We rose from the pool. The softest cotton appeared in his hands, and he gently pressed it against my wet skin, kissing the dryness it left behind. We dressed together, as partners do. I let him hold me in his warm arms, inhaling the scent of Madinat Almulihi that rolled off of him. When he kissed me, I relished the taste of him, the feel of his lips on mine. I closed my eyes, committing everything to memory.
Then, I asked him to take me home.
The sun returned to the top of the sky. I was back to the moment when Saalim had taken me from the palace. Back to when my father had declared I was to spend the rest of my life as Omar’s toy.
We were in front of my home. The guards who stood beside the tent entrance were unmoving, unseeing, unhearing, unaware of the world around them.
“Saalim,” I said, voice tight with resolve, “keep time still. I have something I must do.”
“What do you plan?” He grew more concerned with each request and my sudden change in mood. I did not explain. Even though Saalim was only bound to protect his master from harm, I could not risk that Masira would sense my intention to interfere with the King and disrupt the magic.
“Just give me time,” I said, my tone sharper than I had intended.
“Of course,” he replied, bowing his head slightly, looking askance at me.
I walked down lanes and through the rings of tents full of stilled people. I walked slowly, but purposefully, each step requiring an enormous effort, each breath requiring control. If I lost focus, if I lost my restraint, I knew I would turn back. The fear of my choice would consume me.
He asked me to tell him where I was going, what I was doing.
I did not, could not, respond.
When I arrived at the first towering, ivory tent, I stepped past the frozen guards into a long room that was clearly used as my father’s keep. There were unmoving slaves hovering over gleaming scimitars, polishing thick daggers, sharpening blades. I had never been in this part of the palace before, but my determination prevented me from lingering, from inspecting the unfamiliar surroundings.
Saalim trailed me as I navigated through the palace until I found myself in the throne room. How different—how small and flimsy—it was from the room Saalim described in the palace of Almulihi. A guard sat upon the ground, his head hanging low, chin resting on his chest, deep in sleep. Piles of loose salt and stacks of salt bricks were scattered around the room. So much salt, all in my father’s uncaring hands. It added to my resolve. I would fix this.
I glanced at Saalim, remembering when I had first released him from his vessel. How scared I was then, how different I was now. How little I had understood, how little I had to hope for.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Do you remember when I released you?” I spoke quietly, foolishly not wanting to disturb the statuesque sleeper at the edge of the room.
“Yes,” he replied, stepping toward me and taking my hand in his. “I could not believe my fortune.”
I looked into his eyes. Concern darkened his gaze. He smiled softly, a coaxing gesture and silent request. It was so vulnerable. A deep ache bloomed in my chest when I looked at him, the pain nearly swallowing me whole. I broke my gaze as a sobbing gasp escaped my throat. I turned from him and walked through to the next room.
“Emel!” Saalim cried, hearing me weep.
It is what must be done. It is what I must do.
I shook my head. Tears spilled down my face. My throat ached with the effort of curbing my cries.
I moved forward. If I hesitated for one moment, I would turn back and beg him to take me back to the blue pool so we could string a hammock and dance under the shadows of leaves until the day I died.
Finally, I found my father’s sleeping quarters. Steadying myself, I focused on my intention as though Masira was listening. I pose no threat to my father, I have no need to harm him. I repeated it over and over to myself, feeling it in my bones.
Nervously, I peered in. If I overstepped, if I crossed the boundary that Saalim must maintain, the magic would be disrupted. The world would move forward once again, and my father would find me in his room.
The stench in the room was thick—the sour, foul smell of unclean bodies, liquor, and smoke. Though little time had passed, the Salt King was already sprawled on a large mat at the room’s center, two wives curled beside him. All appeared as corpses in the preternatural stillness.
