| |
The Marid fled through the city, hiding from every marching soldier in shadowed nooks. He heard his own name—the name he had chosen for this pathetic form—screamed on the square, and he heard the order that followed to execute him well before Kherim’s men could catch him. Now he was forced to stumble around in the dirt, among humans.
Arjun hated humans. They were loud and screamed for no reason, treating the treasure of sound as a given right rather than the beauty it was.
Long live Prince Kherim.
That’s what they were shouting on every street corner and every square. This poured onto Arjun wherever he went, no matter how hard he tried to block out the sound. The street criers and soldiers scattered the news like salvation, but most ordinary men returning from yet another execution bent in two in their soul.
Kherim had killed Charta. Kherim was the prince. Ruler or murderer? The people only dared to wonder. The only consensus was about Arjun himself, due to that imprudent boy.
Ezair. The Marid hated him, despised his unpredictability, and raged about his own inability to use him. He was a stray cobweb wrapped around his strings, twisting the puppets, obstructing the play, and now he had made Arjun the enemy for everyone gathered for the execution. They blamed him for forcing an innocent girl into murder, but it didn’t stop there. The thread of hatred ran wild, and now he was the sole root of every problem, the embodiment of every cruel act the noble class had committed against the poor.
Arjun looked up at the clouds, staring at the tiny droplets creeping through the sky with familiarity and envy. Was it worth what he was doing?
Undoubtedly. They were counting on him.
“Who’s your lordship looking for?” a voice said. The Marid almost didn’t realize he reached the stone fence. He glanced up at the man from under the scarf wrapped around his head, then pushed in the low garden gate and headed for the door.
“The lady,” he said.
“Which one?”
“The one who asked for the cure.”
The Marid took the flask from his side and held it out to the guard.
“The lord has firmly forbidden any magic drugs from being brought into his house without his knowledge.”
Arjun almost smiled. Kherim feared it would be the same as with Charta’s lover.
“It’s not magic. It’s medicinal water. I’ve been soaking herbs in it for weeks. Her ladyship has already paid for it, and I have had a long day. If you don’t believe it, just smell it.”
The guard took the flask and snapped the cork open. Luckily for the Marid, the guard was apparently not informed about exactly what his master was afraid of, for he raised the gourd to his nose and smelled it. It had simple, lukewarm well water in it, just full.
The water burst forth bubbling, slithering like a twisting snake towards the man’s nose. The guard tried to rip it off his face while his lips opened to shout, but another snake of water clogged his throat, blocking all air from him.
Humans were fragile creatures. The djinns were content with one element and only feared another. People depended on them all like spiders clinging to their webs, and if a single strand broke, they fell into the depths. Air for their lungs, water for their veins, earth for their gardens, and fire for their houses. It was as if they were made to die.
Arjun stepped over the guard wriggling on the ground, not waiting for him to finish his struggle. He was busy.
“Aida? Are you back?” the velvety voice of a woman said, as the Marid crossed the threshold. He had hoped the house would be empty, but it definitely wasn’t. He swallowed a profanity and turned to the woman with an honest, mournful expression.
“I’m afraid not, milady,” he said, bowing his head. “My deepest condolences.”
She returned the bow, which surprised Arjun a little. “Thank you. So Aida’s already there... Did my husband send you?”
“Precisely, milady. The Merciful Prince gave in to reason and decided to make use of my services. I’m Anik Rahaman, the mejai of the chamber,” he lied fluently. After all this time among people, it had become a part of him.
“P-Prince?” She blinked, confused. The Marid could almost see the woman’s thoughts smacking against her skull like waves as she took in the news. “Why are you here?”
“To save the most valued treasure of His Majesty, Lord Kherim.” Arjun bowed deeply, holding one hand to the side, and throwing the other in front of his chest. “But we have to hurry. The more steps he takes on the other side, the less likely he’s to find his way back.”
“Are you serious?” Before the Marid could answer, a stern determination appeared on her face. “Come, he’s upstairs.”
Arjun followed the woman until she opened a door.
