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The sun was already past its peak when the colorful tents of An Ramash appeared on the horizon. Between the dust and dunes, it looked like a mirage, a fragile dazzle, but as we got closer, the city—if one could even call it that—didn’t fade away. It looked like a playful child had thrown a bunch of tents of varied shapes and colors next to each other, only paying attention so that people could move between them somewhat.
Even I had heard of the wandering town. It belonged to no province, although how they managed that was a mystery. Maybe the lords realized that a caravan this big proved valuable to everyone, or there was something up their sleeve that no one knew about. Either way, the gigantic moving market represented chaos, freedom, and all the world’s treasures at the same time.
“There’s no security. I can’t spot a single weapon. I wonder what this town would do if someone tried to invade it,” Ezair asked, rising in the saddle.
“They’d move on,” I said, looking out from behind his back. “Don’t judge it at first glance. What if they are all mejais?”
Chai looked through the coiling lines of canvases with genuine interest. “That’s highly unlikely. I’d rather say they make it especially difficult to pillage anything of worth. There’s a saying that everything has a day’s worth in An Ramash, then it flows into other provinces. Even if someone were to sack it, it would be a small income for one person. Too many goods, too different. But who knows, they might have a surprise or two in store.”
Somewhere deep inside the old me emerged, and didn’t let me agree with Chai.
“But there’s always money when goods change hands. No one goes shopping with an empty purse. If I didn’t live a perfectly decent life, I’d be running a thriving thief’s guild here.”
The colorful maelstrom of the city swept us away as soon as we set foot in the forest of tents. They were of different sizes, some competing with the floor space of an entire cottage, comfortably accommodating a family, while others were simple, tarpaulin covered stalls. The ‘streets’ between them gathered into small squares, and although there was no recognizable pattern in the place, it didn’t bother anyone. This place was designed to get lost in.
After a while, we got off the horses and led them by their bridles, dodging the haggling customers. I’ve never seen so many things on offer, from jewels and fabrics to spices, fruits and smith work. I almost bought a necklace of polished opal stones and matching earrings at one place, and a turquoise embroidered bag at another, and the spices... I didn’t know half the plants, and although they weren’t particularly perfume-like, they weren’t any less amazing.
“I wonder where Nazrik is. How did you say, Chai, where they rub the lantern?” Ezair asked, but I was already busy with something else.
“And this star-shaped one?”
“Anise, miss, anise,” the spice seller replied.
“Amazing. And that one?”
“It’s from Yadina. They call it rosemary.”
I could smell roasting meat somewhere, then apples covered in caramel, and as Ezair’s rumbling stomach confirmed, I wasn’t the only one. Chai was more interested in fortune-tellers, although I could see on her face that she didn’t believe a word they said, while Ezair’s attention got diverted by Jabasani steel weapons, trumping even the smell of food. He tried to look very purposeful, but for storm’s sake, we were in the land of wonders.
“It would be best if we split up,” Ezair suggested.
That was precisely what I wanted to hear.
“Wonderful! You guys go find Nazrik. I’m busy making a trade,” I said, turning back to the vendor and the rosemary. “What’s it used for? I can’t imagine it as a fragrance.”
“As a sauce for meat, miss,” the man replied with a smile.
“Sauce?”
“You can’t even imagine how good it is,” the food seller joined in from the opposite stand and put a large slab of what I guessed was goat loin on a heated grill. “If you’d like to try, I’ll roast you something to go with it. Believe me, they’re heavenly together.”
“I believe you, but use a pinch less of cumin than for the last buyer,” I shouted back to the man. It felt like home.
“O... kay...” Ezair blinked at me, but then shook his head to wake up from the mirage. “You still know why we’re here, right? The execution, djinns, three wishes, still got the story?”
“Yes, of course, I got it. But Ezair, look!” I shouted enthusiastically and pulled him to the stand by his hand. “Have you ever seen rosemary? And look at that fur coat, did you know there’s an animal in the mountains called a bear and it’s big and furry, and it’s eating a pink-fleshed fish that you can also buy at two stands that way? I have to try it. Nazrik can wait a few minutes.”
I could see on his face that he didn’t share my enthusiasm, so I just rolled my eyes.
“Fine, let me ask around, then. Can you tell us where we can find a man named Nazrik who’s said to grant wishes?” I asked the two merchants.
“Of course,” the spice-seller said. “Half a dozen tents to the left, then–”
“You moron,” the butcher cut in. “Everyone knows Nazrik camped four tents away, diagonally to the west!”
Suddenly a huge debate broke out about who knew better. I felt we couldn’t get much along this line, and Ezair finally gave up trying to make me reconsider my priorities.
