat along the street, waiting for the race.
The same soothing comfort that had filled me when I pulled my abaya over my head, when I tied my veil, returned now. Women lined the streets wearing the same clothes as me. Men alongside them wore long robes and guthras tied under their chins or across their faces.
People were waving at the king, and with a smile so wide it hurt, I waved back. We all did, the woman and I giggling at all the joy. Now I understood why Saalim had invited me. This was a beautiful reminder of my home.
A servant passed by with food, later another offered us a drink.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I said, tearing the orange blossom sweet into a small piece before bringing it to my mouth. Saalim had been silent, sipping his drink and staring out at the crowd.
“The camel race has a long tradition here. The winner receives one hundred dha and a place in the Falsa Mawk.” He looked down at his drink, swallowed the rest, then looked back to the road. “Most of the racers are traders, see, so it is an opportunity for them to tell of their wares.”
Red-dyed sand was spilled in a line at the end of the road, dividing it from the plaza that led to the shore. I watched the sea, marveling that it could appear so smooth from afar when up close it was so tumultuous. I wanted to go back there, wanted Saalim to take me to that place again, where it was just us amongst ruins.
Three blares of a horn sounded in succession. People scattered to the periphery of the street, creating a wide, empty path for the racers.
“The race has begun,” Saalim said flatly, echoing the cries of others.
Pitching forward, hands pressed to my knees, I stared down the road and waited. And waited, and waited.
Finally, I saw something. A horse, I realized, was tearing down the street, the man atop with a straight sword and flag of Madinat Almulihi fluttering behind. He had large sacks that bounced on the horse’s flanks. The man was shouting, but it was not until he was near that I could make out his words.
“You can’t have my salt! You won’t catch me! The salt is mine!” Over and over he was saying it, laughing all the while. I gasped and looked around, wondering if anyone else was concerned.
Behind him, there was pandemonium as a mass of camels surged forward.
“Salt chasers!” the spectators shouted.
Salt chasers?
It was all shouts and grunts and the clatter of hooves as they approached. The camels were undisturbed by the clamor, their faces coated in thick, white saliva as they were whipped down the street. Men and woman atop the camels were dressed like me and most of the spectators. They waved their arms, yelled about Eiqab, screamed for the salt. And in the midst of it all, hysterical laughter.
Saalim shifted beside me, his arm tucking close so that we touched no longer.
I barely had time to register all of this before the winner brushed across the red sand, kicking it into the plaza. The racers descended from the camels, and the chaos calmed.
Like dust settling, I began to understand. They were not wearing guthras and carrying scimitars like the men I’d known back home. They did not wear abayas and veils like mine. They were wearing costumes.
This was no celebration of the desert or the people that lived there.
It was a mockery.
At once, Saalim’s behavior toward me made sense. He was embarrassed by me.
But then why had he invited me? Had he forgotten who I was? Hot shame rose to my cheeks, and I sat as still as I could, trying to stare anywhere but at the racers who laughed and threw their arms in the air dancing as the nomads do or pressing their foreheads to the ground in false prayers. The people who drank and ate with us laughed and smacked each other, pointing at the participants and retrieving their winnings from bets.
Saalim shifted beside me, his embarrassment growing as fast as my shame. “The winner will be announced soon.”
I could barely breathe. My hands shook, my heart raced, my eyes watered. I wanted to leave, but feared that would draw more attention. Really, I wanted to be swallowed by the sea.
We waited until the very end. I sat through every painful mockery of my people. Of me. I hoped that Tavi had not come, hoped that she was too busy with Saira to see this. She who walked into this city preparing to adopt it as her own, who prayed to a different god, who embraced her new life without blinking, could not see that the people whose approval she so desperately wanted laughed at her all the same.
Altasa had told me not to come. Why hadn’t I listened?