I surveyed the room curiously, noting the things that my father treasured. Trunks of salt pressed to the edges of the room, more than I realized he possessed. Baskets of glittering jewels and sparkling dha and fid. Another table strewn with arcing swords and delicate knives, some gleaming, others tarnished. Large, ornate tapestries depicting lovers hung from the crossbeams of the tent, lining the walls with vivid colors that glowed orange from the torch fire. A large armoire against another wall, door hanging open with robes spilling out of its cavernous mouth. Books stacked haphazardly throughout the room.
I thought of what I wanted and needed and how it wouldn’t affect my father, wouldn’t impair him. My heart beat loudly as I waited for the fire to suddenly flicker, for chests to rise. Quickly, I searched through the scattered things beside my father’s bed, through the soft piles of robes near the armoire, through the objects on the tables. After failing to find what I sought amongst the trinkets and robes that were strewn about the room, I looked back to my father.
Saalim watched me, fists clenched. I did not know if he was already fighting to keep the world still or if he worried he would be overpowered by Masira as I did.
I crawled onto the mat, exceedingly careful not to touch the bodies that lay there. I pressed my knee in a soft part of the bed, and one of his wives rolled toward me, her eerily warm skin touching my calf. I nearly yelped but remained focused as I knelt beside my father, heart beating thunderously against my chest.
There was a hiss of breath, and I did yelp before slamming my hand to my mouth and frantically inspected the room for signs of life. But everything was frozen still. It must have just been Saalim.
“What happened?” Saalim said, approaching me.
Pushing my hand to my brow, I said, “It was nothing.”
Like a trespasser, I felt around my father’s hips and waist. His skin felt like mine, his flesh soft and weak as anybody’s. He was not invincible. His face was pinched, as though pained. It was strange, touching him and realizing that he, too, was human. He seemed so small. I continued feeling around, reaching into his pockets, until finally, I heard the telltale clink of metal against glass. I lifted the robe from his protruding belly and found Saalim’s prison. It was empty, fastened to the King’s waist by a braided leather belt.
I am no threat to the Salt King, I mean him no harm.
I unbound the vessel and took it into my hands. The clink of the metal chain hitting the glass wall was the only sound in the room to accompany my ragged, uneven breaths as I stepped off of the mat.
We waited, and still the world was unchanged. I relaxed. Now, it was time to act.
“Emel,” Saalim said cautiously.
I closed my eyes, steeling myself. Though time did not move, it moved too fast. My time with Saalim disappearing like sand through an hourglass. The agony chased me, desperate to sink its claws in my back.
I inhaled . . . exhaled . . . opened my eyes.
“Before you do anything, tell me what is it you are planning to do.” He stepped toward me, pleading.
“I will tell you everything. But first, take me back to the oasis. It is not safe here.”
His hands quivered like leaves in the wind as he pulled me into his chest.
We were back where we had been moments before. The world was still, as though everything that was happening would never exist at all. The trees above us were immobile, the water at the heart of the oasis like glass. Everything stood at a standstill while I, at the mercy of Masira, decided my fate.
“Saalim,” I whispered, mostly to myself. Silent tears rolled down my face at his name, at what was to come.
He eyed the vessel in my hand, wary.
“Saalim,” I said again, louder this time. “I won’t let this be your life. You cannot continue to be a slave to every man who finds you. I love you too much.”
“Emel, stop this.” He grasped my shoulders tightly, fear etched onto his face. “I have told you this. I don’t want my freedom. I don’t want it.” He spun away and walked out into the desert.
“Wait!” I called after him, my tears slowing as my resolve hardened to iron. “Listen to me. We must restore your home. You must return to Madinat Almulihi as its leader because I love the people in this desert.”
He turned around, returning to me with a shaking head. “No. I do not want it. I do not want anything without you in it.” His hands reached up to my face, his thumbs tracing over my drying tears. I stared at his chest, not daring to look in his eyes to see the pain I heard and could feel.