“I’ll meet you at the easternmost tent at sunset. If we don’t get anywhere by then, we’ll have to choose a different strategy.”
Chai nodded, but already had an eye set at a boutique selling fabric shawls, so the mercenary gave up on her as well, and went off in a random direction with his hands in his pockets.
I waved to my companions and turned back to the spice merchant and the butcher. “What does diagonally to the west even mean?”
“Well, it means you go west, then north and then west again,” the spice-seller explained.
“So, in zigzags?”
Suddenly a tanned woman whistled at me from across the makeshift street. “Don’t let those two old goats confuse you, I’ll tell you,” she said, grinning.
These merchants were merciless, and now everyone wanted to sell me something. I’d have gladly bought it all and more, but unfortunately, I didn’t have the money to spare, if I fancied a dinner next week.
I snuck away from the mob and strolled onwards, trying to ignore every glimmering novelty, especially in what looked like the posh district. My determination ran out at a jewelry shop, where an older woman and her two daughters awaited customers with vibrant smiles. They knew how to entice customers, the delicate silver and gemstone pieces glistened just enough to catch the eye.
I wandered deeper into the tent and picked up a moss agate hairpin.
“Oh, you have bright eyes, such a dull stone doesn’t fit you,” the woman said, snatching the pin from my hands. The older girl immediately followed her, hanging a silver pendant encrusted with mountain crystals around my neck, while the other brought white opal earrings. I almost got lost among such treasures.
“You’re just like a princess,” the younger girl said, putting a festive hair ornament on my head while smiling utterly charmed.
I gave in. Nazrik really could wait a couple of minutes.
“She’s right, your lover is a fortunate man. He must be proud,” the woman added.
I felt blood rush into my cheeks and I wondered what Ezair would say when he learned I went shopping instead of searching. Probably, he would have just frowned, but imagining his awestruck face when he saw me in all these jewels curled my lips into an unwitting smile.
“My daughter has worn this when she met her suitor, hasn’t she, Mara?”
The older girl nodded. “And he couldn’t take his eyes off me all night, at a Shardizian ball. Imagine that.”
My brows rose up. “You’re from Shardiz?”
“Originally, yes. I just couldn’t resist the smile of a Ramashi goldsmith,” the woman replied with a faint, nostalgic smile. “But I’m glad my daughter wants to return. I still remember all that green, the bathhouses, the fruits all succulent and sweet... I hope that someday every province can see wealth like that.”
“As I heard, Prince Idranil plans to do exactly that,” I said. “Are you content with it?”
“We’ve been to a lot of places,” Mara said. “Not every province is like Kahlaran with its gate to the sea. Some got nothing but desert, people are hopeless and sometimes even starving. If we could share what we have with everyone, the whole country could be like a garden.”
“Not just a garden. The New Garden, just as the gods promised,” the woman said.
It sounded too wonderful to be true. A country of milk and honey, with no poverty and no suffering. It was the dream inside all hearts, but as every dream, it disappeared when you woke up.
While lost in that thought they somehow convinced me to buy the headdress, a matching earring, and a bracelet, but at least I could appear before the mighty Nazrik in my full glory. Unfortunately, the jewelers couldn’t get me any closer to the efrit than the butcher, no matter how willing they were.
Every merchant seemed to know about Nazrik, some even told me gossip about him but by tacit cooperation, no one gave me guidance on where to find him. I wasn’t sure if it was a security measure or a shared jape of the locals, but it was sure as hell working. Maybe Nazrik was just fed up with granting wishes, deliberately making it painful to find him, to avoid people lining up on his doorstep.
Whichever was true, I kept wandering, careful not to buy anything else from the many stands I walked past. I passed a man selling live animals, a pipe shop, a tent where I could smell hookahs, then a lamp shop, and after that, there was a man selling knives...
Suddenly, I stopped and turned back. Nazrik always appeared where you rubbed a lamp. Where else would someone do that if not a lamp shop?
For a while, I stood rocking from one foot to the other, looking at the rows of oil lanterns and candles, before I ventured inside.
The figure rising from a shaded chair opposite me startled me a bit, because he was anything but restrained. He wore his snow-white locks in an intricate hairdo of braids and buns, and his white dress left his torso and one arm half covered. A curling, dark brown pattern ran over his bronze-colored skin, but I couldn’t tell if it was fresh henna or a permanent tattoo.
The man approached me and caressed a lantern as one would his lover. His long, golden nails gave off a hissing tone as they touched the brass, and it sent a shiver down my spine. Then he smiled so sweetly, it almost dripped.