The boy was pale, but it seemed as if he was just asleep – if not for the translucent white shroud over him. His hands rested on his chest, and they had lit candles and incense. He was sure a yann would have appreciated it, but it only caused him a headache.
“Please, my lady...” he turned to the woman. “The boy will need water. As soon as he wakes up, he will be plagued by an excruciating thirst and fever, which can take him again. I need the cleanest water in town and a good dose of it. Can I trust you to help me?”
She nodded. “There’s a clean well not far. I’ll send a servant.”
“My thanks,” Arjun bowed again. He had hoped that the uncertainty of the situation and the alternating despair and hope would confuse her so much that she would go to fulfill his request personally, but it seemed he was too naïve. “If you wish to stay, my lady, I should warn you. Magic always comes at a price.”
“I want to stay. But first, I’ll have the servants prepare everything,” she replied and ran downstairs.
The Marid’s strained face let go of the charade he had managed so far, and his mouth frowned as he looked at the boy. His narrowed eyes watched the familiar face and the determined jawline for a while before he turned away.
One candle was brighter than the others.
“What are you doing, Arjun?”
A sudden heat struck the back of the Marid’s neck, which made his spine straighten following a foolish human instinct.
He didn’t turn around. Instead, he walked to the door with bouncy steps and checked to see if anyone was listening.
His long shape cast a shadow in the ever-increasing light, the dance of the orange-red flames slowly gave shape to a moving figure. His skin was bright yellow, like the midday sun, but his eyes were deep red. The flames that formed his hair twirled together in a braid, while his arms and legs did not fully form, leaving him with a wild, ever-changing silhouette.
Arjun stepped back from the intense heat of the apparition.
“Lord Baldra.” The Marid fell on his knees and spread his arms, according to the form of greeting on the islands. “I am following your instructions and setting a trap for the girl so that you can bestow your gift on her.”
“I’m getting impatient, Arjun. Members of my Court say you let her run. I hope you don’t want to... What do you call it? Fool me?”
Although the efrit was merely an apparition controlled from far away, its threat was no less real. He was taller than Arjun, and he could have killed him there, at that moment, leaving nothing but charred bones.
“I wouldn’t dare. Zaira is as volatile as the wind, but it’s only a matter of time before she falls into my hands and comes before you.”
“You better speak true, Arjun. I don’t understand why she would hesitate to meet me. You told her everything, didn’t you?”
“Of course, my lord,” he replied, bowing even lower. That was a lie, too, but he tried not to offend the efrit. Not right now. “The subjects are stubborn and narrow-minded, unsure what would benefit them. They lack your wisdom, my lord.”
Baldra’s figure grew even larger, filling the room with unbearable heat. The efrit reached out and grabbed Arjun’s wrist, so the Marid fell to his knees, squealing in agony.
“Are you mocking me, Arjun?”
“Please, show mercy, my lord,” he cried. “Your humble servant wasn’t idle while she was running from me. Another young djinn has revealed himself. Someone confused and looking for protection. Only Lord Baldra can help before he is infected by the dirt of the people.”
Baldra’s expression brightened and he let go of Arjun. The touch of flame left a growing, painful bulge on his arm.
“Really? That’s great news. Bring them to me.”
The efrit considered the conversation finished, turning around and stepping toward the candle, disappearing in a flash, just as he had arrived. A half-minute later, when the mistress returned, there was no more hint of anything than the sweat dripping on Arjun’s forehead.
“The water will be here soon,” she said, to which the Marid just nodded and approached the boy.
It’s been a long time since he exercised this right given to him by his kind. He wasn’t even sure they’d hear his voice either – but he had to try. If he couldn’t make contact, his entire plan could crumble.
He spread his palm around the side of the boy’s head, calling out to his one, true lord. The only ruler he accepted, sitting on the throne of a land far away, yet hearing every thought he dared think.
My liege, your servant needs your help. If you would, make him send someone.
He stood silently for a minute or two before both his own and the boy’s eyes popped up, shining in the room with the sudden blue that surrounded both their pupils.
“Welcome to the world of humans, Salar Vivekanda,” Arjun smiled, satisfied, as he watched the boy gasping desperately. “Take my advice and run.”