“No, Emel,” he whispered. “I do not want my life back if it means that I am to forget you. I can’t leave you here in the village at the mercy of your father. I can’t let you do that.”
“You misunderstand me.”
He paused. I looked up to him to see hope breaking through the fear on his face like a sun through clouds. “You mean, you will ask for your freedom?” He sounded so relieved.
I began to pace back and forth in front of him, clutching his vessel tightly in my hand. I fought to string words together to explain. “You made a bargain, and it will be fulfilled.”
“I don’t understand.” His hope was gone. “What are you saying?”
“I have agonized over what I would do about us, thinking it to be an impossible choice. How do I choose between the freedom of a man I love—a man who will become a king and return the desert to what it deserves—and the freedom of myself, an unknown future promised by Masira? How can I choose, knowing that we could lose us in the process? I misunderstood the entire time, Saalim. Perhaps just like you.
“It does not have to be one or the other. We do not have to be lost. We can both be free, together.” And I felt it then, I believed it with every thread of who I was.
In his eyes, I saw that he felt the same thing I did—the promise of possibility.
I stopped pacing and stood before him.
“Because I am marked, Saalim, everything changes. I will choose us, Saalim.” I took a deep breath. “But first, I must choose myself.” I continued. “You speak of bravery when one faces an enemy head-on, knowing they are doomed to fail. I do not think it brave. Had you run out onto those steps and fought those soldiers only to die, it would have been a foolish sacrifice. You gave the enchantress everything to save your home. Running from battle to seek her help did not make you a coward. You were smart.
“The tales we tell in my village would paint me to be selfish for my choice. For first choosing myself over a great civilization and King. Or they would say I was a coward for wishing for my freedom rather than earning it with cunning or sword. But I am no fool. To choose to fight my father? I would die. And that is a fate I am not ready for.
“So if I have only the choice to run or fall, I must choose to run. So I will run from here, Saalim.” I grasped his hands in mine. “If Masira is generous and allows you to go with me, then I will free you, too. But if we are separated . . . if we are a world away from each other—”
Saalim opened his mouth as if to object.
I did not let him speak. “We have to prepare for that possibility.” I gripped his hands more tightly. “If you aren’t with me, I will come back, because I will join the Dalmur. I will fight for you. Forever. Because I am making my choice for you, for me, and for us.
“All of the people who carry your mark are waiting, Saalim. They are looking for their king. And when I am free, I will join their hunt, because I understand now that I am the only one who can succeed.
“Because I will be the one who wishes, and you are the one who grants it, we will still have our memories of each other. It will be just like you said. And so no matter what happens, we will always be linked. And you will feel me when I call to you. You can find me, so you will help me, right? We will circle each other like vultures in the sky.”
He nodded, smiling with understanding. “I will do everything I can.” Hope was there again, bright and shining.
“I promise you I will set you and this desert free.” The more I spoke, the stronger I felt.
Saalim pulled me to him and clasped me as tight as he could, breathing me in.
“You are as fierce as a hawk,” he murmured into my ear. “So go and be free of your cage.” He brushed his fingers against the fabric covering my chest. “Everywhere you are, I am. I trust you, my love, and I will wait for you always.”
And so this was it. Tears fell from my face anew as we held each other for the last time. Then I stepped back and opened his vessel.
“Saalim, I wish for you to return to your vessel.” If I was going to wish for my freedom, I was going to be the master of Masira’s magic, not just a recipient of the goddess’ fickle generosity.
The jinni looked up at me, eyes full of sad hope, as he disappeared into a cloud of dust that slowly fell into the sand.
The wind blew, the leaves rustled. At the return of the jinni into his prison, time could no longer be held at bay.
I clutched the vessel, now closed and filled with swirling golden smoke, and pressed my mouth to it. “I love you,” I whispered, hoping he felt my devotion.
Then, I opened the jinni’s prison.
I did not know that it would be for the last time.
I did not know that nothing would go as planned, that Masira could be so devious.