When the winner was awarded his dha—the displeased camel decorated with the sham salt bags—Saalim rose. The people in the street saw him stand and dropped to one knee. I did the same, relishing the opportunity to hide my face. If the Saalim I knew was there, he was buried deep.
Perhaps it best he was to be married. Let me be done with this delusive hope.
When we arrived back at the palace, he hesitated before he said, “Thank you for joining me.” It was the only thing he had said to me since the winner was announced.
I bobbed my head, unable to find words.
“I thought perhaps that you would join me for dinner, but . . .” He turned his palms up to the sky as if that explained everything. You are a salt chaser were the words he could not say.
“I have made other plans.” Grinding seed with the pestle.
“Of course.” He was not taking leave, and I did not think I could bear any longer the growing divide between us.
“I will go,” I said.
“Of course,” he said again.
With every step, the clothes I wore grew heavier.
When I entered the front room, Altasa was reading through her book of recipes. I cannot know what she saw when she looked up at me, but she closed the book, sighed, and stood swiftly. “Child,” she whispered, coming toward me.
And then I cried.
Altasa called me at sundown. My eyelids were still heavy from my tears.
When I stepped into the kitchen, she pushed a bowl of soup toward me. “Here. I had Thali make it.”
At the table, I stirred the soup with a piece of flat bread. It was my favorite. Chickpeas with thick chunks of lamb meat. I smiled weakly at Altasa and sipped at the broth.
She sat down across from me, her own bowl untouched in front of her as she watched me eat. “I wish I could say they have not always been like that, but they have.”
I picked up a piece of lamb with my bread and waited.
“My sister, you know, fell in love with a man from this Eiqab-forsaken city. He left her like she was nothing.”
“I am sorry.”
“None of that. It is far behind me.”
“That is why you are here?”
She nodded. “I wanted to find him.”
Remembering what she had told me before, I said, “Revenge.”
She tossed her long, silver braid over her shoulder and tutted.
“Did you find him?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What did you do?” I narrowed my eyes.
“I did very little. It is not hard to convince people to do something for you if you say the right things.” Her eyes glinted wickedly.
I did not want to know the details. Some things were better left unsaid, unknown. “But still you are here. And still, you are angry.”
“Madinat Almulihi is a constant reminder of what I lost, and who took it. This city is beautiful, but its people are vile.”
Her words resonated with me. People had been cruel. Judgmental and prejudiced. It seemed only Altasa—in her crude way—along with Kahina and Kas, accepted me as I was. Even Saalim had disappointed me.
Altasa swallowed the rest of her soup in one tipping of her bowl. “If you find a gem, you stick with him.” Her tongue circled her lips. “They are rare in this city of stone.”
Kas was sitting in his usual spot at the drink house across from the jalsa tadhat. “To watch for Odham,” he had told me the first time I met him there. He would not miss an opportunity to remind Odham that what he did was dangerous.
“Sons, you look like you’ve been beneath camel’s hooves.” Kas tilted his head back as I sat down. “What’s happened?”
I debated whether or not it was worth telling him. He might be as blind as Saalim.
“Tell me you didn’t go to the race today,” he said when I did not respond.
My shoulders fell in and I nodded, unable to speak for fear that I would cry again, feeling the tears climb my throat.
“I am sorry you weren’t warned.”
“The worst part,” I said, my neck tightening as it fought the sorrow. “Is that I was. I just didn’t think . . .” Feeling the shame and embarrassment anew, tears fell. “I am sorry,” I said, wiping at my eyes.
There was a scrape of wood against stone, and Kas was suddenly seated beside me, pulling me into his chest as he curled his arm around my back.
I stiffened for just a moment, before I let him comfort me.
“I’ll be right back,” he said when I had gathered myself.
I watched him go inside before I turned to the jalsa tadhat. Its door was closed, curtains pulled across the single window at its front. It was dark out, so I was sure an arwah was taking place inside.
Kas returned with a goblet and set it in front of me.