“How can I help such a beauty as yourself?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
It caught me off guard. He sounded like a storybook character from a millennium ago, so I was sure I finally had found Nazrik, the miracle worker. I was so stunned by his appearance that I had no idea what to do next.
“I’m just—” Zaira, get your act together. “I just don’t know which lamp to rub.”
That was a terrible line, but it was better than standing there like a statue, staring at him. Toasted hazelnuts. He definitely smelled like toasted hazelnuts.
“That one,” he replied, pointing at a beat-up bronze lamp. “The spirit always resides in the oldest lamp. They didn’t tell you that?”
“No. That detail got lost.”
I picked up the lamp. It was an ugly piece, partially because it was ancient, but with its overly simple design, it couldn’t have been any better back then.
“Are you telling me not to judge by its looks?”
“Appearance only shows the form someone bent the matter into, not the soul inside. I think you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. But after a little polish, everything looks nicer, doesn’t it?”
I rubbed the side of the lantern with my sleeve. I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or Nazrik had just tried to fool me, but it didn’t matter. Our case was more important than my pride, and if he asked me to clean every piece of junk in the store, I would have done it.
The man smiled again and folded his arms. “We can drop the ‘my master’ part, right? Follow me.”
He set off into the back, towards a room separated from the store by a curtain. There were pillows scattered everywhere, surrounding a pipe that stood as high as my waist. If he lived here, he was quite messy.
“What do you need from me?” the supposed efrit asked.
Even though he didn’t offer me a seat, I settled on one of the pillows and got to the point.
“I heard you barter with magic trinkets and wishes. I don’t know which category it falls into, but I need bottled lightning.”
Nazrik settled into a reclining position close to the hookah and scratched his chin. “That’s a very specific request. Unfortunately, it’s impossible.”
I scoffed. It was a typical dealer trick, and one I didn’t have time for.
“I’m in a hurry, so please, let’s cut the bargaining. You can’t charge too much for it.”
“I can. Any price I charge is too much, because what you seek doesn’t exist. You don’t know much about magic, do you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Lightning is volatile. And rare. Few trinkets could even attempt to tamper with it, but none survived their first use. Once, a master mejai bottled a single second of a storm for around a year. Then the glass shattered, the lightning struck the mejai, and that was it.”
Nazrik’s eyes suddenly lit up and the coal on top of the pipe followed suit, brimming with a deep, warm glow. At least the efrit part was true.
“What you ask for...” he said, blowing out the smoke. “...is impossible, even for me.”
“I see,” I said. It was the second plan that had failed and we were depleting our options, one by one.
“Don’t you have any other wishes? Opportunities are aplenty in this world. Some may elude you at first,” Nazrik said and handed one of the hookah’s mouthpieces to me. At a wave of his hand, lanterns lit up, illuminating shelves and crates on the ground. He had quite a collection, trumping even Chai’s room.
“I’m not sure. I wish I could return home, but I doubt you can do that. Other than that, I want to help two men escape prison and take care of a marid while I’m at it,” I said, inhaling the smoke.
The man smiled and waved again. All of the lanterns went out, except for four, indicating a scarf, an amulet, a small bottle, and a ring.
“If I were you, I’d pick from these.”
“You’re such a show-off,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What’s their deal?”
“It’s easier to show than to explain.”
I almost coughed from the surprise. “Wait. You can use them? Like the humans?”
Nazrik just shrugged. “If you can’t, that means your body is not quite right, but don’t worry too much. It’s a rare occurrence for our kind.”
I looked down, but I didn’t understand what he meant. I sure wasn’t Kahlaran’s most famous spectacle, but I had smoother, lighter-toned skin than the average seir, my hair felt acceptable if a little unruly, and I couldn’t complain about my figure. However, from a djinn’s point of view, it was all irrelevant.
“It could be worse... But it certainly doesn’t work with magic. Do you think they messed up the manufacturing, or is this just another way they tried to annoy me?”
“Manufacturing?” Nazrik’s brows furrowed. “I guess you’re quite young here. There is no manufacturing. I can use magic because my body was accustomed to it before. The original Nazrik was a mejai, or at least a gifted student of magic. So, after I gathered knowledge, the practice went on by itself.”
“The original—” I said, then the words almost choked me. I’ve always thought of myself as the surrogate for the real Zaira, who usurped her name and her life just because I looked like her, but it had never felt this real. “What happened to the original Nazrik?”
“Red fever. He was young with a bright future, but diseases aren’t picky. It was a perfect choice for my spirit.”
I just kept staring at him, forgetting about the hookah. The real Zaira had died of a disease at a young age too, and Osmi thought she was resurrected when he first saw me.
Maybe she was.