“Pomegranate wine,” he said. “Have you had it before?”
“Yes. Once,” I said, remembering the Haf Shata back home and drinking wine with a happy but drunk Firoz in the street. “I loved it.” Smiling, I took a drink and let myself remember what now seemed a happier time.
“Damn them all straight to Eiqab’s sun,” he said after he shifted his chair so that it was again across from me. The scar on his temple seemed deeper in the shadowed light.
I laughed weakly, watching him.
“Do you miss your home?” he asked quietly.
“Every day.”
He nodded. “What do you miss the most?”
Everything, I thought. “That people did not stare at me like I was a goat dressed in woman’s clothes.” He laughed, and I continued. “That I knew where every street led. That I knew the changing of the seasons by the feel of the air. That . . .” Did I tell him of Saalim? “There was a man I loved.”
Kas hid his surprise well. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” I refused to cry again, already having embarrassed myself too many times that day. Pressing my lips together, I stared at the table.
“Do you love him still?”
My shoulders fell forward thinking of that afternoon. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know very much, do you,” he said with a small smile. He folded his hands on the table, his bracelets softly clattering on the wood surface.
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, my name was called from across the street.
“Do you know him?” Kas asked, looking at Firoz as he waved frantically, heading in my direction.
“I do,” I said as I stood. Seeing Firoz in that moment reminded me of everything I missed. He was as close to home as I could find. I ran to him.
The comfort of his arms was tainted only a bit by the reek of alcohol.
“Firo.”
Suddenly, he stiffened and pushed away from me. “You know that man?” Firoz asked, nodding to someone behind me.
I turned. “Kas? Yes.”
“I’d stay away from him. He’s a rock in Odham’s shoe. And mine.”
“Shhh,” I whispered.
“Oh, he knows it,” Firoz said more loudly. I pressed my fingers to my temples. This was not at all how I envisioned our reunion.
“He means well,” I said. “Come and meet him. He has been kind to me. We are friends.”
“Friends?” He stepped back. “I haven’t seen you in over a moon and you tell me you’re friends with him?”
I sighed and looked up at the night—the moon a thin sliver. Had it been that long? Sons, I was tired. “If you are only here to fight with me, then go.” I pointed at the jalsa tadhat where people were walking out, talking excitedly to each other. I saw the woman who worked there saying goodbye and reminding them that it is never too soon to be a part of another arwah.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said. His curly hair was longer than I had seen it before, and it fell in front of his eyes. I remember the turban his mother made him wear, and how he would take it off as soon as he was at the market. He hated it, he had told me. He had despised our home as much as I did when we lived there. I am sure he did not miss it like I did.
“Will you sit with us?” I asked.
Firoz looked at Kas, then shrugged. “For you.”
“Where is Rashid?” I asked as we walked back to the table.
“Working. He will be home soon.”
“This is Firoz,” I told Kas with narrowed eyes. “My friend from home. No talk of work, eh? You both must agree before I will sit between you.”
Kas rolled his eyes. “Is she always like this?”
Firoz assured him I was. Then, Firoz was telling Kas all about “how I was.” I sat back, not minding that my friends had found something in common, even at my own expense.
During their discussion, four people cloaked in black strode by. Kas watched them as closely as I did.
“They are everywhere,” Firoz said once they had passed.
“Who?” I asked.
“Those people. Dressed in black. There is at least one at every night arwah.”
“Who are they?”
“The Darkafa,” Kas said, leaning back in his chair.
My attention turned from the four people to Kas, waiting for him to continue.
Firoz spoke. “They speak of the goddess and the Sons. Waiting on the ‘second-born’ Son.”
“To do what?” I asked.
Firoz shook his head. “I can’t make sense of it.”
Kas said, “To replace the first-born.” He buzzed with the pride one has when whispering rumors.
“At the arwahs, they claim to search for the goddess.” Firoz shrugged.
Kas was concerned. “They don’t mention her by name?”
“Masira? Ah . . . ” Firoz squinted, attempting to search his hazy memory.
“This is an unexpected gathering,” Rashid said, coming up from behind me. He smiled at Firoz, nodded to me, and hesitantly introduced himself to Kas.
“Come sit,” Firoz said. “We were talking about those cloaked men. The Darkafa, according to him.”
“You know of them, eh?” Rashid said, suddenly interested. He looked around, found an unused chair, and pulled it next to Firoz.
“Of course,” Kas said, crossing his arms.
Rashid leaned forward. “These Darkafa have plans to dethrone the king.”
“Ha!” Kas threw his hands up in the air, still talking to Rashid. “Them? They are not so strong.”
Confused, I said, “I thought this was about the Sons.”
Rashid scowled at Kas. “You seem to know them well.”
Kas shrugged. “They speak loudly and are everywhere.”
Rashid turned from Kas to me. “They have a child. The keeper, they call it. Say they’ve done everything the goddess has asked. Now, they wait for her here, because it is here that she will dethrone the king.”
I waved my hands, demanding their attention. “Dethrone the king? I thought they waited for the second-born Son, not the goddess?”
Rashid shrugged. “The second-born Son will destroy the first-born. Wahir to be killed by Eiqab. The king of Madinat Almulihi is like a . . .” He cocked his head. “What is that word? Metaphor? For the Son.”
“What does the child have to do with it?” I asked, sitting back again. This story sounded like a tale spun by those who took people’s coin to conjure spirits.
It was Kas’s turn to share. It felt like ghamar for gossip, each man wanting to out-tell the one before. He set his elbows on his knees and looked gravely from Firoz to Rashid to me. “This child possesses a jinni.”
“Bah!” I waved at him. “I can assure you there is no such thing.” I freed him already, I wanted to say. “This sounds just like the Dalmur, obsessed with fanciful tales that do nothing but stir distrust and worry.” I narrowed my eyes at Rashid. “What are the Darkafa doing with a jinni, and why do they want to take the king from his throne? Let me guess . . .” Pressing a finger to my lip, I said, “To restore the desert? To return it to its better place?” It’s already restored! I wanted to scream.
“The Dalmur?” Rashid asked, appearing perplexed. “What are you talking about?”
My mouth dropped open. Now it was my turn for confusion. “The Dalmur? The ones who carried the symbol of . . .” But of course. Masira had made certain none remembered. So had the Dalmur never existed? My gaze darted between the three men. Firoz looked vapidly confused. Rashid bewildered. And Kas looked . . . I could not describe his expression. Terrified? Disbelieving? Understanding?
Sons, he had wondered if I was a crazy salt chaser, and now I confirmed it to be true.
“Oh, never mind then,” I said, standing up to leave.
Firoz pitched forward in an attempt to follow me, shouting about waiting and wanting me to explain what I had meant, but he stumbled onto his knees in a sloppy display.
“Emel, wait!” Kas hurried to reach me. “I will walk you home.”
“Really, you don’t need to.” I didn’t want him to. I should just tell him—
“Your day just seems to be getting worse, doesn’t it?” He was at my side now, matching my pace.
“It does.”
“You don’t fear the Darkafa?”
“No.”
“You live in the palace. What if there is an attack?”
“The king is prepared.”
“What if they have a jinni?”
I glanced at him only briefly before I quickened my pace. This was absurd. Although we both respected magic and its consequences, he did not know that jinn did not worry me as the legends demanded. I knew jinn too well. Finally, I said, “Jinn are nothing to fear.”
“Really?” He asked it with such incredulity I regretted saying it. “What do you fear?” he asked.
We reached the steps of the palace. I moved up several of the stairs, until our eyes were level.
“What I fear is already in my past,” I said.
Kas did not move. He considered me with a furrowed brow, and from the way the torchlight hit his face, his eyes appeared almost silver.